#nothing wrong with doing a bit of socket feeling

[this-too-shall-bleed]

Let a man chill

skektch

[sysig]

Join in! No seriously join in, please, come on, you were invited (Patreon)

[ilikeevilblondes]

Beck and Call

18+ MDNI!

Summary: You’ve been divorced from Joel for a little while, now. But when your sink breaks and threatens to flood your house right before a date, you have no one else to call but him. Why does he come? You don’t know. Why does he look so fucking good? You don’t know, either.

W.C: ~6.2k

TL;DR: Rule number one of getting divorced: don’t fuck your ex-husband. (Optional).

Warnings: ex-husband!joel x ex-wife!reader, sappy love confessions, improper use of a sink, praise, oral f!receiving, mirror sex, unprotected p-in-v sex, (no outbreak!)

Note: as a child of divorce, i am allowed to touch upon this matter. anyway, happy fucking i mean reading

Part One | Part Two

One-third. A married couple’s least favourite fraction. 

It was (and is) a well-known fact that one in three marriages ends in separation. And of course, you—being the lucky duck you were—found yours rapidly accelerating toward that destination.

You and Joel had agreed that you’d be better off apart. Joel got his own place while you kept the house. And Sarah lived with you every other week.

All you needed to do was send your attorney the signed divorce papers.

Outside of the sympathetic comments you received from acquaintances and relatives almost daily, you were doing just fine.

In fact, tonight you had a date.

A date. The kind that made you choose a tight-fitting dress that hugged your curves just right. The kind that inspired you to wear your hair in something other than a claw clip. The kind that provoked you to shave places you haven’t shaved in a long time.

The lucky bachelor was a fellow divorcee named Mark, whom you had met on a single-parent dating app. He had a full head of hair, a decent sense of humour, and two rescued Labradors. He offered to bring you to his favourite Italian restaurant, bringing up the fact that he’d pick up the bill no matter what, much to your protests. Needless to say, you had a good feeling about him.

After one last check in the mirror, you grabbed your coat and slung your purse over your shoulder, ready to head out the door.

Then, you heard it.

A faint gurgling. 

You blinked twice, trying to zero in on the sound. Proceeding a few moments of intense concentration, you followed the sound into the ensuite bathroom.

The faucet was running. Had you forgotten to turn it off?

You reached for the handle. Twisted it. It spun freely, and nothing happened. 

You tried and tried again, but all your efforts were in vain. You could only watch the tap stubbornly defy you as the handle jutted uselessly, loose in its socket.

“Shit.” You breathed.

The faucet sputtered out a particularly heavy spurt of water as if to say: shit, indeed.

You sighed, staring helplessly at the sink as it stared contumaciously back, water that couldn’t be swallowed by the drain toppling over the edge of the sink.

A quick Google search informed you that you needed to turn off the principal water pipe—the mains. Which you didn’t know how to do. 

So, you resolved to delegate the problem to more capable hands. Like, a twenty-four-hour plumbing service. No, they could easily overcharge you. You could call your dad? No, he was too far.

Or…

Sighing, you dug out your phone from your purse and called your only remaining option. Someone who was a seasoned contractor, someone who dealt with this sink before, and someone who you just so happened to be divorcing. 

He answered on the third ring.

“Hey—everything okay?” Joel’s concerned voice filtered through your phone.

“No.” You inhaled. 

“No?” Joel echoed hesitantly, then waited for elaboration.

When nothing came, he cleared his throat.

Slightly confused, slightly wry, he continued, “This is the part where you tell me what’s wrong.” 

“Um, my sink’s busted.”

“Your sink… is busted?”

“Yeah. Faucet won’t turn off. It-It’s a lot of water.” You bit the inside of your cheek, leaning on the wall. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

A moment of silence, then:

“You need me to fix it?” 

Was that annoyance? Exhaustion? It definitely wasn’t exhilaration at the prospect of doing manual labour at eight o’clock on a Friday evening.

“You know what? Forget I called. This was stupid. Sorry to bother you—”

“I’m on my way.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, after he hung up, the smallest of smiles began forming on your face. 

Fifteen minutes later, a knock came from your front door.

You swung the door open, and there he stood. Tool bag in hand, flannel shirt stretching tightly over his broad shoulders, salt-and-pepper hair just a little bit unkempt.

It had been a good few months since the two of you went your separate ways, but there he was—still at your beck and call. What that meant, exactly, remained to be seen. 

But you were glad to see him, nonetheless.

“Hi,” You said breathlessly.

Upon seeing you, Joel’s brows shot up, and he blinked a few times.

“Hi.” He said back slowly, then cleared his throat. “Am I… interruptin’ something?”

You glanced down. Right. Tight dress and makeup.

“I have a date in…” You raised your left wrist and winced as you looked down at your watch. “Five minutes ago.”

“A date.” He clicked his tongue, nodding to himself. “Well, I’ll try to make this quick, then.”

You hummed a noise of agreement, pivoted, and, with a wave of your hand, invited Joel inside.

He stepped through the doorway with a quiet grunt. And, as he bent down to undo his boots, his coffee-brown gaze landed on a pile of unopened mail by the entryway table. A few envelopes had slipped to the floor, and he crouched to gather them without thinking. 

But, as he straightened up to his full height, his eyes lingered on the recipient line.

“Mrs Miller?” Joel read aloud.

“What?” Your breath caught in your throat, and you spun around to meet his stare.

Joel wordlessly held the envelope up with two fingers, the corners of his lips slightly upturned.

“Oh.” You cringed inwardly. “Yeah.”

“Didn’t, uh, realise that you were keepin’ the name.” He shrugged offhandedly, tossing the stack of mail onto the entryway table.

“I’m not. I just…” You ran a hand through your hair. “Paperwork isn’t final.”

For the divorce.

Joel’s eyebrows pinched together. “I sent you my signed copies, if—” 

“I know you did. I just haven’t sent the papers to my lawyer yet.” You pressed your lips into a thin line and avoided his gaze. “Just got a lot on my plate, recently.”

That was very unconvincing.

Joel hummed a noncommittal noise.

“Well…” He huffed sheepishly. “You know I always liked my name on you.”

You swallowed, feeling your stomach do a funny flip and your ears burn up. Why were your ears burning up?

“C’mon. The problem is upstairs.”

The faucet, to your dismay, hadn’t stopped. It was worse now, if that was even possible, spitting little rogue sprays of water alongside the main stream. Great.

You checked your watch again. Fifteen minutes late. You would no doubt have a few missed calls from your poor suitor if you had the guts to check your phone.

Joel sank to one knee as he inspected the sink, squinting at the appliance and shaking his head. Miraculously, he reached in and, a few rusty squeaks later, the water stopped.

“You fixed it.” You blinked.

“Far from it,” He muttered, frowning. “The cartridge’s shot. And the valve stem’s stripped. Who installed this?”

Without missing a beat, “You did.”

“…Right.”

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest. “So?”

“So, this isn’t a quick fix. I need to pull out the whole assembly. Maybe replace the handle, too. And judging by the corrosion around this nut—” He held up a discoloured metal hexagon like it had personally offended him. “You’ve probably had a leak back here for a while.”

You blinked. “And you didn’t notice that when you lived here?”

Joel turned to shoot you a look. “I was your husband, not your handyman.”

“Really? I could’ve sworn I married you for that toolbox of yours.”

“And here I thought it was ‘cause of my radiant personality.”

“Definitely not that.” You huffed out a laugh.

Despite his back being turned to you, you could just about make out a reluctant smile forming through his slightly greying stubble.

You watched as he rolled up his plaid sleeves, exposing tanned forearms that were entirely too bulky for someone in his mid-forties. He then dug into his bag, fishing out an Allen Wrench.

“You can go on your date,” Joel added, not looking at you. “I’ll be out of here in an hour. Two, tops. But… if you feel like gettin’ frisky, maybe do it at his place. Just in case.”

Right, your date.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you took out your phone. Six missed calls and a flurry of concerned texts.

Decidedly, you typed out an apologetic message mentioning a water-related emergency and stuffed your phone back in your purse.

“I’m staying with you.”

Joel froze and turned to look at you from over his shoulder. “No, you ain’t. I’ll take too long.”

“Well, I can’t leave you to fix my problems while I’m out eating overpriced ravioli.” You shrugged and, with a soft grunt, took a seat against the wall near him. “You’re not a plumber, you’re a… you’re my…”

Ex-husband.

You cleared your throat, then emphasised, “You’re not a plumber.”

Joel let out a slow exhale. “Do whatever you want, but I doubt watching me fix your sink is gon’ be as fun as your date.”

“I’ve got a full bottle of Pinot Noir in the fridge.” You tilted your head. “We can make it fun.”

Joel’s eyebrows shot up.

“Not—not in that way.” You rubbed a clammy hand down your face.

To your surprise, that earned you a small, gruff laugh from Joel, his eyes crinkling momentarily the way they only did when he was truly amused.

His voice was soft when he responded. 

“Go on and get the wine, then, sweetheart.”

Two crystal glasses and a little while later, Joel had put down his wrench and opted instead to sit beside you on your tiled bathroom floor, his shoulders brushing up against yours in the cramped space.

Efforts to tame the defiant sink had long since been forgotten. He did the best he could, but retired upon discovering that you had no spare sink handle lying around—how very unprepared of you.

The bad news was that you weren’t going to be able to wash your hands in the master bedroom ensuite tonight. The good news was that you were having a surprisingly good time with Joel. The conversation evolved from discussing your stood-up date (you showed Mark’s profile, Joel was convinced he was lying about his dogs being rescues), then to how his company was going, and then, reminiscing about the good ol’ days.

“All I’m sayin’,” Joel continued through a laugh. “Is that she did it on purpose.”

“My mom has always been bad with names!”

“Bad enough to still call me ‘George’ after a year of us datin’?” He scoffed.

You stifled a giggle. “In her defence, it’s a very similar—”

“Like hell it is. And your dad? He was worse.” Joel chuckled, finishing the last of his wine. “How is he?”

“Fine. Just called him yesterday, actually.”

“He still callin’ me–?”

“He still calls you ‘porn stache’, yes.”

Joel snorted into his hand, his shoulders bobbing up and down with laughter. Real, genuine laughter.

You smiled and turned to steal a glance at his profile.

His eyes crinkled at the corners, his hooked nose scrunched mid-chuckle, and his laugh was exactly as it was before—low and rough, but somehow boyish and unguarded.

You had almost forgotten how his whole face lit up when he laughed.

And, you didn’t mean to stare. But you did. 

God, you missed this.

“I think I prefer George.” Joel ran a hand down his face, still smiling.

You cleared your throat and leaned over to retrieve the almost-empty wine bottle, refilling your glasses.

“Sarah told me to say hi to you, if I got the chance, by the way.” You said, pouring the Pinot Noir into his glass. “She’s with my parents at the lake house.”

“The lake house?” Joel hummed, taking another sip of his drink. “Still disappointed I didn’t get that in the settlement.”

You snorted, amused. “You don’t even like lakes.”

“No, I don’t like the mosquitoes that come with the lakes.” Joel corrected you, pointedly. “But, I don’t know, I guess I just miss it. A lot of good memories there.”

You felt yourself smile. “Yeah. Yeah, there were.”

A beat.

“Hey, at least you kept the cars. And the boat. And the frequent flier miles. And, well, you see Sarah every other week.” You turned to look at Joel, but he was already looking at you.

A certain vulnerability swam in the brown of his eyes. Something you hadn’t seen in a very long time.

“Yeah, well… there were more important things I couldn’t keep.”

The air thinned. The wine, the laughter, the conversation—everything dissolved in the quiet admission, hanging thickly in the space between you.

And suddenly, there was only you and Joel and the mistakes that had wedged you apart yet somehow brought you back together again; on a random Friday evening on the floor of a bathroom you used to share.

“Joel…” You swallowed, your hand falling from your lap onto the tiles.

But you couldn’t form any semblance of a sentence. How could you? 

There was nothing to say. Yes, you missed him. ‘Missed’ was an understatement. 

Sometimes you’d roll over in the night, wishing to feel the weight of his arm resting on your waist, reassuring you that these past few months had only been a bad dream. Sometimes you came to pick Sarah up early, just to get a few more minutes with him. Sometimes—no, a lot of the time, memories of him came rushing back, cleaving your heart into two, further and further each time.

No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t let go of the man you spent so many years loving. 

Joel’s eyes still bore into yours. And nothing in the world could have torn you away.

He exhaled slowly, then set down his glass with care. His hand barely brushed yours, but it was enough to make your breath hitch.

“I think about it,” He said softly. “More than I should.”

“Think about what?”

A quiet, almost sad laugh escaped from his throat. He leaned back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling.

“How things used to be.”

“Oh,”

A moment passed, marked only by the metre of your incessant heartbeat pounding in your ears.

And then, “Do you ever miss us?” Joel asked.

You faced him once more. The answer was on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Because that was too complicated. Because that would break you.

Joel didn’t need you to say it. He found the answer in your eyes.

All the time.

Instead, you asked, “Do you? Miss us, that is.”

“Of course, I do.” He said softly. “More than you can imagine.”

You held your breath.

Joel heaved a sigh.

“I think about calling,” He added, voice low. “Just to hear your voice.”

“I’d answer,” You said, barely above a whisper.

He smiled in a bittersweet, melancholic sort of way and leaned in just slightly. Unconsciously, you mirrored him.

And then his eyes flickered down to your lips. It was only for a second, but it was enough to make your stomach flutter.

This was dangerous. You should’ve told him to leave ages ago. Or, maybe you should’ve left yourself and gone on your date.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

“Can I ask you something stupid?” You whispered.

Joel whispered back, “Always.”

“Do you…” You trailed off, biting your lip.

“Do I what?”

“Do you—does even a part of you… want what we had back?” 

You knew what he was going to say. You just wanted to hear it for yourself.

And you did.

“Yes,” He admitted earnestly.

You searched his face for any sign of deception, but found none. The only thing in his coffee-brown eyes was regret. And, maybe, something else, too. Something softer.

Your eyes widened. “We fought a lot.”

“We did.”

“And we probably said some shit.” You sighed, looking up at the ceiling, as if all the answers were written there. Joel did, too.

His voice came softly, sadly, “We did.”

Silence again. Thick and fragile and charged with so many unspoken words.

Joel’s knee brushed yours, neither of you pulling away. It was nice to have him close, to feel his familiar warmth, to see him—really see him. Bare and raw and vulnerable. No facades of indifference. No hiding behind closed car doors. Just Joel, your Joel, there beside you; soft-eyed and quiet, like maybe he was seeing you, too.

Your fingers twitched on the floor beside his. You wanted to reach for him, but you wanted him to reach first. Absently, you fiddled with your left ring finger, suddenly aware of its bareness.

He looked at you then. Not a glance, but a full turn, slow and deliberate. His dark eyes searched your face, pausing on your mouth, your cheek, your lashes, then settled on your eyes again. He looked at you like you were something he’d spent months trying to forget, and only just now remembered why he couldn’t.

