#please feel free to chat with me about these or anything!!

[chilling-seavey]

okay but what if confessional george and reader are caught, and because of the pressure of the congregation and the whole village are pushed together (Bridgerton who?), let's be honest, they'd have the craziest married sex life of the whole town. outside a perfect couple, and then absolute devils in the sheets xD

Honestly, I was so avid that pastor's son George and reader would not be endgame but you guys with these asks are lowkey changing the entire narrative in my mind and...I'm not mad about it.

So, for this kick off of our proper start to developing this universe (now that there's an official masterlist and everything!!), I will ramble about how I see their future future. As always, you are all more than welcome to pitch in with your own thoughts and opinions!!

As we know from our two Confessional universe fics that have been posted, George is Toxic with a capital T; he's manipulative and overall a slimy little fucker, ngl. I love love love first anon's note here about being 'forced' together if/when they are found out...that's so realistic to this universe and this was honestly the message that really changed my mind on their story.

I see this situation like a kind of 'arranged marriage' trope where they lowkey hate each other? Of course they don't hate each other, they just hate the situation (read: George hates the situation) and that causes a lot of tension between him and reader. Honestly, depending on where they are in their [weird] 'relationship' when they're found out, depending on how far his character has progressed, I could even see George going as far as sleeping with someone else while he's in this forced engagement with reader. Don't come for me, guys!! He's not a good guy, remember?

Of course, it wouldn't end with them completely parting ways (whether it was due to their own forgiveness with each other and/or the pressure from the community that they have a duty to go through with this wedding) and they would get married in the church and have a modest little reception in the back garden. Reader would be so infatuated because she had a crush on him for the longest time, he took her virginity, and now they're married; that's just the perfect fairytale ✨ She might be sliiightly naive...

And, yeah, first anon here is so right. As they grew into this new phase of their relationship, reader definitely grew into her self-confidence and they both take on that role of the sweetest couple in town to outsiders but kinky fuckers behind closed doors. Debating if they'd live in his parents' house for the first year or so (because, hello, affording your own place in this economy? George doesn't even have a paying job) to then be able to explore all the tensions and chaos from that...or if they'd have their own house in town.

But anyway, George might be a dick in this universe, but he still loves God so there is no hesitation when his father is thinking of stepping back from his role in the church and asks him to take his place. He had learned a lot from his father and growing up in the church but he'd also go to camps to practice and preach and learn and those times away would definitely strain his marriage a little. Yeah, they'd be in a good place by then but he wouldn't be miraculously changed either. Would be interesting to play up that and the situations that could arise etc.

Not to mention, leading into second anon's note here, once they're older and [George is finally] more mature and maybe they have a kid or two (or more??) (because God literally says 'be fruitful and multiply' and George will be damned if he doesn't listen to God), the church ends up being passed into their capable hands. And they'd still be that 'perfect angels on the surface but lil devils behind closed doors' couple well into this era. But perhaps these later, later moments give George's character the opportunity to do a full 180 from where he started. Perhaps he's witness to one of the altar boys being a little manipulative creep to one of the girls and he sees his old self in that young man (and now with a whole new perspective now that he has daughter/s) and has the chance to put a stop to it.

[rosifire]

Obligatory “I don’t have a problem with CaitVi” but I think, for me, their story (separate from their own personal character arcs) would/will be more compelling if it ends up being irreparable between them.

I think Arcane is good at subverting expectations and tropes; the most memorable example I can think of is in S1E3 where Powder follows after Vi and the boys to save Vander. We’ve all seen the “friends are in trouble, but the plucky young hero comes in at the nick of time to save them against all odds” plot twist—but Arcane subverts that. In fact, Powder’s involvement and her monkey bomb finally working is the thing that, tragically, leads to Claggor and Mylo’s death, Vi’s injury, Vander’s death(?), so on and so forth. It worked, but it didn’t work. And to me, that's the tragedy of it. That good intentions weren't enough.

So, personally, I see a setup between Caitlyn and Vi: the Romeo and Juliet archetype, two initially-begrudging people working together amongst classism and prejudice, and finding companionship against all odds. Class, wealth, opportunity separates them; Caitlyn is a scion of one of Piltover’s most influential and powerful families, and Vi is… a nobody from the Undercity, wrongfully imprisoned, when they first meet. It’s a way for them to both see that the “other side” isn’t as bad as they’ve always been told. That there are Good People on either side of the bridge. That, hell, love can be found, too.

But oftentimes, I believe this trope in particular ignores a lot of the real-world factors that could come into play with a friendship or relationship that “defies” station. The fact is, Caitlyn does come from a world of privilege, and Vi is treated differently by Caitlyn’s peers. The whole of Season two, Vi has been referred to as one of the “good ones”. Maddie explicitly says that it's good to know that there are still "good ones" around. The implication that you’re not like them. Time and time again, Vi is treated like an Other. A “good” other, but an other all the same. She's welcome in Piltover, but only just - and only when Caitlyn vouches for her. And at the climax of their story thus far, Caitlyn outright says to her, “I keep telling myself that you're different. but you're not. It's [Jinx's] blood in your veins”. I'm sure grief and anger are a part of why she says this, but that's becoming a catalyst for the discrimination she seems to be steadily believing in more and more. Whether or not she ends up meaning this, it's a ghastly thing to say.

And with the way things are developing with Caitlyn, who is actively weaponizing her privilege and power, and who is very quickly going down a very dangerous and fascist path, I don’t know if their relationship could — or should! — be rectified. She's a cop, and a very privileged one at that. I don’t know if this is a love that could “defy all odds”, and in my opinion, I think it would be more interesting, and more compelling, if it didn’t.

[iguessitsjustme]

Pit Babe 2 Music Analysis - Tick Tick Tick Tock

I was very happy when this scene won my liveblog poll about which scene people wanted me to do a music analysis about because this is the one I wanted to do the most. My energy levels this week have been…non-existent. But I persist! As always, this is my disclaimer that I am not educated on this topic. I just have a somewhat decent ear and an interest in music. I also have the world’s flimsiest background in music and I do not know a lot. I am also looking at this from a Western lens because I do not have any background in Thai music whatsoever. I also currently do not trust my own ear for some reason and had to call in my older brother for assistance sooooooo take everything that I say with a grain of salt and form your own