You held your breath.

Joel’s voice, when it finally came, was low, cracked around the edges.

“I know it was bad in the end, but I meant what I said.” He breathed. “I miss us. I miss you.”

Your heart twisted. And there went that cleaver again, slicing further.

“I miss seeing your keys on the kitchen counter and knowing you were home. I miss kissing you before work and smudgin’ your lipstick. I miss watching stupid movies with you that we’d fall asleep to halfway.”

His throat bobbed. He leaned back against the wall, like it hurt to say it out loud.

“Yeah, we fought and said some real mean shit. But God help me, I’d give anything to go back in time and fight for you like I should have. Because you were it for me. You were everything. Still are.”

His eyes glistened as he held your gaze, fierce and unflinching.

“Because, no matter how hard I try to ignore it,” He smiled to himself, shaking his head like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I love you.”

He loves you.

Those three simple words rang in an echo in your mind. He loves you, he loves you, Joel loves you.

“You love me?” You could barely hear your voice above the deafening thrum of your pulse.

Your faces were barely an inch apart, now. You could smell the familiar scent of his laundry detergent, and traces of his cologne, and wood, and tobacco, and something that was so uniquely him.

Joel nodded.

“I never stopped.” He whispered.

Without thinking, you closed the remaining distance, smashing your lips against his. Joel grunted in surprise, but quickly gave in, exhaling through his nose like he’d been holding a breath in for years. 

He returned the kiss with equal fervour, reaching out to cup your face and pouring all his pent-up emotions against the haven of your lips—longing, relief, desire.

You pushed yourself closer against him. Closer, impossibly closer, until you were straddling his lap, moving against the tent in his jeans, feeling his big hands instinctively settle on your hips, and tasting the Pinot Noir on his lips.

Shit. Was this even a good idea?

You pulled away suddenly. A tiny whine came from Joel, who tried to chase your mouth, but you were insistent.

“Wait,” You panted.

His eyes opened fully. His brows were knitted, his lips were kiss-swollen, and his chest was heaving slowly.

“What?” Joel asked quietly, his thumbs idly tracing circles on either side of your hips.

“This…” You breathed. “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing. I don’t want it to mean nothing.”

Joel smiled softly at your words.

“Means a whole lot to me, sweetheart.” His hand went to gently tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, caressing your cheek in his wake. “We can talk about what this means, if you w—”

“Okay, good. Means a lot. Talk after.”

“After?” His eyebrows rose.

“After you fuck me.”

A breathy ‘Jesus Christ’ slipped from his throat, but Joel didn’t spend a second refusing your bold assumption.

With a hand on your nape, he leaned forward to capture your lips in another searing kiss, which you happily accepted, sighing against him.

His big hands then travelled to the back of your thighs, and the next thing you knew, he carelessly swept away whatever was decorating the base of your faucet, and carried you with ease to perch you atop the sink.

“Joel.” You mumbled urgently into his lips.

“Mmm?” He hummed back, not wanting to break your mouths apart for even a second. 

“Might break the sink again.”

“Don’t care. I’ll fuckin’ fix it again, then. Just… need you,” Joel groaned. “Look too fuckin’ good,”

And he pulled away. His half-lidded, cloudy gaze drank you in, sweeping down the snugness of your dress, and lingering on the generous amount of cleavage it revealed. His hands drifted higher and higher up your thighs, until they reached the hemline—dipping under just slightly.

“Too fuckin’ good,” He snarled.

You smirked. Knowing him, he was definitely going to ask if—

“How much was this dress?”

Sighing amusedly, “It wasn’t cheap.”

“How attached are you to it?” He mumbled, a hand reverently skirting up to your hip.

“A moderate amou—”

“Can I rip it off you?”

There it was.

In the many years you were married, Joel shredded more than enough articles of your precious wardrobe in similar heated moments. If you were to count the offences, you’d likely run out of fingers. Your wedding dress had been among the few survivors of his destructive tendencies, though not for lack of trying on his part.

You stifled a snort and shook your head, reaching up to caress his face. 

“No.” You smiled. “Because I’d like to wear it again.”

Joel held your hand against his face and huffed out an exaggerated sigh. “Next time.”

And then his hands found the zipper on your side, pulled it sharply down, and tugged the dress off you.

His eyes darkened.

You had chosen to don an intricate, black, lacey number underneath your dress that teased just enough and only hid the bare minimum. Of course, you had. You hadn’t had an opportunity to wear anything vaguely provocative in ages and were expecting some luck after your date.

You certainly didn’t expect that your ex-husband would be the one seeing it.

“This for him?” Joel’s lip twitched.

Heat rose in your cheeks. “Well, I—”

“Yeah, these don’t get a pass.”

With a sharp tearing noise slicing through the air, Joel ripped the flimsy lacey bra clean in half, watching intently, hungrily, as your tits spilled out.

“Joel!”

“I know, I know,” Joel grunted. “I’ll buy you a new set… buy you all the fuckin’ sets.”

You were about to object, intent on citing the price attached to that particular pair, but Joel had sunk back on his knees and spread your legs apart.

He pressed his lips on your inner thigh, scruff tickling your skin as he slowly, softly trailed his mouth upward, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

His face came to a stop in front of your core, noticing how heavily you were breathing, and his eyes flicked up to yours, smirking. Smug fucking bastard.

“Joel.” You gritted your teeth.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Don’t fucking tease me.” 

And he leaned his forehead against the lower part of your navel, taking a second to breathe in the unmistakable scent of your arousal seeping through your lingerie. 

He was practically salivating, now. 

“I’ll try not to, ma’am.” 

Without another word, he took the lace into his teeth, yanked his head sharply, and tore your panties open.

Confirming his suspicions, you were absolutely soaked. Slick drooled freely out of your puffy folds, taunting him and draining every ounce of self-restraint he had. 

Fuck, you were gorgeous.

“Tell me,” Joel said lowly, meeting your gaze once more as a thick finger swiped lightly through your lips, collecting your arousal. “This for him or me?”

“You.” You breathed without a second thought.

“Louder, sweetheart. My ears ain’t what they used to be.”

“You.”

Smirking wider, “Damn fucking right.”

Then, he happily hitched your legs over his shoulders, leaned forward, and dove in.

His tongue prodded into your heat, dragging down your walls and sending jolts of electricity down your spine. He worked fast and sloppily, sliding through your folds and flicking into your walls, urgently tasting you like he wouldn’t get another chance. 

Your arousal coated the lower half of his face, his eyes were almost black with desire, obscenely wet noises echoed in the silence of the tiled room as his tongue eagerly devoured you whole—

“Fuck, almost forgot how good you taste. So fuckin’ sweet.” Joel mumbled against your sex, entirely, wholly bewitched. “She missed me, too, huh? Just drippin’ for me…”

He continued to furiously lap at your entrance, scruff rubbing against your inner thighs. And then he moved up, planting messy kisses higher and higher until he reached your swollen clit.

You gasped brokenly, flinging a hand to grasp his curls as his lips alternated from pressing messy kisses along your seam to greedily sucking at your bundle of nerves, latching onto it almost desperately.

After a particularly delicious drag down the roof of your core, you rolled your hips up into his mouth and brought him closer to you with your grip in his hair.

“Shit—sorry.” You panted, breathing heavily.

He barely pulled away to look at you.

“Don’t fuckin’ be. I can handle it, you know I can.” Joel all but growled, before returning to attend to your needy fucking pussy.

He was like a man possessed; lapping frenziedly, groaning lowly into your sensitive skin, curved nose swiping through your folds as he worked.

Very soon, a familiar tingle in your lower stomach introduced itself.

“Joel,” You called urgently, attempting to warn him.

He knew you were close. Oh, he knew. So, he went faster and harder, pressing himself further against you, suffocation be fucking damned.

His low, wrecked voice came slurred and slightly muffled by your sex, “Y’gonna come? Go on, baby, all over my face—thaaat’s it.”

A shattered moan escaped from your throat, and you felt your release take over your body almost violently. You couldn’t help the way your legs clamped down around his head, but Joel loved it, letting you smother him and humming happily into your heat as he worked you through your climax, swallowing your release and eating like a man starved.

Finally, he pulled away with a wet squelch, softly pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, and gently let your legs down.

And you were immediately greeted with the sight of his lower face shining with your slick.

A good look on him, if you’d say so yourself.

He smiled lazily, eyes blown-out and absolutely fucking pussydrunk. 

“That good for you, sweetheart?” He mused.

“You, Joel Miller, are what we call a munch.” You smiled back.

Pride bloomed across his face. “Gladly, sweets.” 

And you pulled him up by the collar of his flannel shirt into a filthy kiss, tasting your arousal on his lips.

He let his eyes fall shut and reached up to curl a hand around your jaw as he returned the kiss, his brows furrowed in concentration.

Not wasting any time, your hands flew to his belt, blindly fumbling at the leather material to slide it out of the loops of his jeans.

Joel chuckled, leaning forward to trail his lips down your neck, leaving a path of open-mouthed kisses.

“Need somethin’, baby?”

“Wanna return the favour,” You glanced down at the bulge in his lap.

“Mm-mm. That was more for me than you. Missed your sweet fuckin’ pussy.” Joel mumbled against your pulse point.

“Munch.” You couldn’t help but giggle.

“Yeah, yeah.” Joel sighed, lifting his head and undoing his jeans just barely enough to pull himself free from his boxers. 

You heard yourself swallow.

Joel Miller was a big man, and you were very aware of that fact. It was written all across his body; from his impossibly broad shoulders, to his beefy arms, to his thick fucking cock.

He stroked himself, once, twice, as his eyes fell to your pulsating, slick core. Beads of precum leaked from his flushed tip and down his length as he did so.

“Spread those legs wider for me, baby. Let me see you,” He breathed lowly.

And you very willingly obliged.

“There’s my girl,” Joel hummed.

With a hand around his base, he guided himself closer to your drooling cunt, nudging his swollen head against you.

Sighing, “Deep breath, baby.”

And he slowly forced himself in, one hand on the small of your back, the other on the underside of your thigh, prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist as he steadily fed you his cock.

You gasped some variant of a plea.

Needless to say, he was a tight fucking fit.

“Takin’ me so well. That’s it, baby, let me in.” He blabbed mindlessly as he continued to sink deeper inside. 

Deeper, deeper, deeper…

He winced. “Shit—there you go.”

When all of him was nested inside your welcoming channel, he let out a gasped expletive at the sensation.

Full. You felt so full with him inside. You always did.

“Fuck, missed this.” Joel panted, resting his forehead against yours. 

You tried to echo the sentiment, but the only thing you were capable of doing was letting out an incoherent groan of his name.

Joel got the message, though.

Maintaining an unhurried tempo, he rolled his hips back and forth, slowly dragging his thickness against your walls, making you painfully aware of every last inch of him.

“How’s that feel, baby?” He mumbled, voice airy.

“Good. Feels so good.”

And, fuck, he did. 

He felt amazing.

His tempo soon picked up, leaving your mouth to fall open as you took every inch of him again and again, stretching you open with enough pleasure to dull the slight pain.

“Tell me,” Joel hummed as he continued to drive ceaselessly in and out of your tight channel, adopting a false lilt of indifference. “Who’s fuckin’ you so good, huh?”

An incoherent syllable slipped from your lips.

“Who, baby?” Joel urged you, unrelenting in his pace. “Sure as hell ain’t fuckin’ Mark.”

Dumbly, you shook your head.

“You, Joel.”

Your words were almost drowned out by the symphony of your own moans, which were accompanied by the obscenely wet slaps that sounded every time his hips fully met yours.

“Louder.” He snarled, punctuating his response with an intentionally rough ram. “Neighbours can’t hear you yet, c’mon.”

“You, Joel!”

Satisfied, his hands went to hold you by your waist, keeping you as still as possible as he drove insistently into you, his tip now kissing your cervix with every thrust.

You cried out at the feeling, nails raking down his back.

Heat pooled in your gut, your vision blurred, a high-pitched ringing almost deafened your ears.

“Joel, Joel, I’m…” You babbled.

“Close? Go on, gorgeous. Let me feel you choke my dick.”

With his blessing, his name left your mouth in a high-pitched scream, and you felt yourself clench around his throbbing length as your orgasm rippled across your body like an earthquake.

Joel, being the overachiever he was, didn’t stop for even a second until your breathing slowed and your eyes fluttered open again.

And, once he saw that you had recovered, he leaned forward to slant his mouth against yours, swallowing your sighs.

“You okay?” He mumbled into the kiss, barely breaking away.

“Yeah.” You exhaled. 

He smiled against your lips.

“Good. Almost there, baby. Gonna take you against the sink, now, and you’re gonna give me one more, how’s that sound?”

You nodded dreamily, feeling him slowly pull out.

He leaned back and, with his hands on your waist, delicately set you down.

“Turn ‘round for me, sweetheart.” 

You acquiesced without hesitation, bracing yourself on the porcelain countertop.

Joel hummed, kicked your legs open even wider, and, not long after, sank the entirety of his cock into you in one deep thrust.

A sharp breath hit the air behind you, and an airy ‘fuck’ followed it. This angle made him feel bigger, if that was even possible.

He didn’t wait long after that. He couldn’t. Overcome with the need to feel you, he started moving. The first thrust was slow. Experimental. The second was hard. The third was harder.

Before you knew it, his big hands found a home on your hips, and he began to drive roughly into you, as if making up for lost time.

He certainly proved he was willing to atone for his absence, thrust after thrust.

“Oh, look at you.” Joel tutted and pulled your hair to tilt your head upwards.

You came face to face with the woman in the bathroom mirror.

Somewhere in between thrusts, your mouth had fallen agape, letting loose a long whine of pleasure, which was stuttered by every slam of his hips against yours.

Your hair was frizzy, your face was flushed, your hooded gaze was flooded with desire, and a light sheen of sweat doused every inch of your skin.

You were a wreck, thanks to the man fucking you so well behind you.

“Eyes up here.” Joel sighed. “Keep ‘em open. Gotta watch how well you take me.”

Joel was even more of a sight. 

The top few buttons of his flannel were undone, his sleeves were haphazardly rolled up, his hair was wild, and the look on his weathered face was nothing short of territorial as he held you to him and fucked you with reckless abandon.

Your eyes fell to where your bodies were connected, hypnotised by how easily his tanned cock disappeared in and out of your puffy cunt.

Again.

And again.

And again.

The corners of his lips were coyly upturned when he cooed, “Don’t we look good, baby?”

You could only respond in broken syllables.

“Yeah,” He grunted. Then, after a particularly forceful thrust, “we do.”

He continued to ram into you, finding your cervix with each thrust, keeping his eyes trained on the mirror, fixated on how your tits bounced so prettily for him.

“Beautiful.” He whispered, jaw tight.

If your brain hadn’t been turned to mush after the two orgasms he forced out of you, you would’ve heard him. But all you were focused on was the rush of another climax approaching.

You gripped the countertop harder and gritted your teeth, feeling warmth collecting in your stomach and bracing yourself for impact.

As if reading your mind, Joel’s hand moved from your hip to your front, trailing down until he brushed your clit, rubbing sloppy semi-cricles and whispering sweet things as you whimpered.

“You gonna give me one more?” He murmured encouragingly, his nose nudging the side of your face.

You could only manage an open-mouthed nod.

His fingers sped in their motions, swiping at your clit feverishly as he continued to rut into you, grazing your cervix each time.

Again. And again. 

“Come for me, sweetheart. I’ll catch you.” He whispered gently.

Your jaw slackened, your heartbeat quickened, and, in a blinding flash of pleasure, you came with his name on your tongue, helpless to the throes of your climax.

“There you go. Shit… so good for me.” Joel groaned. And then, urgently, “Where—where do you want me to–?”

Not even a full second later, “Inside.” 

“You sure?” He panted, starstruck. 

“I have an IUD, just—please.”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he pressed closer, his chest flush against your back, letting you feel every shaky pull of his breath as he caged you in. His hands found yours at the edge of the sink, lacing over them gently. His head dropped beside yours, his forehead nearly touching your temple, and a warm breath fanned across your skin as he sighed. 

And then he resumed his earlier pace.

He rammed into you hard and fast, chasing his own release as if it were a life-or-death situation. And all you could do was take it.

After a dozen more jerky thrusts, his breath caught in his throat and, with a low curse, he came. Hot ropes of his spend spilled inside you, and he rode it out until he couldn’t give you any more, which took a few more lazy rolls of his hips.

His breath evened not long after, warm and steady against your browbone. Soothing, almost.

Gently, he pulled out of you, and you felt his come slowly drip down your thighs.

“Fuck,” He breathed, pressing a soft kiss to your hair, scruff rubbing against your crown as he did so.

And he bowed his head to rest it on the crook of your neck.

“That was great, George.” You panted.

Joel snorted tiredly. “Just couldn’t help yourself, huh?”

“Nope.”

He huffed out a chuckle.

Then, he languidly pressed a trail of open-mouthed kisses wherever his lips could reach—the underside of your jaw, your throat, your neck, and down, still.

A warm, fuzzy sort of feeling radiated from his touch, lulling you into a state of bliss. It felt like love; it felt like coming home.

You couldn’t help the smile that stretched across your face.

Joel mumbled something unintelligible against your shoulder.

“What?” You replied, breaking free from your trance.

“I said,” He pulled away and, with two fingers on your chin, tenderly turned your face to look at him. His voice was wrecked and so very earnest when he finally repeated himself. “Don’t send the papers. Please.”

He held the rest of his plea in his eyes in the way they shone with a certain sincerity.

You smiled softly and shook your head. Because you knew you never really had any intention to. Because you wanted to hold on to him. And you were glad he wanted to hold on to you, too.

Your lips found his. Gentle, delicate, a reassurance. He gave in to the kiss almost immediately, sighing into your mouth.

“I won’t.”

And you meant it.

thanks for reading!!! reqs are open, if you wanna send an idea or anything over :)

🏷️: @whaddupbaby, @pedritodowney08, @martuxduckling, @aadhinagony, @lanabobana, @pedr0swh0r3, @romancherry, @strawberriesandhotmen, @streamermattsgf, @bonneyzsk, @worhols, @serendippindots, @paprikainfurs, @lanternnightgarden, @12vamppp, @savvyisss, @umadirectioner, @tinawantstobeadoll, @not-the-teen-witch, @wundagre, @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere, @guelyury, @joelspickle, @callofdiva, @hotnmad, @brightestxxwitch, @pearl-diver-m, @kungfucapslock, @hellokittyyloverrrr, @meganfoxismywife, @natalieispunk, @billionairecowgirl, @my-tearsricochet

[starshipsofstarlord]

secret | daryl dixon

summary. your dirty little secret is that you are fucking dbf!daryl (0.5k)

warnings. smut 18+ mdni, oral (fem receiving), fingering, praise, dbf!daryl au (if you are not comfortable reading then please don’t), age gap, casual sexual relations, swearing

MINORS DNI (18+), I DO NOT CONTROL YOUR CONSUMPTION ON THIS BLOG 👻

divider credits. @cafekitsune

This was wrong, so fucking wrong, but it felt so good. Too good in fact. You were utmost certain that you were going to hell for indulging in such lust, you had been too frail to resist and now you had a man between your legs, condemning you to such damning sin. But you could stop him, though you didn’t want to, his tongue was swirling around your clit, driving you into a spiral of ecstasy as you clutched wantonly onto his locks, needing to grasp something. Anything.

His fingers were moving in and out of you, and you couldn’t help but chortle a moan, stifling it behind your lips as you repeatedly bit them. “Oh fuck, Daryl.” With his name spilling from your mouth, his eyes ran up each curve of your body, his blue eyes penetrating your own as he suckled even harsher at your sensitive nub. He was making you feel as though you were about to jump off a cliff, the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you wrapped your legs around the back of his skull.

If anyone could see you, the whole town would shame you and he the same, though it gave you some relief that they couldn’t; this was your father’s best friend after all. The last thing you needed was to be disowned if the truth were to vacate from between just you two, but since the first time that you had indulged in one another, neither of you could get enough. Your bodies joined together in a matrimony unlike any other, a passion that could send you to hell but felt like utter bliss in the moment.

“Ya close baby girl?” Daryl’s accent drifted into your ears as you whined, keening for your euphoric release. He had two fingers inside of your cunt, though it still was not enough. Not when you knew what his cock felt like when it stretched you out… “Can feel yer squeezing my fingers. So fuckin’ tigh’. Can’t wait ter be inside ya.” But wait he did as he continued fucking you with his thick digits, preparing you as he always had to so that your walls could accommodate his cock.

“I’m g-gonna fucking cum. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’m cumming!” Your pussy tightened around his fingers, as your heavenly release washed over you in sweet waves, your eyes slightly rolling in their sockets. There was nothing that could possibly feel like this - like him, you swore. He had all control over your body, it succumbed to him as though it he had claimed ownership. And you were willing to give him that if he were to ask in this moment.

“Such a good girl for me,” he talked you through your dissipating high, removing his fingers only to place them in his mouth, tasting the honey that your cunt had exerted from his touch. Daryl hummed at the flavour that you had doused his fingers in, his tastebuds exploding with farther lust. You watched with intent fascination, your breaths laboured as your body began to calm itself, although you knew that this was only the beginning, he would build you up again and again until you eventually crumbled.

[boy-cow000]

Drained

Spencer x Gn!Reader

Warnings: Mostly Fluff, Mention of a case, Spencer feeling rough

Summary: After a particularly long case Spencer happens to lock himself out of his apartment. In need of help, he stumbles into the home of the only non-bau friend he has left. However, he finds himself much more comfortable with you than he originally thought.

Word Count: about 890

A/N: Pretty short blurb because I’ve been dying to write again but I’ve been too lazy to rub my two brain cells together and produce something :,D btw IDK what season this is in so use your imagination

_______________________________________

Spencer couldn't be more thankful for his job. Knowing the lives he saved and the people he helped was enough to get him through most of the especially rough cases. However, this most recent one had been particularly troubling. The random small American town they had been flown to was not known for their technological advancements, to say the least, and the lack of documentation had made Garcia's job almost impossible. On top of that, the intrusive and misguided opinion of the head chief of police had completely skewed the case in the wrong direction. Needless to say, Spencer was rightfully exhausted, along with the rest of the members of the BAU.

After landing and leaving the jet, he told himself that all he had to do was head home so he could finally sleep. Truth be told, it wasn’t even that late; the plane had landed around 8:20 PM. Yet, sleep was the only thing on Spencer's mind after that 48-hour case.

It took him some time to get home, but at this point, nothing but the sweet relief of his bed mattered. Except, much to his dismay, he seemed to have a little trouble finding his keys. Unfortunately for him, that “little trouble” turned into a full-blown panic very quickly. Spencer tried to remember where he had put it. Mentally swatting away the thick fog laying over his mind, he let his head smack against his front door in defeat when he realized that his keys were left on the jet. Calculating his options, it became apparent there weren’t many. His coworkers were probably already sleeping, and it's not like Spencer had a history of having an extensive list of friends. Well, except you, that is. Spencer didn’t feel like paying upwards of 65 to 120 dollars for some locksmith to come in the middle of the night, so you were starting to seem like the best option. Knowing you didn’t live far away, he grabbed his things and started to text you. On the drive over, he began feeling a little nervous. He wondered if the reason you weren’t answering was because you were asleep and if he was going to bother you.

Upon arriving, he felt at ease seeing the lights in your apartment on. He fumbled with his bags but managed to get to your front door without dropping anything. He was so tired. Blinded by the light of the inside of your apartment, he resorted to a curt “hi” once you opened the door. You let him in a bit panicked; to be frank, you didn't know why he had suddenly asked you if you could crash. You were still happy to see him, however.

After explaining the situation, you let out a sigh, knowing nothing serious had happened. You told him to make himself at home while you figured out where your extra covers were. He took off his shoes and sat himself on your couch, awaiting further instruction.

When you came back, you saw Spencer, palming the socket of his eyes. Your heart stopped for a second, worry took over, and you wondered if maybe the case was weighing on him more than he’d like to admit. You rushed over.

“ Spence! Are you okay?” You laid the covers on the edge of the couch and rested a hand on Spencer's shoulder.

Spencer peeked into your eyes for what seemed like forever—a breathless moment between his answers. You felt your heart form a lump in your throat; your cheeks flushed, and you suddenly felt guilty. What if Spencer was actually doing terrible and you couldn’t help him because you were too busy wrestling with the effect he had on you? Eventually, you broke the intense eye contact, and Spencer sighed in return.

”I’m fine, really. It’s just… I was exhausted a minute ago, and now”

”Not so much.” You finished his sentence for him. He let out a light chuckle and bumped shoulders with you. He must’ve been delirious, because you couldn’t think of another reason why he would’ve been comfortable enough for all that physical contact. Your torso stiffened, and while still trying to calm yourself down, he let his head roll onto your shoulder and nudge itself into your neck. Spencer was going to kill you if he kept this up.

Spencer snaked his arms around you, entrapping you and making you fall back into the couch a little. You grabbed his opposite shoulder, hoping to lay him back, but his head bobbled a little lower, and it was clear he was no longer awake. Spencer kept snuggling, and it was making it increasingly harder to get yourself out of his grasp. An incoherent thank you left his lips before he fully fell asleep. So you sat there, absolutely surrounded by Spencer. Glaring at his slumbering state. Overtly aware of his faint sent, of his hair brushing against your face, of his slowed breath on your neck, of his hand grasping your waist, of him.

Your own exhaustion was catching up to you at an alarming pace. Despite your brain and dignity screaming at you not to fall asleep in his arms, your thoughts were starting to blur. Eventually, you fell asleep, caged in, breathing to the sound of his heartbeat. With that, tomorrow promised itself to be interesting.

[just-a-creep-babe]

A Demon’s Ache — Part 18

Eyeless Jack x Reader

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17

Commissioned by @cookiereblogss — thank you so so much for your patience and kindness and support, I really hope you enjoy! ^^ 💝💖💗

Requests are closed but commissions are open!

Masterlist: x

He should leave

He should get the fuck out of your room so that he can actually think straight and figure out what to do

But he just can’t

You look so peaceful in his embrace, so sweet and innocent

He can’t bring himself to just abandon you

His thoughts are racing a mile a minute as he tries to figure things out

He’s not the most knowledgeable about demon marks and what they mean, but he knows enough to understand that they’re serious

His first order of business, he realizes, should be research

If there’s any way to undo them, or at least minimize the effects, he should give it a shot

And the sooner he does it, the higher chance he has to fix this

Which brings him all the way back to square one; he should leave

He looks down at you

Your eyes are closed, brows relaxed, lips parted just the slightest bit as you breathe in slow, long breaths

He can practically feel the blood running through your veins, hear the way it pumps to your organs by the steady rhythm of your heart

Ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump

He swallows thickly, his mouth watering at the temptation of your flesh

He’s fucking salivating

He has to leave—now

But right as he shifts beneath you, you murmur something in your sleep and he freezes in place

He woke you up

He woke you up and now you’re going to see the mark and you’re going to loathe him for doing this to you

He flinches, bracing himself for the worst possible outcome

But all you do is nuzzle deeper into him, still half-asleep, and relief like no other washes over him

He can’t leave, he realizes

He should be there when you discover the mark

Even if it scares him—even if it absolutely terrifies him—he shouldn’t avoid this

He’s the one who created this mess; he has to be the one who deals with it too

He buries his face into your hair and breathes in deeply

Your scent is as soothing as always

He’ll figure it out, everything’s going to be ok

As long as he has you, everything’s going to be alright

It takes a short while, but eventually, you slowly start stirring awake

You mumble his name, pressing your face into the crook of his neck to avoid the glare of the sunlight, and he hums in response

Don’t think about the mark, don’t panic, don’t make it obvious something’s wrong

Part of him wants to outright blurt it out, but another part of him, a more dominant part of him, wants to savour every second he can before admitting to it

And it’s wrong

And he knows it’s wrong to withhold this kind of information from you, but fuck, how can he resist the temptation of your ignorance for just a moment longer?

You stretch your stiff limbs out, eyelashes tickling his jawline as you blink away the sleep clouding your mind

You hum peacefully, as if waking up next to him is nothing short of blissful, and that knot of guilt tightens in his stomach

Reaching up from under the comforter, your fingertips trace over Jack’s chest, moving all the way up his collarbone to his neck, and finally, over his Adam’s apple

He has to resist the urge to swallow down his heartache out of fear you might somehow feel it

But even then, even despite everything, your touch is so gentle, so soft

He can’t remember the last time anyone treated him with so much warmth, so much kindness

His eyelids instinctively flutter close over the messy black tar dripping from his sockets

And as he does, it’s like he can almost trick himself into believing things are different

He can almost pretend you’re both human, and you’re waking up in your shared bedroom in the apartment you both picked out together

He can act like it’s a quiet Saturday morning, and it’s a sunny day outside, and the birds are chirping and neither of you have anything planned

You’re both free to relax, to spend as much time in bed as the both of you want, and any minute now, he’s going to get up to make you breakfast while you prepare the coffee

“Come shower with me”

He’s brought back to reality by the sound of your voice, still gravelly and laced with sleep

When he reopens his eyes, he finds you smiling, still evidently sleepy, and the sight makes his heart flutter in his chest

“Mmh,” he makes a noise of agreement in his throat, and your smile grows

How’re you so effortlessly gorgeous?

You sit up, lazily stretching your arms over your head, and the motion causes the sheets to fall from your form, exposing the entirety of your naked back to him

He’s at a loss for words

The way your skin stretches over your curves, the way the morning light dances over your body—you look ethereal

He wants to reach out, wants to touch every inch of your skin—he wants to worship you

But then you roll your neck out to ease the stiffness in your muscles, and in doing so, it reveals that deep blemish on your skin once more

It’s all it takes for his perfect moments to fall apart, crumbling like ashes in the breeze

Fuck

What the fuck kind of mess did he get the both of you into?

Completely oblivious to his dilemma, to the pained mix of emotions blooming in his chest, you turn to him with that gentle smile on your face

“You coming?”

He can’t keep his hands off you in the shower

It’s hot and steamy, and the space is just small enough to give him an excuse to press up so wonderfully close to you

Warm water glides off your body, outlining every dip and curve of your form, and he finds himself tracing over it, almost absent-minded, like he’s under a spell

You’ve bewitched him

You stand on the tip of your toes, and he almost thinks you’re about to kiss him, but all you do is reach behind him for the soap, and he has to hide his disappointment

“Let me help you,” you murmur

He nods, and then you’re lathering up his skin and touching him all over

You start at his chest, fingers dancing over both his pecs and in the valley of his hard muscles

You follow an invisible path over both his shoulders, feeling the broad expanse of them at the same time, and then move all the way down to his biceps

He wonders what’s going through your mind

All he can think about is, again, how no one else has ever been so loving with his body—especially not after his transformation

He wonders if, despite your kindness, some part of you wishes his skin was a normal human colour, or a normal human firmness

He wonders if you would’ve maybe agreed to officially date him if he wasn’t what he is

You move down to his forearms, then trace all the way back up his shoulders and down his chest until the whole top portion of his body’s clean

You seem to inhale sharply as you continue down to his torso

Down his stomach, your fingertips smooth over the ridges of his muscles before reaching his V-line

There’s no hiding it any longer, no hiding his desire for you

He’s worried it’ll put you off, but then he smells your arousal even through the soap’s perfume, and he realizes it’s mutual

Either way, you still don’t make any moves to initiate anything, so neither does he

He simply lets you clean him, lets you touch his body to your heart’s content until you’re reaching down to his calves and the next thing he knows, you’re kneeling before him and his dick is inches from your face

You bite your lip, glancing up at him, and that look in your eyes has him twitching right in front of you

You don’t have to do this, he wants to say, he appreciates it and everything but it’s really not necessary

But then you lean up and press a kiss to his tip and god, he wants to throat-fuck you so fucking badly

Your lips are perfectly soft as you kiss him again, and then you part your mouth open to stick your tongue out and lap at the precum dribbling from his slit

“Fuck, (y/n)”

He groans out a gravelly curse, throwing his head back as his hips jut forward in search of more

When you roll your tongue over his tip, lavishing the most sensitive part of his cock with attention, he has to grind his teeth together to prevent a snarl from rippling out

He snaps a hand out to tangle into your hair because he needs something to stabilize himself

And at the same time, it provides the perfect opportunity to drag you forwards, pressing you closer up against his cock so you’ve almost no choice but to swallow him down

You whimper around him, and feeling you do so drives him wild

He tries to let you suck him off at your own pace, he really does

But he just can’t resist impatiently pushing and pulling at your hair, all while his hips instinctively jerk forward, trying to cram more of himself down your throat, trying to feel more of you around him

And he feels bad for making you gag around him, but at the same time, fuck if it isn’t the hottest thing ever

He growls your name, bringing his other hand up to your hair, and when you look up at him, your eyes all watery and pleading, he slowly but surely feels his grasp on his self-control slipping

How can he resist face-fucking such a pretty little thing like you?

You almost seem to want it as much as he does, too

Squeezing your eyes shut with your brows furrowing in concentration, you slacken your jaw and stick your tongue out, creating just the perfect entrance for him to fuck however he pleases

Your lips stretch out around his thick cock, your cute little muffled whimpers making him pulse on your tongue with every thrust

He should be ashamed of the way he’s using you—but you just feel so fucking good

Watching you struggle to choke down his length is almost just as satisfying as the way your throat keeps tightening around him

Combined with the way your arousal’s filling the air—it’s bliss

He snarls something indistinct, thrusting hard and fast enough to make his balls slap against your chin every time he reaches the very back of your throat

And the combination of it all has his stomach tightening, but it’s just not enough to cum

No—he wants to save that to breed you

A few more seconds of enjoyment is all he allows himself before he pulls you off of him

He’s panting, chest heaving as he takes a moment to recover from the euphoria of your mouth

His cock is aching for more

“C’mere,” he says, and there’s that demonic lilt to his voice he can’t always control as he helps you back up again, “s’my turn to clean you”

Even though it’s hard to focus, even though all he can think about is bending you over and screwing your pretty little brains out, he tries his best to be as caring and considerate as you’d been with him

He lathers you up with soap, using it as an excuse to touch you even more, to massage every inch of your body

His hands savour the curves of your sides, from your chest to your waist, down to your hips and thighs, and then all the way back up to your chest again

He doesn’t fail to notice the way your breath hitches when his touch grazes over your tits—of course he doesn’t, he never doesn’t notice—so he allows himself the indulgence of squeezing them

They fit wonderfully in his palms, even as he grabs and toys with them at his leisure

You arch your back up, trying to push more of your chest into his hands, and if he wasn’t so turned on right now, he might chuckle at how needy you’re being

He tugs and pinches at your nipples, and when you make a breathy little whimper, it has him throbbing

“So good, little one, you’re doing so fucking good for me”

He’s so fucking horny

He drags his fingers along the inner flesh of your thighs, teasing at your sensitive skin

“You want it, little morsel, you want this?”

It’s not like he doesn’t know the answer, it’s not like he can’t tell how desperate you are when you nudge your legs further apart for him

But he wants to hear you say it

“Y-yes, Jack—please. Please, I want you~”

A slave to your every whim and desire as always, he pushes his fingers between your folds, and the both of you groan in unison as he stretches you out

He can just imagine you clenching around his cock instead of his digits

When he curls his finger just the right way, a moan bubbles from your parted lips and you stumble in place, like you almost can’t handle just how good he feels

With his free hand, he lifts your leg up, hooking it around his hip and pressing your back to the shower wall

You’ve nowhere to squirm, nowhere to escape

All you can do is take it

In and out, he pumps his fingers into your velvety walls until your thighs are shaking and your mewls are getting louder than the sound of the water hitting the tiles

Your shaky hands reach out to dig crescents into his skin, and the pain mixing in with his insatiable lust is such a wonderfully heady combination

When you moan his name again, he realizes he can’t wait any longer

He pulls his fingers out, lifts you up and presses your back to the shower wall so you're completely trapped against his muscular build

And then he aligns himself to your entrance, his thick tip catching at the edges of your entrance before finally, finally, he sinks all the way in

It's heaven

The way you suck him in, the way your walls flutter around him—you're divine

You shift in his hold, like you're trying to accommodate to the sheer size of him, and it has the plush flesh of your ass grinding right against his balls

He tries to hold back a moan, but part of it escapes him in a gravelly rumble, and you seem to tense around him when it does

With you clinging onto him like this, he doesn't even need to move his hips to fuck himself into you

All he does is lift you up and lower you back down, using your own weight as momentum, and the simple motion already has you whimpering and gushing around his cock

"Fuck, morsel~"

You're making his head spin

He's dizzy, already drunk off your sex

Up and down, up and down, he uses you like a toy, barely flinching from your weight even despite how much you keep squirming

The way you keep jutting your hips against him—like you're either trying to help or just too fucking horny to stay still—is so fucking adorable

Saliva filling his mouth at the temptation of it all—at the temptation of you and those little sounds you keep making and the smell of your arousal and god, just everything that makes you so infuriatingly irresistible—he presses his head into the crook of your neck, trying to hide the fact that he's very much so on the verge of drooling over you

But then he sees it again—sees that mark he left on your skin with his teeth, claiming you as his mate, and even though he should be fucking disgusted that he gave it to you without your consent, it instead has the opposite effect and it makes him snap

His

You're his—it's physically undeniable

It's like the realization really sinks in during the heat of the moment, now that he's too sex-drunk and shameless to care, and something about his instincts and his possessiveness just completely takes over

Animalistically fast and deliciously hard, he fucks into you like an animal in heat

With every thrust, he slams you down onto his cock and jerks his hips up into you, making the flesh of your thighs jiggle from the rush of actions as the smacking of his pelvis against yours fills the room

He's not entirely sure if he's hitting your cervix or your g-spot, too dazed in his fervor to care, but he knows he must be hitting something good because you're screaming for him

And it doesn't take long for your muscles to seize and your body to start shaking uncontrollably, and it's hard to tell because of all the water from the shower, but you're either squirting all over him or just getting really, really messy all of a sudden

His cock pulses and twitches between clenching walls, and you're squeezing him so hard it's almost painful but fuck if the pain doesn't feel good

Your body is so small and so delicate compared to his, but he can't bring himself to have the restraint he normally has

He's done controlling himself—he wants to wreck you

It all gets a bit blurry like it normally does when he loses himself to his instincts

The next thing he knows, he has you bent over the bathroom sink in front of the mirror, and the both of you are still dripping from the shower, which is still running in the background, but he couldn't care less

All he cares about is breeding you

He's never felt such a powerful urge to do so like this before

Your shaky hands claw helplessly at the ceramic of the sink, as if that could help you get a grip, but it's no use because he won't stop until he's ruined you

When he looks at your reflection, he finds that your eyes have rolled back and your mouth is parted in a mix of silent screams, broken gasps and dumb babbles of his cock splitting you in half, but that's not what he wants

He wants you to look at him when he pumps the entirety of his load inside you

Which is why, with one hand bruising your thigh to force you in place, force you still for him fuck you open, the other reaches out to grab a fistful of your hair and yank your gaze up

"Look at me, little whore—look at me when I fill you up, when I breed that perfect cunt and make you all mine"

It's like he doesn't have control of his actions or his words because even he barely recognizes that demonic snarl lacing his tone

It almost sounds like he’s threatening you

"Beg, my little bitch, beg for your mate's cum"

It's hard to distinguish any coherent words in your desperate babbling, and even in the unfocused reflection of your eyes, he can tell you're overstimulated, overwhelmed, struggling to accept every inch of his cock brutally pounding into your walls

But watching you struggle to obey him and feeling you struggle around him like writhing prey turns him on so fucking badly

He wants to give it all to you—you deserve to take it all

Which is why, with one final resounding thrust, he sheathes himself all the way inside you, sealing his hips into yours so that his cock is as deep as it'll go

You're on the very tip of your toes, the whole weight of your body supported almost solely by his pelvis in order to dig his cock into you

And with an inhuman sound, he finally cums

It feels good

It feels so, so good; better than any other orgasm he's ever experienced

It's like his whole body is alive, thrumming with a rush of adrenaline as ecstasy floods his veins

His body lurches forwards, jaw flexing shut as he somehow manages to resist sinking his teeth into your shoulder blade

And your little whimpers and gasps are just as fucking cute as ever

His orgasm is long and hard, and even after his high has reached its peak, he stays sheathed inside you

He's thoroughly wrecked your body; he can tell by how limp you've gone, letting yourself be held up only by him and the counter and nothing else

And he realizes he should pull out, give you a moment to rest and offer any and all aftercare you might need

But he doesn't want his cum to spill out of you

He wants to stay connected to you for as long as possible

And after all, why shouldn't he?

You're his mate

[hughiecampbelle]

Healing (Roman Roy Oneshot)

Character/s: Roman

Word Count: 1,576

Inapired By: Amusing by Genevieve Stokes

Warning/s: self harm, self harm scars, self harm mention

A/N: Just a silly little therapy fic. Back in my "Roman Roy is my husband" phase lol. I will get back to writing and posting and requests, my brain is just acting up and I think my meds need to be adjusted. Things are getting serious with the LSATs coming up and applying to law school. I'm taking a couple classes at the local community college with law and fiction writing (so my fics will hopefully get better lol). Scars are nothing to be ashamed of no matter what they come from and I hope you know that my loves 💕

Your love was bruise-like: healing, but oh so tender. Place your fingerprints atop it, apply the slightest bit of pressure, and an ache would form from the heart of it. Beating. Pulsing. Changing, too. Adapting. In its infancy it was pink and chewy, at times (in certain lighting) red and bloody. Crude, you used to call him. An anomaly. Strange, this stranger, with his defenses up, his walls built. His words are needy, but his body is repulsed by the idea of love, of holding. Gory, you used to think, before it settled. Settled into a deep blue, a purple, a dark, cool tone atop the skin. An irresistible want the way your tongue finds a gap between your teeth, playing with the gummy socket. Hurting, you’d think, but less so. Ripe, the word comes to mind with a certain sweetness. Give it time. Give him time. Shared moments between meetings, calls, emails. A joke here and there just to get you to smile. One or two dates. Casual. It was only meant to be casual. The tone warms into a green, a yellow, blooming under the flesh like a spill. Of what? You’re not entirely sure. Still nothing to cry over. An affection developing for it, for him, one you cannot quite name, but feel for regardless. More than friends, more than casual, that much is clear. Between here and there you became official. Introduced not as an employee, but someone to share dinner with, attend parties and vacations. Someone trapped in family photos where he is silly and unserious. Between here and there the yellow, so potent, so pigmented, fades until there is little sign of anything wrong. Moved in together. Move up in the company. Your clothes mixed with his in the washing machine, tumbling together in the dryer. Your things melded with his: indistinguishable. A life not of two, but of one. Together. You press, and wait, and sometimes you still want it to hurt, to throb, but mostly you are content with the way things have played out.

It’s the softness of his cologne. The sharpness of your hair dye. Toxic, you think, chemical, though you love it anyways. The dust from the heaters, off for so long it stirs up that familiar scent of time passed without even noticing. There are others, too. Fabric softener, various candles, soaps and shampoos. Hints of him, of you. The front door shuts behind you and you are enveloped in warmth. Outside the snow falls in fat, round flakes and the cold kisses your cheeks the whole way home. You consider yourself grateful. Every day. Every time you walk through this door, every time you are greeted by warmth and safety and security. Nothing bad has ever happened here. Nothing will. That is not a fallacy or lie you say to yourself like you used to, so many years ago. This is true. Whatever, and whoever is out there cannot get to you in here. They cannot scold you. They cannot sexualize you. They cannot strip you of your home or sense of security. In here, this place, this home, you are in control. You have a say. This place is your domain and you may do whatever you please. 

You hang up your jacket, dropping your bag. You can hear his patter far away, humming to himself, unaware of your presence. Quietly, you make your way to the bedroom, following the buttery light dripping into the hallway. He is a welcomed sight. A sight for sore eyes, you think. Softly you move, your socks lightly across the carpet. Hi, you say. Hey you, he says, startled only slightly. He turns to face you. The button of his shirt is undone, but only one. Instinctively, you reach out, your fingers moving automatically down his torso. His shirt, crisp and white, opens to a t-shirt beneath. Thin, you note, too thin for this cold, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He used to squirm, uncomfortable with the touch of another person, uncomfortable with the idea of being taken care of. You have been together long enough for him to grow used to it, accustomed, welcoming it even. He stands still, his breathing shallow, until you meet his gaze, a smile spreading across your faces. No need to thank me, you joke. Wasn’t going to, he shrugs, placing it on a nearby hanger. 

It is late. The sun has set, though it does so so early. You follow him. You stand beside him, facing your closet, large enough to throw a party from within. Prompt, he speaks about his family: something stupid his brother said, a joke his sister made, and his father. . . well, there were a few kind words. You share your day: meetings mostly. Kudos shared with how technical your work has become. He smiles, listening intently. Praise is given in rations at Waystar. It is not an easy feat to earn. Together you undress, tired from the day, welcoming the quiet of the night. You unzip your pants, letting them fall around your ankles. Your skin prickles in the open air. Scars, mostly, stare back at you. Old and new, healing and trying to. Patterned. Stitched, like that of a quilt. He does not take a second glance. They, like the rest of your skeletons, had been exposed a long time ago. In return, he plucked his bones from under the bed, scattering them out where you could look and touch and learn. He has never started. Not then, not now. Your words are muffled by your shirt, pulling it over your head. I couldn’t believe they actually liked. . . In nothing but your undergarments and yet, perhaps foolishly, doing so unafraid. 

More scars. 

There is nowhere else to truly look at them, see them as they are, except this place. Not just this room, though these walls have seen more of you than any other. The kitchen where you can cut up vegetables with your forearms out. The pool where you let the sun warm all of your skin, diving into the water, fearing only the cold and not what others might say. The couch you sit and work without pants on, your legs stretched and tangled with his. There is no person or place that offers the same kind of comfort, the same kind of radical acceptance as him. He’d noticed them, of course. A sleeve rolling down when you’d fetch printer ink on the top shelf, back when those kinds of things were part of your job description. The change from work to party attire, the transition daunting, at times impossible, as more skin was seen as acceptable. Back when the bruise was still gnawing. He’d stare, just as everyone else had, politely saying nothing, waiting until your back was turned. The more he sees, the more frequent you undressed in his presence, the less interesting they seemed until, finally, he could go from subject to subject without so much as a glance, choosing to poke fun at Tom and Greg, their odd yet delicate dynamic, instead. 

Hidden from the rest of the world, this is the only company you let them show. Shameful, or, worse, sickening. They wouldn’t understand. They don’t, and so you keep them beneath fabric. You do what you can to minimize the attention. Did I tell you what Kendall did today? Grab something warm to put on, to sleep in, just as he has done. You shake your head, grateful for the smooth fabric against your body. Your skin does not hum the way it used to, alive and breathing and begging. Loud, you think, screaming, even. Okay, so. . .  It whispers. That you cannot avoid, but you can ignore the best you can. When you are done you turn to him, wanting him to know you’re listening, plucking an eyelash from his cheek and making a wish in the process.

His hands move as he speaks and you cannot help but watch them dance. Frantic, you think, and you wish to soothe him, but for now you must listen. You will laugh as you always do. He paints a picture of absurdity and humor, fitting for his brother and all his intricacies. He’ll tell you he ordered takeout from that one place you like around the corner. You’ll take out plates and silverware, pour something old and red into two glasses. You’ll sit together and swap containers, praising the new recipes. You’ll feel full and warm and grateful, watching him instead of the television. The way his chest rises and falls. The brightness of his eyes. His laugh, like music to your ears. You will stay up and work, your computer screen blue and hazy. When it is late and he cannot keep his eyes open, you will go to bed. Sleeping soundly beside one another, just to repeat the cycle again tomorrow. For now, though, you listen. You watch his lips turn upwards as he pokes fun at his brother, the highs and lows he falls into, putting on a show before everyone's eyes. The bruise has healed. The color faded until you can no longer distinguish it. You brace yourself when you touch it, afraid, though there is little to fear nowadays. There is little to worry about, to anticipate, for it is you and him in your home, your life built imperfectly. Lopsided, crooked even, but better than you would have ever expected.

[gintrinsic-writing]

Twilight was a no-good filthy traitor. Legend hoped a bird shit on his head, or that he had to walk with wet socks, or that all of his hair burned off during the next monster fight. It would only serve him right.

“He looks like he’s plottin’ my demise,” Twilight muttered in an aside to Hyrule.

“Because I am,” Legend bit out, only keeping his voice down so the others didn’t wake. If there was any mercy to be found, it was that Twilight hadn’t told anyone else yet. Goddess knows that would only make things worse.

Hyrule took a slow, deep breath—bracing himself, or maybe out of patience. Legend didn’t know him well enough to say, yet. For a healer, he was surprisingly prickly at times. “We’re only concerned, Legend. Let us help you.”

“And I’m telling you, there’s nothing to help.”

“Twilight said he’s seen you wearing those rings every night.” Hyrule glanced at Legend’s fingers pointedly. “We recognize them. You once mentioned they’re for healing.”

“So what?” Legend snarked.

“So quit being a stubborn bastard and tell us where you’re hurt,” Twilight grumbled, voice just shy of too loud. “You wouldn’t wear ‘em without reason. You’ve said yourself you don’t like wastin’ magic.”

“They’re passive,” Legend sighed, then held up his hands when they both scoffed and opened their mouths to argue. “Why can’t you simply trust me to handle my own shit?”

“Because you’re not on your own now,” Hyrule argued. “We’re a team, and if you’re hurting when one of us can help—”

“Good Three, are you deaf?” Legend snapped in a whisper. “I already said you can’t!”

Hyrule’s ears flattened, and he lowered his gaze. Legend instantly felt like shit.

“Prove it, then,” Twilight said. “Let him do a quick scan, and if there’s truly nothing, we’ll apologize and leave you alone.”

Legend wanted to throw something. He half-considered shoving Twilight just to have an outlet for some of his frustration, but the farm boy was built like a brick shithouse. Probably wouldn’t do Legend the courtesy of budging. “You know what? Fine. Since you’re incapable of respecting my privacy, fine.”

They both looked chastised, but not enough to stop them from taking advantage of Legend’s reluctant acquiescence. Hyrule stepped forward—and wasn’t that its own sharp discomfort, allowing someone into his space without bristling—and placed glowing hands near Legend’s head and chest. For a moment, the only sound was the crackle of the camp fire. Then Hyrule made an unhappy sound in the back of his throat.

“Your right knee…”

As if on cue, an ache shot up through Legend’s leg. “Old ACL tear.”

“It didn’t heal well.”

“No.”

Seconds passed, Hyrule chewing on his lower lip. “What about your back?”

“Nerve damage after a fall.”

Twilight winced. “How high?”

Legend bitterly recalled the unforgiving rocky slopes of Tal Tal Heights. “High,” he answered curtly.

Hyrule shifted his hands. “Your hip—was it dislocated?”

“Mhm. Lynel clipped me.”

“It’s not… Your socket must’ve been damaged as well. It’s not a great fit.”

“I’m aware.”

“And your left ankle?” Hyrule asked quietly. “A fracture?”

“I didn’t have time to set it properly. Had to chug a potion and run.” He figured it went without saying that the alternative would’ve been much worse.

Hyrule frowned. “There’s some scarring in your lungs. Does it hurt to breathe?”

A small raft, a large storm. Choking on salt water as waves crashed overhead. Waking up on Koholint, convinced he must’ve drowned— “Not enough to matter.”

“I see…” Hyrule suddenly took Legend’s left hand in both of his. He was so, so gentle. It made Legend want to hide under a rock. “Can you feel anything in your palm?”

“Besides pins and needles?” Legend shrugged. “Hardly. Burn went too deep.”

Twilight shifted uncomfortably where he stood. “Hyrule, can you heal any of this?”

Hyrule hesitated, then took a step back, letting go of Legend’s hand. “I can try but…” He shook his head sadly. “There’s so much more. So many little traumas that healed wrong, or weren’t addressed in time. Some of your joints are relying on scar tissue for support to function. The arthritis alone, it—I can’t even imagine. Oh, Legend, I’m so sor—”

“I know,” Legend hissed, feeling his face burn with embarrassment. “I fucking know, but you both insisted, and—and there’s nothing to be done, is there? Nothing to do but deal with it, like I always have.” He scoffed, fidgeting with one of his rings. “Only now, you know how broken I am. Congratulations, I guess. I’m proof of what it means to be the goddesses’ favorite.”

Twilight reached out, probably intending to offer comfort, but Legend flinched away. He wasn’t sure why he’d said that last bit. He wished he could take it back. “Just… please,” he started, too tired and ashamed to keep up his anger. “Give me some privacy, and don’t tell the others. Can you at least do that for me?”

Twilight finally looked appropriately regretful. Too bad it didn’t make Legend feel any better. “Of course, Ledge,” he murmured. “And I’m—truly, I’m sorry for pryin’.”

“It’s fine,” Legend said, which wasn’t true, but it was better than “whatever” or “you should be.” He thinks they understood anyway.

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

How would the main 10 react if they were sleeping in the same bed as an S/O who had a nightmare, and when they woke up was scared of the skelly for just a moment? Like who would be offended vs. just concerned? Sorry if this has been asked before! I thought I looked hard enough.

Undertale Sans - Definitely concerned. He knows what bad nightmares are. He waits for you to calm down before slowly asking if you want to discuss it. Sans is good at finding words to comfort you so you two can go back to sleep.

Undertale Papyrus - He's very concerned. He lived this scenario a lot with Sans already, so he doesn't mind you being a bit scared. He pats your back until you feel better then starts to talk about random things to change your ideas.

Underswap Sans - He jumps a little at your stare but doesn't take offense more than that. He's just relieved you're ok. Now, he's not the best at comforting people, but he tries some bad jokes to change your ideas.

Underswap Papyrus - He hugs his S/O tight until they're fine again. Honey is a bit concerned, but he knows how bad nightmares can be. He shows he's there for you and will keep you in his arms until you fall back asleep.

Underfell Sans - It hurts a bit, but it's not important. Red can tell you're not ok right now and he prefers to focus on that. He asks you if you're ok, and then awkwardly pets your back or your head to comfort you. He's not sure he's doing it right, but he's trying.

Underfell Papyrus - It definitely hurts. He was about to hug you but he freezes at your reaction and then decides to give you some space. He's unsure what to do or say as he's not sure if he did something wrong. He simply stays in bed, sitting next to you, waiting to see if you're going to reject him or accept his help. You decide.

Horrortale Sans - He's not awakened enough to notice honestly. Eye sockets half closed, he grabs your arm and kinda yanks you against him. He then starts to purr to soothe you while he falls back asleep, hugging you tightly.

Horrortale Papyrus - He acts like nothing happened because you're clearly distressed and simply comforts you like usual. You understand at his stress baking the rest of the day that he actually noticed a lot and that it made him very insecure about himself. Willow doesn't want to bother you by talking about it so he kinda bottled his feelings.

Swapfell Sans - You getting spooked of him actually spooked him and he punched you in the face instinctively as a defense mechanism lol. Well, at least you're back asleep very fast. You're a bit confused when you wake up with a headache a few hours later.

Swapfell Papyrus - Uh. He's a bit nervous and just boops your nose hoping to stop that scared expression in your eyes. Come on, bud, it's just little old' him, nothing to be scared about. Rus is strangely a little more silent than usual that day.

Fellswap Gold Sans - "Are you going to stop staring at me like that tonight or tomorrow?" Ah... Wine and his legendary compassion. He's a bit grumpy that you woke him up and just turned his back on you to go back to sleep lol. Go see Coffee if you want comfort, he's not helping for sure.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - He looks behind him in fear, thinking you saw a monster behind him or something and just... stares in confusion. As there's nothing there. Uh. Ok. Now he's scared to. So how about you two hug until you both forget what just happened?

[quill-firefly]

A Reflection of Nothing in You (SG TFOne Fanfic)

Sort of a prequel to this and also based off of my other post because the holiday prep has slowed down a bit and I felt like writing something otherwise I might explode. I really should probably focus on the games I'm playing but I just love writing too much lmao

So have this, more of my SG TFOne!Megatron being a Medic for the Decepticons propaganda /j (okay the reason he's in this role is cause I don't think he would have had a reason to take the leadership from SG!Starscream and well the Decepticons might need a scientist/medic cause they all seem to be military mechs - though I'm sure they probably do have a medic among them... surely).

“Is that your cannon, or are you just excited to see me?”

If that question had been posed before the procedure, Megatron may have been agitated enough to shoot the mech in the chassis. The words themselves were enough to send disgust through his processor, but it was because of the question rather than who had asked it. The lack of reaction in his blue optic must have caught the other mech’s attention since he froze, giving Megatron the opportunity to slam the end of the cannon against that purple helm. With the other mech stunned, he quickly moved away.

There was a tense silence, even with the ongoing chaos around them. Megatron took a moment to turn his optic away, catching a glimpse of Thundercracker and Skywarp as they attempted to carry an unconscious Starscream from the battlefield. Truthfully, Megatron had been prohibited from entering the battlefield after his recent stunt. However, as the medic, he found that disobeying Commander Starscream’s order was necessary if they wanted to keep more Decepticons alive. Besides, how could he have stayed inside the base when the communication lines were blaring the same message over and over?

‘Commander Starscream has fallen! Fall back!’

He genuinely thought his wings would crack at how fast he had flown over. Fortunately, it had merely been a misreport. The axe had taken most of the chassis off, but the spark was still intact. If he had been a second later, maybe the Decepticons really would have lost their leader. Luckily, as per usual, his presence on the battlefield was always enough to distract the mad Prime from pursuing who he had been fighting. His relief for Commander Starscream was short-lived though as he was left alone with the Prime. No other mech would dare to intervene now.

“Your optic…” It was whispered so quietly that he’d nearly missed it. Megatron trained it back towards the mech before him, a sort of indignation rising in his spark. But not at the Prime, no, it was only a reaction to the audacity of this mech to mention his optic when he was the cause why one was missing in the first place. Even now, it was difficult to look at the other without focusing on the singular blue optic on the Prime’s faceplate. His optic that the other mech had torn from its socket. “Do you recognize me, Dee?”

Although he knew the carnage around them was because of the Prime’s inability to relinquish power, Megatron could almost understand what his old self saw in Optimus Prime. Maybe there was still a part of the Prime’s spark that was Orion Pax. Surely there was, because why would he have created reprogramming to rid himself of the feelings he’d held for the other mech? If Orion Pax had truly died, then his old self would have had no reason to hold on. He would have had no reason to commit such an unethical act to free himself from the sparkbreak.

“My memory circuits are intact, Prime. I know who you are.” He kept the cannon trained on the mech in front of him. The emotional part of him was aware that there was something inherently wrong about the emptiness in his spark. He was missing a crucial component inside him. The memories of their past were still there in his processor, but there was nothing to feel - as though the memories were merely flashing images. “You were once Orion Pax, maybe you still are, but that doesn’t matter anymore. You are nothing more than the enemy of freedom to me.”

There was a tense silence before the Prime began to stomp his way towards him. He didn’t hesitate, firing off a singular shot that the other mech immediately dodged. The Prime didn’t dare get any closer, instead, his mouthplate opened - showing how hard the other mech was venting. The Prime’s red and blue optics had softened, even if they still held lingering traces of anger. They flickered to the rest of the Decepticons still left on the field, as if searching for someone to blame. Then, his gaze was drawn back to him. “Dee… what have they done to you?” 

“According to my memories, you always insisted we should not be afraid to do what we want. That it is our right to… be more than what we are and that we should make our own choices.” His tone was even, unable to feel a hint of guilt despite shooting at a mech his old self had once loved. The emptiness in his spark was unbearable, but Megatron had no way of reversing the procedure - not that he wished to do so. “Why do you try to deflect the blame instead of believing that I made this decision myself, Prime?”

“Because you wouldn’t dare—” The Prime growled out through gritted dentas. A disbelieving smile appeared on the other mech’s faceplate, his servos twitching by his sides as though he wanted to pull Megatron closer - either to keep him in his arms or shake him, Megatron was not quite sure. His memories of the other mech were confusing. At some points, Orion Pax had been rather clingy. In others, he was rather pushy. “You wouldn’t dare… Come on, Dee. A mech like you? We both know you wouldn’t do something so cruel to anyone. I thought that was my job, remember?”

“I distinctly remember calling you cruel.” He nodded. His old self must have been desperate if he had resorted to reprogramming technology. If the emptiness in his spark was unbearable, Megatron had to wonder what the sparkbreak must have felt like. He wondered if it was the same reflected pain that was on the Prime’s face, as though he had lost something he could never get back. “Understand that the me before you feels nothing for you, but I believe my old self loved you very much. He must have if he was willing to break his own moral code.”

The Prime had closed his optics, letting Megatron’s words wash over him. Then those optics opened, and the mouthplate was back on. “A new technology you created then?”

“I created it, yes.” Megatron started to back off, seeing from the corner of his optic that most of the Decepticons were beginning to retreat. He could hear his own communication device beeping rapidly, an order to fall back.

The Prime followed slowly after him, those optics trained on his faceplate. “Care to share?”

A rueful smile found its way to his dermas. “So you could use it for your own selfish gains? I’d rather you take out my other optic than ever give you the blueprint.”

“Oh Dee, I wouldn’t use it for selfish reasons.” The other mech had the audacity to laugh. “I only want to fix you.”

“You’d only make me worse.”

He turned while indiscriminately taking a singular shot at the mad Prime again. He didn’t know if he hit his target, having already transformed into his alt and flying away.

Now that he had properly met the Prime after the procedure, Megatron couldn’t help but worry that his apathy would only make the other mech more wrathful.

[justjams2003]

Over-ripe

I fear...people are going to be a bit upset with me for starting a new story and not updating any of my other ones... But I have to go where the old man obsession takes me! And I fear this time it's bad...those who follow my second blog know...

So, here is my vision. You've heard of Big Daddy Elvis (BDE). And you've heard of vampire!Elvis. So please all imagine for me, Alpha!Big Daddy Elvis.... I fear the brainrot has me...

Summary: After an exhausting night, overwhelmed by the crowd and meds, Elvis stumbles onto the wrong floor. Where he finds an omega, innocent, sweet like over-ripe fruit, ready to be plucked.

Pairing: Alpha!Big Daddy Elvis x Omega!Innocent!reader

Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat. Omegaverse, grooming (kind of), reader just barely 18, talk of: heats, ruts, scent glands, rutting, scenting, fated mates. Over-protective, obsessive. Innocent reader. Toxic/abusive father, gambling addiction. Alcohol, drugs. Talk of divorce, mentioning Priscilla. Tell me if I missed any.

Word count: 4,4k+ unedited

Dividers by:@mmadeinheavenn and @crylynnluv

Everything is spinning like one of those damn globes on a stand. The music, it all just sort of becomes one big blur of a ringing sort of noise. The pheromones of a million horny teenage omega is just the thing to send an alpha like him into overdrive. The sweat drips in his eyes and as the people cheer his name but, he can only curse the name of one. 

That damned so-called Doctor Nick got the dose wrong again or something. Because this feels like a migraine had a love child with a hungover and birthed the damned throbbing sensation in his head.

Doctor Nick was supposed to suppress his senses and now it only feels heightened by a million. What only makes it worse is the people begging for his attention after the show. Clinging to him more than the sweat clings to his hairy stomach. 

"Sonny, God damn it, would yah leave me alone. All of yah!" His temper flares as a thick Southern rumble comes from him. His entourage all jump back, realising that the charming smile he gave on stage was as fake as it could come today.

He has no control over his alpha voice and everyone around him preens, baring their neck in submission. Not that he didn't love when people begged for his attention, except only when it didn't feel like someone was dead set on killing him. 

His feet drag across the carpet floor and in his messy haze he chooses 3 instead of 30. The white LED lights match the colour of the rows and rows of doors. And right now, he couldn't give a damn if he was on some random floor he didn't entirely recognise. Instead, he just sort of slumps down against the wall. His stage outfit feels entirely too tight, and he claws around his bulge hoping for some sort of relief. 

His head hangs in between his knees as chest heaves. Like his heart is going to explode. How long he sits there, he has no clue. But only when his hearing comes back it's sharply interrupted with a loud frustrated yell. And then the harsh slamming of the door. He doesn't bother to raise is head as his voice rumbles out. 

"Would you stop it with that damn hollering!" But it's more a command than anything, and his words are met with a sharp inhale. His head very slowly and carefully raises, he expected some sort of fight back for his command. Or at least some sort of faffing about his name.

But his heart is quickly grabbed and twisted right out of his socket when his eyes meet with ones so big and watery. 

A scent of an omega, so sickly sweet he hasn't smelled anything like it before. Like an over-ripe mango in the middle of summer. Nice and cold from the fridge, cooling your insides from the summer eat. The type you have to eat like the sloppy animal you are. Your teeth ripping into the soft flesh. The juices cover your mouth and drip-drip-drip down to your sweaty chest. Your hands a vibrant orange colour from the sweet nectar. And even days later when you lick your lips you can taste mango and nothing else. 

And suddenly the ringing fades away as he feels guilt stab through him for yelling at something so fragile looking. A girl, but a little thing compared to him, sort of slumps down against the door, same as he had. She pulls her knees up against her chest and then fiddles with the hem of her much too short dress.

"I-I'm sorry sir, I didn't know- I didn't think of- um-" She sort of stutters out an apology. Along with the honey covered fruit smell, she reeks of a beta. All around her like someone pissed on her feet to mark their scent.  

But he just can't seem to find himself to care all too much about the weak response. "What's got you all fussy?" The alpha in him instantly wanting to coddle the little omega.

He leans his back against the wall as he rests his hands on his wide spread legs. Almost as if he's making himself bigger for the little girl to either be scared of him, or trust him, he doesn't entirely know yet. His chest puffs out and he licks his sharp teeth. She might reek of another man but he's quick to notice no mating mark.  

"My papa, he's being a big... meanie." He almost had to stifle a laugh, that was most definitely not the response he was expecting. This 'papa' must be the one protecting or, or at least trying to, with his gasoline scent. "And why's that, little one?" Elvis asks, fighting off his iconic side smirk as he truly takes her in. As cute as a button, but with the body of a woman and yet dressed in something clearly not age appropriate. 

"That's just the thing. I ain't so little no more. I just turned 18, I'm a big girl. He brings me to Vegas. I thought that meant I could do yah know, what grown ups do." Her voice rambles, still playing with the hem of her too short dress. He can see her cute little pink panties showing but she doesn't seem to realise it. Or at least if she does, she doesn't seem to know it's a bad thing. He spreads his legs wider, hoping for some relief. 

"And what would that be?" Elvis can see when he just opens his mouth, a light dusting of pink falls on her cheeks before falling away again. "Yah know..." She mumbles, but it's clear that she isn't entirely all too sure. "No I don't, you'll have to tell me." His voice is coated with a condescending tone however it doesn't register with her. Instead she just sort of leans her neck to the side, already submitting to him. Such a weak little thing. No fight either.  

Her front two teeth capture her bottom lip before letting it go with a pop. He can see her small little canines and his subconscious mind immediately thinks of how tiny her mark would look on his shoulder.

 "Yah know... Talking about grown up stuff and dancing, all in pretty, fancy clothes." Elvis supposed that it could definitely be seen like that to someone like her. He however doesn't really want to break this bubble that she lives in and just nods, showing her to continue. 

"But he won't let me. Just tells me that he's got himself into trouble with dangerous men and that I can't go out. What's that gotta do wit' me?" Things seem to slowly fall in place for the famous rock star. A gambling addict, in debt to one of the many mafia that seem to run this place. Trying to keep such a frigid omega safe. But clearly, this little one needs an alpha like him. To mark her, let the whole world know she’s his. "He's right. Vegas ain't all that they make it out to be." 

She huffs, clearly not liking this answer and her tongue moves again. "How would you know? You ain't Elvis Presley." Now... now he really can't stop himself from smiling. "How would yah know, little girl?" Again, like before, she gets all wide-eyed when he uses a pet name like that. "My papa tells me Elvis is...is...a delinquent. Whatever that is... And a, uh, sexual deviant. And well, I don't really know what either o' those mean but I know yah ain't either of them." 

An earthy deep rumble laugh escapes him. "Aren't yah just something?" He mumbles, shaking his head. Usually he'd be pissed off that someone would go around saying stuff like that about him. But the way she stumbles over the big words that don't register in her mind can only make him laugh. She so needs someone to take care of her. "And why would somethin' like yah want to go out in Vegas? Doin' all these adult thangs?" 

She looks down, slightly embarrassed by his laugh. But also entirely unsure about this hot feeling that tickles her stomach when he laughs like that, or talks like that, or looks at her like that. Or this sticky substance that she feels coating her thighs.

"I like dancin'. But Papa don't like the way I dance, he don't like me dancin'. Says I'll end up becoming just like that Elvis fellow if I dance. But, a big girl like me should be able to do what she wants." 

She sounds so sure of herself and now Elvis really has to see this dancing she's talking about. "Well, I suppose so. But if a sweet thing like you goes around doin' what she wants in a big girl place likes this, she'd get taken advantage of." Just like he's about to do now. But he just can't resist bringing this little thing out and seeing the look on her face as he corrupts her. Safe her for himself, make her see the way he wants. She’s so easily could be moulded into his. 

She tilts her head to the side, like a confused puppy. Damn this damn costume really is too tight now. He stands, trying to adjust himself without her noticing.

"How about this, little girl. If your Papa leaves you all on your own again, you find the nearest elevator, m'kay?" Elvis speaks, a commanding, dominant, alpha tone in his voice as he points to her where to go. He knows the best gambling times are right before and during his shows, there are less people in there then. The Colonel is always gone at these times too... 

Like an obedient dog she nods her head, looking up at him. Wide eyes swimming with the sweetness her scent carries. "Then you gon' press the button for the very highest floor. Once you're there, don't get scared when a big lookin' guy asks what yah lookin for. Just tell 'em that Aron is lookin' for his little lamb. Alright? He should show you 'round then. Alright?" She quickly scrambles to her feet. 

She nods her head frantically, wiping her sweaty palms on her little dress, since everything suddenly just feels so hot. Elvis is quick to see the way her thighs rub together, a smirk falls on his lips and it takes everything in him not to groan. To not fuck her right here on the hotel floor and mark her as his.

What’s going on? He didn’t even mark Priscilla. He never felt this impossibly crazy, like a real fucking animalistic need to make her his...this just has to be something more. 

"Okay Sir. And that's your name then? Aron?" Elvis winces slightly. He doesn't like people calling him that. Sounds like his mama is scolding him all over again. But he also, really, for now, doesn't want her to know who he really is. She’d sigh away, hearing what her father said about him. "It's uh my second name, I don't want you quite knowing my name yet, dollface. I gotta go now though. But you'll be a big girl and do as I ask?" 

Her teeth find her bottom lip again as she fights off the whimper that threatens to escape her when he says something like that. Her pink lips become even pinker when her wet tongue grazes it. She leans against the door handle, needing some sort of support to keep herself up, as she nods, showing she'll listen. He gives his iconic smile. "Alright, good girl. See yah then."  

The girl gently slides open the door. The smell of alcohol is strong in this little rented hotel room. But she doesn't care. She leans against the door, a big smile forms on her face and she lets out a dreamy sigh.

Her thighs clench together when she thinks about that southern drawl of his again. And she just can't help but wonder if it was fated for her to meet this beautiful big man. 

He'll be damned. He didn't think that there was anyone left who didn't know what he looked like. Much less what he sounded like. His voice is just about everywhere these days and if she didn't recognise him at all it means he has discovered a gem he's been searching for. Someone who didn't treat him like the great Elvis Presley, but instead like some man. 

And even if he is just some man to her, she looks up at him like he's got some way to grab the sun an the moon down for her. Even if they've only just met. And then, right on time exactly as he had thought he smells her before he hears a faint knock in the door. Shy and gentle, almost afraid the wood of the door might hurt her. He calls for her, his voice is like raw honey. Deep baritone alpha that he is. 

He sees her head just barely peak out into the very dimly lit room. He can't help but let a lob sided smirk fall on his face. Just seeing her wide eyes, worried that everything about this might just be wrong. He holds out his arm, resting it on the backrest of the sofa.

"C'mere darlin'." She slowly closes the door and like a little mouse crawling towards a piece of cheese she steps towards him. He's quick to grab onto her tiny little dress, pulling her closer to him until her thigh is pressed against the outside of his leg. 

She's already hot, he can feel it. He can't help but wonder when her next heat would be. Or if she's ever even had one, surrounded by her beta father all the time. And even if she had, he knows the sudden exposure to his smell is sure to bring it on soon enough. He gives it give or take a week, if he has to guess. 

He's leaning back, his legs wide spread like the man he is. He's already in his stage outfit, just like she saw him last time. Her hair is tangled and he's sure if he were to check, the label of her dress would read "14-15 years." His hands trail up and rest on her hip, just wanting to keep her here. Keep her close. He could do so much for her. Make her so happy. 

"I wanna show yah somthin', but yah gotta promise not to be mad, darlin'." Her face contorts and her head tilts to the side like a confused puppy. "Why would I get mad?" He lets out a slight sigh and then readjusts his pants. She's just too damn adorable for her own good. He wants to grab her into his arms and kiss her until she's squealing his name.  

But he doesn't. Instead he licks his lips and speaks again. "You'll see, baby, you'll see." She hides her bottom lip in her front two teeth making her look like a little bunny. "Now, you wanna go like this or you want me to find yah somethin' else?" Then she let's go of her bottom lip and pushes it out in a pout.

She looks down, fiddling with the hem. "What's wrong with this?" Again he just sort of sighs, looking at how the dress is full of holes and sits just barely below her round bottom. 

"Well, don't get me wrong, sweet thing, I really don't mind this look on yah. And I'll give the dress back to yah. But I gotta take care of yah, since your papa is away. An' I don't want men looking at this body of yers. Your Papa would be very upset." She bites her lip again, tearing away at the plump skin. He just can't help himself but take her chin and pull the lip out from he violent teeth. 

Then slowly she nods her head, her head tilts to the side. "You talked to my Papa?" She asks, at least she has some sense of defence. "Oh yeah," Elvis lies, taking her delicate little hands in his. So mini, just like everything else of her. Softly squishing the small pads right below each finger on her palm. Slowly tracing higher on her wrist. His fingertips letting out as much of his scent as he can. That intoxicating sugary smell fills his nostrils.  

"He said he wanted me to take care of yah, while he's busy." Her doe eyes follow his fingers, fully entranced. He can’t help but bring her wrist to his lips. Soft, so soft.  She doesn't even question when he talked to his father, or what he’s doing, just sort of nods.

"A-alright. Gotta listen to yah." A smile prickles his cheeks when she says that. "Yes, exactly, sweet pea, now you understand." And his grin grows even wider when she preens for him. 

Elvis smiles and nods, slowly standing up and walking to his closet. He gives her a once over, hell, he'll have to find some of 'Cilla's old clothes, give it a better scent that Priscilla’s overwhelming Iris smell that still lingers all these years. In any case, that might be all he can find that would fit her. He rummages through and suddenly takes a sharp breath when he finds it. A wide smile across his face as he holds it up for her to see.  

Frilly pink dress from when 'Cilla was your age. And the moment this little girl sees it, she gets sparkles in her eyes. She bounces on her feet and he can see her hands are eager to grab at it. "Yah like it, little one?" Too excited to say anything, she just rapidly nods. She’s holding herself back as much as she can. 

Elvis hands the dress to her, she's so so careful with it. And he knows his scent is all over it, he's likely rutted into that dress a few times. After he tries to comfort himself after the divorce. Savour all of the flowery smell he’s now all too glad to get rid of. So he just smiles when she raises the dress to her nose, taking soft breaths.

He sees the sweat bead on her forehead and she stutters, not understanding what's happening to her. He frowns, that shouldn’t be happening yet. 

He then points to the bathroom, "Go on, put it on." It's almost as if she jumps into the bathroom. A low wolf whistle escapes him when she steps out in the pink frilly dress. She blushes like a sweet little strawberry made just for him to feast on. Rip into with his sharp canines.  

"My, my, little thing...I'm gonna have to fight off the other men." He chuckles, his hands slowly finding her arms, his thumbs rubbing up and down. Somehow she becomes even pinker and it takes everything in Elvis not to lock her away right now.

"Now c'mere, let me brush yer hair." This time she doesn't ask questions, just nods and follows as he puts her down on the soft matted floor in front of a bed. He takes his brush and begins slowly brushing.  

"I never did catch your name, little one." He mumbels, his hands slowly parting your hair in different sections. Making sure to 'accidently' graze your scent gland. Making sure his leather scent will stay. He loves the way your whole body shivers. And the name you give him too, sweet as the a honeysuckle. But he'll likely still prefer a cute nickname, how else will he get you all fussy? "An' you're an omega, right?" 

Elvis is caught completely off guard when she tilts her head to the side. "What's that?" Bless the moon goddess above, Elvis shifts his hips forward. Almost resting his knee on your shoulder, loving the way you take deeper breaths.

He bites down on his lip and looks up at the mirrored ceiling. Trying to keep himself from taking her right now. And the damn suit is too tight again. "Yah don't know...?" She blushes and fiddles with the ruffles of her new dress.  

"Papa homeschooled me. I don't know much of much." She says, quite ashamed of this but Elvis can only smirk. "An' where did yah grow up?" Elvis sees the way she tries to remember the name. "Something Mem...mem..." He chuckles, continueing to brush the knots out of her hair. "Memphis?" She nods, but just barely as to not bother his progress. 

"Why, baby I'm from Memphis. How come I ain't never seen you b'fore?" Again she blushes, "Papa didn't let me out too often." That's an understatement, seeing how she's wearing children's clothes and doesn't even know what a second gender is. "You're killin' me here, baby." She seems terrified of the thought, "O-oh no, I don't want that-" 

He chuckles, placing his large hand on her shoulder. He lets her now brushed out hair fall down. So long, never been cut before. "Don't worry, little omega, I'll teach you." She leans her head back, looking up at him upside down. "Yah will?" She asks, clearly so very hopeful. He nods, caressing her soft round cheeks. "Of course, your Papa asked me too." He lies. 

"Now... everyone... I have a very special guest with me today," Elvis has the mic in hand standing in front of his various band members that keep this show going. They all wait in anticipation for his next word. He moves the mic to the side and turns to you. His arm reaches out as he gently guides you in front of him. "C'mere, little one." 

You squeek, suddenly being at the attention of quite a few people. They all ooh and aah, looking over eachother at the tiny omega with the intoxicating smell. They can tell, Elvis has already scented as much of you as he could without you noticing. The little girl blushes even more when they all peak at her like some pet.

"Now, this little one tells me she likes dancin'." He says, the mic back up to his lips again. "Let's make some music she can dance to." He suggest to them and they holler and cheer at the thought. 

Again he whispers to you. "Don't get all shy in me now. Show me that dancin' you were talkin' 'bout." Elvis speaks, his hand still in your arm. Needing to be touching you somehow at all times. You just nod, taking a gulp already feeling shy. But something in his voice almost forces your body to comply. An overwhelming, demanding need to do whatever he says. 

"Alright, Glen, you gon' start us off." Elvis begins scatting into the microphone, letting the piano player follow his notes. "Get the bass up." They follow his command like he controls them.

"That's alright. That's alright. Any way you do~." The moment he begins singing it's like something comes over him. His legs and hips shaking as he feels the music. And as sure as hell, the same seems to happen to you. 

"Ah, ah, ah, ah," he repeats into the microphone, feeling the groove. "That's alright Mama, that's alright wit' you, that's alright Mama, any way you do~" He directs his words to the sweet little omega he found. Who is moving her hips like she was born to do so. And he's certain if his Mama were here to see it, she'd be crazy about you. 

He can't help but take your hand, spinning you so that your back is against his chest. He grabs your hips and presses it against his. "That's alright, that's alright now mama, any way you do," the way he grabs his southern drawl from the very depth of his stomach makes your gut clench and that stickiness forms around your thighs again. You bite down, really not wanting to ruin your new dress. 

"Now mama she done told me, papa told me too, son that gal' you foolin' with ain't no good for you." His hips jerk in movement with yours and he feels just about 20 years younger in that moment.

Your two bodies move like you've planned this whole thing beforehand. His large hand on your waist, gripping you as your hips move together. As if all his years of fighting for his right to dance on stage has paid off in the form of this cute little omega who moves like she'd been made for him. 

You feel his pudge rest just above the curve of your ass. Something hard pressing against your back and you chase this sort of giddy feeling forming in the bottom part of your body. Like adrenaline is forming in your stomach. And these butterflies that cause your thighs to press together. His smell, you've never smelt anything like it before. Leather, lemon and sandalwood.  

It all comes from this hot and heavy sweat that makes him look so shiny. It bewitches you and makes your vision hazy. Makes you want to press your face in his dripping hairy chest where before you'd cringe at the thought. The urge to lick it up like a dehydrated animal burns under in your belly. You have to bite your tongue to stop yourself. What’s happening? What are these strange thoughts you’re having? 

It’s as if he's burning down all your defences, making you feel things you've never felt before. See things you've never seen them before. Chase after things you never thought to chase before. What is this you're feeling? So hot, so so hot. Burning. His scent is burning you up and the only place that feels cool is where he touches you. 

Elvis notices it immediately. The way your eyes glaze over when you look at him, your breast perk up as if your body is trying to sell itself. And your sickly sweet fruit scent develops into that of intoxicating alcohol.

A sweet gin that you could so easily drink straight from the bottle. No need for tonic. He doesn’t even like alcohol but he needs to taste more. It makes his head swirl and he grips your waist tighter and bends down. 

He presses his nose down into your scent gland. His canines grow, he licks the crook of your neck. No omega or beta or even a weak alpha could notice the change so slightly. But he does, it's like he's gotten the manual to your body and has dedicated his life to studying it. "Come on, baby, give me just a few more hours. Can’t you wait just a bit longer?” 

Elvis begs and pleads and you’re entirely sure what for. Or if you can give him what he wants this time... 

I don't know if I'm going to write a second part, but if I do, comment to be added to that taglist!

[fluffyfanficsonly]

FORK, FORK, I BESEECH YOU WITH MY METAPHORICAL ELECTRIC SOCKET OF A BRAINROT.

If I may request, may it be an imagine with Twilight from Linked Universe spending time with his friend, the reader, before realizing how much he loves them?

Perhaps reader goes with him to collect some ingredients Wild needs for dinner that day. Foraging isn't so bad — and then the reader stumbles upon a flower field. Twilight freaks out a bit, noticing them missing, but finds their collection of plants and herbs set aside, reader laying down amongst the flowers.

I don't know, I'd be happy with whatever else you can think of or if you decide not to do this/let it stew. Thanks so much for hearing me out!!!

BRUH I LOVE THIS SM WHAT.

I COOKED ON THIS

Twilight Realizing He’s In Love With You

Twilight x Gn!Reader

You and Twilight were foraging ingredients for Wild, who was on dinner duty that day. The two of you decided it would be better to split up, since it was late afternoon and the sun would be setting soon.

The two of you had been chatting as you looked for specific ingredients, laughing about some silly thing Wind had done that day. As the laughter subsided, Twilight had felt a sort of disappointment, not hearing your laugh. After processing the thought his face had turned a light pink, along with the tips of his pointed ears.

Twilight has been lost in thought. Standing up after picking some rather fresh Hylianshrooms, he looked around to find that you weren’t in your original spot from before.

He looked around in a panic, adrenaline kicking in, you couldn’t have wandered off too far right? What if a monster had gotten to you and he didn’t notice? What if-

He shook his head, trying to rid himself of such thoughts. He needed to focus, where would you have gone?

As he looked hastily around the area you two had been foraging in, he noticed a familiar sight, sighing in relief as he saw you picking flowers in a nearby open field. You looked so…peaceful, a smile gracing your stunning face. Twilight’s heart swelled in his chest as he strides towards you, smiling almost giddily.

Looking up from where you were picking flowers, your gaze softened as you saw Twilight, wincing inside slightly, hoping you wouldn’t get a lecture from him…again.

“There you are, starlight.” He said softly, your heart speeding up slightly from the nickname he had given you after your first night with the group, being so invested in the stars. You had woken up with a neck cramp the next day from looking up so much. “I thought you were in danger.” He lectured, hands on his hips.

“Sorry, I thought I had told you.” You responded sheepishly, Twilight sighed, shaking his head slightly. “You need to be more careful, we don’t know what exactly is out here.” He doted, looking at the large opening. Speckles of flower patches, the sun starting to set on the horizon.

As the two of you chatted, you both ended up sitting down in the field watching the sunset. As the two of you laughed and joked about old stories, Twilight looked over at you, studying your features. His heart felt like it was beating out of his chest, the orange sunlight outlining your face.

He finally realized what the strange thoughts and feelings he thought he was plagued with. The soft, fuzzy feeling his heart gave him everytime he looked in your direction. He was totally whipped for you, your smile, voice, everything. Everything about it was just so mesmerizing.

You had noticed Twilight had been quiet for a bit, looking over at him. “Is something wrong?” You questioned, tilting your head. Twilight just flashed you a soft, content smile. “It’s nothing.” He sighed, continuing to stare at you as you shrugged it off.

[ancha-aus]

I finished two more chapters of the Real Age editing!! We euh...

Don't talk about how one chapter went from 3600 to 4000... and one went from 3500 to... euh... 7300...

INSTEAD!

Have a sneakpeak!! Of the rewrite! :D

This is from the drabble: Parentalbond Dust.

*-----------------*

Dust watches as some dude bro guy walks through the forest, shouting about how he isn’t scared and to come get him. That he can defeat that creep with his tricks.

“… Why?”

Dust almost didn’t hear the question. Nightmare spoke quietly and just barely above a whisper. When Dust glances at him Nightmare is only just barely looking at him from the corner of his own wide sockets, eye lights big but shaking a tiny bit.

Anxiety? Fear? That are usually things that cause that kind of reaction from the magic that makes up their eyes. People aren’t joking when they say the eyes are the windows to the soul. For most monsters it is very much fact as magic affects their eyes and that comes from the soul.

Dust makes sure to break eye contact by turning towards the phone. He paused the movie as soon as he realised a question had been asked. He turns back slightly towards Nightmare and sees he is a bit more, not relaxed but calm. Mh. Doesn’t like the focus on him? Dust does remember that even as adult Nightmare much preferred to work from the shadows or the backlines.

Dust shrugs “Why the guy is screaming and making himself an obvious target? I don’t know exactly, it is either bad writing or a show that this guy is too confident in himself or just too stupid to realise what will happen to him.”

Nightmare frowns as he looks away “No. I mean… Why… this?”

Dust frowns. He isn’t exactly sure what about the situation he is asking about. He glances at his phone “I mean. I was bored. I figured a movie and some food would be nice…” as a distraction. As a way to pass time. To make sure that Nightmare has energy and food in him. It just… made sense.

Nightmare looks more frustrated for a moment. Glaring at his hands which formed into fists. Shoulders tense as he obviously searches for the right words.

Dust thinks it is very strange. He is so used to Nightmare being well spoken and always aware of what he feels and in turn wants. Nightmare now… just isn’t like this. He is struggling to put his thoughts into words. He is more expressive and the emotions shift easier from one to the other. There is less control, less refined skills.

He is acting like a child would.

…

He is a child… and struggling with the problems and limits that brings him.

Dust can almost feel the shift that follows that thought.

It happened in a second as Nightmare sighs and just looks down as he is mostly lax “Okay.”.

Dust frowns. That is wrong. That isn’t Nightmare accepting something. No, that is the sound of someone who resigns himself to something. Nightmare doesn’t do that. Nightmare keeps asking, Nightmare keeps looking. He wants to know everything and more importantly understand everything. After all of them told their stories he didn’t just accept those as fact. He would keep asking. Asking about details about their thoughts. Everything.

Dust frowns as he remembers the anxiety of before. If he keeps Nightmare’s past in his mind it makes sense. It isn’t like he would be used to having adults listen to him, and when they did Nightmare was an adult. Maybe he needs to prod himself instead?

Dust is so bad at this. Killer should have stayed here, he is much better at this whole conversation thing. Still Dust mutters his question “No. What why?” is that enough? Does that explain what he wants?

Nightmare tugs on his own phalanges. Tugging on the small bones and Dust can hear a soft creaking sound coming from it. Dust is already reaching towards those hands and Nightmare flinches at it.

Neither of them move as Nightmare looks much more panicked as his breathing picked up.

He is… terrified… He is actually terrified.

How… how does he fix this?

A loud laughter “Fix this?! You can’t fix this! Nothing you can do can fix this! These are the consequences of your actions dear brother. You forced a traumatised child to experience more trauma, more abandonment and then took his choices from him. Forcing him to remain by those who clearly don’t care. There is no fixing this. And you deserve to be aware of this.”

No. No he… He can… fix this? Maybe Horror can? Horror is a good brother. Horror could explain and reassure him… Killer knows Nightmare better than any of them. Killer could maybe say something to connect with him. Or Cross!! Cross is trustworthy and a true protector. Maybe Cross can make him feel save.

Dust… Dust can’t do that. Any of it.

Nightmare is still shaking as he stares at him. Frozen. He always froze when he encountered something he didn’t know the answer to. They thought it was to think… Was it to think?

Dust realises he still has his hand out. With some difficulty he slowly pulls it back. Nightmare watches the hand silently. Nothing moves aside from his eye lights, which are only looking at the hand. Dust manages to bring his hand back to the phone and holds unto it, afterwards he just waits.

*----------*

It was a large sneak peak!! :D

[what-have-i-unleashed]

just a quick stop

finally, the full fic of weird fluffy kist that i have been agonizing over...

(cw: violence, minor character death, a bit spicy - lime on the citrus scale)

killer and dust have been trekking through the dark endless space for a while. killer has been chattering nonstop, filling the empty void with his voice, which dust appreciates. were he to be left floundering in the silence, he'd go crazy just like the many unfortunate souls that have stumbled into this non-place.

this "multiverse station" doesn't seem to have an attendant, only an eerie display of monster dust and decayed human bodies scattered sparsely throughout. yet, killer doesn't seem to be deterred a single bit. he's confidently announced that they would get out of here and back on track to their scheduled date in a mobfell universe.

"trust me, honeyboo," killer gestures with his hand waving around like an excited kid. he's leading dust with his other with his other hand nestled in dust's. the handhold is securely warm in contrast to the chilly void. "my intuition is never wrong. we're definitely on the right path."

your boyfriend is a dumbass, brother, papyrus sighs, floating next to dust.

"i know, bro," he murmurs, smirking into his scarf.

killer turns around, as if hearing what he said. "huh? have something to say, dusty?"

"nothing. guide us through this darkness, o wise guy," dust replies.

killer tilts his head, his signature grin widening. "sure thing, lover boy~"

they walk and walk and walk until dust sees something in the far distance - a white light in the black void. killer, still holding his hand, runs towards the light. dust stumbles as he's dragged along. as they get closer to the light, dust can see it is fragments of some sort of dilapidated train station. there sit three wooden benches in various stages of damage. next to one is a sign in an undecipherable language, along with an equally incomprehensible map, probably of the available pathways. a single bright lamp illuminates the area. as killer fawns over the map, dust stands back idly and makes a mistake looking up at the lamp post - he quickly turns away when he realizes there is a white soul trapped inside the lantern, pulsing slowly. fortunately, before dust can think about it, killer whistles at him and beckons him over.

when dust languidly makes over to killer, the hybrid-souled being speaks animatedly, "looks like we're at this stop point," he points to a faded star mark on the map. "if we want to make it to our destination, we can just go straight ahead from here."

killer traces a long-winded path to another symbol on the map. dust doesn't claim to know much about the jumble that is multiverse travel, so he has no choice but to trust his partner.

"but how can we travel to there?" he asks. "your token is out of juice."

killer gives him an impish grin. "we wait."

and so wait they do. the couple rests on the bench nearest to the station sign, with dust sitting in a corner and killer lounging indulgently, wrapping one arm behind dust's shoulders. bored out of his mind, dust pulls out his cigarette pack and puts one in his mouth. he searches for the lighter in his pockets, only to hear a click right next to him. turning to his left, he sees killer holding out the lighter with the flame on, an inviting wink flashing his face. amused, dust leans in to light the end of the cig, keeping his gaze on killer, whose cheshire smile doesn't wane the whole time. dust leans back and lets out a puff of smoke. he can feel killer's gaze on him.

"so, what else can you put in your mouth, bunny?"

dust glances at killer from the corner of his eye socket. the other skeleton is resting his chin on his closed fist, a mischievous grin on his face. dust looks him up and down before replying dryly.

"you're that bored?"

"maybe i am. maybe you should help me entertain myself."

dust scoffs lightly, but still indulges his boyfriend. "you want a fight then?"

"if that fight involves that mouth of yours, then yeah."

without further prompting, killer slides off his seat and crawls into dust's lap, kneeling over his slouching figure. from dust's point of view, the white light from the lamp washes over killer like a soft halo, his face obscured by the darkness, only somewhat lit by that red soul of his. the shape of the soul is wavering somewhere between an upside-down heart and a target, making dust consider killer carefully. extinguishing the cig on the handle of the bench, he slowly reaches his hand to cup killer's cheek.

"this okay?" he asks quietly, to which killer answers, nuzzling into his hand.

"yeah."

dust guides killer down towards him and nips the corner of his mouth, trailing small pecks along the jaw. he feels killer shiver and doubles his efforts, quickly moving his mouth down killer's neck - or at least the parts not covered by killer's turtleneck that is - while helping killer taking his jacket off his body. dust lets his teeth graze near the nape of killer's neck, smirking into the turtleneck when he feels killer grabbing onto his arms and pulling him closer. dust complies, snaking his hand up inside killer's shirt while teasing him with lazy kisses and half-licks around his mandible. killer's bones are scarred under dust's hand, but dust pays them no mind as he lightly caresses his lover's sternum.

impatient, killer grabs dust's skull with both hands and pulls him into a biting kiss, nipping and growling into it, which only stirs dust into doing the same. the wet, breathy sounds of them exploring each other's mouths echo in the empty void. killer lightly grinds on dust's lap, smiling as he feels dust jerk in surprise. the hooded skeleton only tightens his grip on killer's lower ribs, which prompts a quiet moan out of killer.

but there's something else too, a piercing whine coming out of somewhere.

dust is the first to pull back, his face flushing blue and his tone breathless as he whispers, "did you hear that?"

killer smirks at him, not looking as out of breath as his lover is. "might be our ticket out of here."

with that, they hide behind the rubble of the station, both of them eagerly watching whichever unfortunate soul has wandered in here. it's not long before they see a dog monster approach the bright lamp and survey the map, looking as confused as dust was previously. killer and dust look at each other, silently communicating with their eyes, before each of them move in the opposite direction, effectively circling their unknowing victim.

killer is fast, throwing a knife at the dog monster before dust can formulate a plan. the dog monster startles and howls as the knife penetrates into their thigh. they collapse, and dust, not wanting killer to steal his kill, quickly raises a barrage of bones piercing through their head, dusting them right away. it's all over under one minute.

"aw babe, really?" killer whines as dust feels the exp running through his body, making him shiver. "you gotta have to take those measly exp?"

dust shrugs. "payback for last time you stole my kill."

killer sticks out his tongue, unapologetic. "i still have next time. by the way, what's in their inventory?"

dust, as the winner of the short-lived battle, rustles through the dust pile to see some gold coins, a notebook of some kind, and finally a travel token. picking up the token, he checks the thing for any forgery then throws it at killer. killer catches the thing with one hand and inspects it with his softly lit eyelight.

"is it enough?" dust asks, relieved to see killer nod.

"should be enough for our trip. we can always take more from another."

"finally," dust breathes out, and killer chuckles, putting his arm around dust's shoulders.

"don't be so impatient, mon beau," he whispers near dust's skull. "after the dinner, we can continue what we did back there."

dust stares at killer, trying hard to stop the blush forming on his face. he mumbles angrily as both of them swiftly disappears from the station. truly, killer should be glad he's dust's boyfriend, else he would be forced to eat concrete right now.

[transzilla]

Need a sub who is going to let me forcemasc him and kick his fucking ass like 80s rough trade style. Like some real neanderthal low IQ bdsm. Like I want to put him in the hospital. LMAO

You like a dom when it's one of your skinny fucking chainsmoking cis boys, like you honestly think you're hard because you let some skateboarder who can't lift a spare tire smack you around a little bit.

Your problem is that you're scared because you don't know what pain is. So believe me when I say I'm going to teach you what pain is.

I am literally on steroids and I do this shit for my own enjoyment.

Have you ever been hit in your liver? Like right on your ribs, a real body shot? It's like somebody lights you on fucking fire from the inside out and your whole body burns worse and worse by the millisecond. And you can taste it. Like I'm making you suck on some pennies. Lmao.

When your nose bleeds it will taste bad but you should be fine provided it doesn't obstruct your breathing. When your nose gets broken, that sinus fracture won't hurt right away from the adrenaline but as soon as it wears off it hurts like fucking hell and you can't touch it without it crunching or cracking around under your skin. You will feel nauseous and then fucking sick at the way your face breaks in ways you didn't know was possible, pieces of your inner cheekbone breaking and getting loose in your eye socket, the devil's own human anatomy lesson. When you get knocked out by getting punched in the face you think you're fine for the first half second but when the momentum catches up and your brain hits the other side of your skull in your head it's good night from there. And after you come to your face will be valentine's red and pink and swollen and nigh unrecognizable and from there is just going to turn so many pretty colors you'll look like a goddamn renaissance painting.

I'm going to make you scared that you're gonna die. And then you're gonna be scared that you might not.

You can complain, you can scream, you can beg, try to run, try to fight back, hold your hands up, there's honestly no point because you know you're going to take it and you know you like it because I say you will so you will. You're a faggot. There is something wrong with you. If you didn't come to me to try to fuck you would have just spent your time trying to run away from the first chucklefuck who knew how to fight and had a problem with you. You made it clear that this is how you accept love, so I will make you wear it on your face.

I am not going to afford you the ability to hide behind a mild, vanilla, effeminate or weak front. I am going to hurt you so badly your friends and your family and your significant other can't even bear to look at you without feeling your pain as badly as you felt it. They can't hold your perfect pretty girly face in their mind anymore, even after you eventually heal your nose has been bent into a new shape and the symmetry your teeth grew into has been rearranged into a haunted graveyard of broken and missing teeth like tombstones. And you can't exploit their safe conditional acceptance anymore. And you have to find a way to live as an ugly fucked up man when you can't get by looking pretty and doing nothing.

And idk maybe after I'll let you suck my dick a little bit.

[i-chrystophylux]

If Only, If Only (Chapter 1)

Reposting Content so I can sort it for my Master-list. This work is un-edited, and not rewritten. It is the same quality it was before. -

Azulin had done it. He had been the last bear standing, and he had mauled the last standing unicorn. He had taken fate into his own hands, jumping with faith at the will of fate given to him by Padre. The yearning for something beautiful. Something eternal. Something MORE. He had been chasing this newfound dream for such a short time. Maybe that is where h went wrong.

Now, he lie here on the ground, watching as a looming monster of sludge and inky darkness towered over him.

He was choking. The rotting flesh of the Unicorn he had just started to consume making his tongue burn and eye water. The flesh melting and spoiling further in his mouth. He felt his insides lurch, and his head grow light.

Everything. Everything had been for nothing.

This was where he would die. This is where he would meet the cruel end of his even more cruel life. Perhaps, it was a good thing. In his dying moments, it put everything into perspective. Everything he had ever done, or planned to do- it surely would have been only to make the now empty world worse.

Massacre and Mass Special Genocide. All in the name of ascension and progression. In the name of fulfilling a prophecy that had lead to death and pain and misery.

Was that even what he truly wanted? What did he even wish to accomplish? The become something beautiful, and wonderful. Eternal presence and power and beauty.

All of it seemed so... trivial now. So useless. Lonely.

Even from childhood, the thing he felt was loneliness. Not because he was alone, but because he had never done anything to feel more loved. He was spiteful ever since childhood. Vindictive, and angry; vengeance, pride and spite. He had always been drawn to such evil little impulses he had. He knew he was doing wrong, though, to be frank he always had. Once upon a time, he had known the word regret.

In his final moments, regret felt like such a foreign, overwhelming feeling.

The sludge over him had stabbed him through his abdomen. Playing with him, it was mocking his loss and enjoying his pain. In a way... the sludge reminded him of the current version of himself. Evil with no direction, and nothing to sustain it. Driven, but to where, after a certain point?

It was for the second time, in the longest time- Azulin cried. His innermost morality was showing, breaking through his cold, angry shell of a heart. All this time, his poisoned mentality was like a muddy lake. You know the ground is in there somewhere, but haven't a clue where to start looking.

The world was growing fuzzy. Everything was turning into a blur of bleeding colors. Everything blended in an ugly hue. The world around him was so dark and lifeless. This is what the war had done. This is what he had contributed to. There was no eternity, nothing more than a lost dream and two collective societies of creatures who all died for nothing. Azulin didn't bother wiping his eyes free of the welling tears. His open socket burning because of the salty liquid leaking out of his somehow in-tact tear-duct.

He felt cold. Ever so cold.

Despite how much he hated her before... Azulin finally admit to himself that he missed the warm grasp of his mother, pulling him into a hug- before resting her chin on his head as she pat his back.

He missed his somber dad, patting him on the head when he was proud.

He missed Gordi's voice. No matter how awful Azulin was... Gordi was there. The bigger, pink bear showing him nothing but love, despite the wretched way that Azulin had been around him his whole life.

Gordi....

The tears started falling faster. The blue bear heard the cackling sludge monster, watching as it seemed to get bigger and bigger. It didn't matter anymore, anyways. The blue bear used every last bit of it's strength to flip over onto his aching stomach- and he desperately pulled his bleeding body over to his dead brother. The brother he had killed.

Eventually, he was face-to-face with his deceased sibling. His clouded vision clearing for a moment.

He stared despondently at the face of his brother. The darkened pink eyes unseeing as blood dripped down his forehead over his left side. Part of his brain was exposed, it seemed. Skull caved in from the rock bashed against it earlier.

It was too late to say sorry. Sorry wouldn't even begin to cover all the mistakes he made.

Willing himself to get closer, Azulin stifled a pained cry as he dragged his mostly limp body of a sharp rock. Eventually, he managed to wrap one of his bloodied, tired arms over Gordi- giving him something that would be about as close to a hug as his exhausted form could muster.

Azulin blinked, tears falling down his face to the dampened, crimson-tainted grass. He swallowed. Even if sorry wouldn't fix anything... it was the best he could do. He had so much he wanted to apologize for, and his damaged throat wouldn't allow him. If he had such freedom to speak his ailing thoughts, he would probably make excuses.

He can't justify what he has done.

Leaning his head forward, Azulin closed his good eye, tightening his stiff arm around Gordi's shoulder, before closing his eyes. With his last breath, the very last thing he did manage to speak to the bigger, pink bear finally reached the open air.

"I'm sorry... my brother."

At that point, the body of Azulin completely went limp, every tense limb freeing itself of stress.

The last thoughts of the blue bear would only ever be known to himself, and himself only.

If there were ever anything he would want more in the world, it would be a fresh start. He would want to know how to cure his own vile nature.

All he wished for now, was for a happy ending... for all of them.

((To Be Continued))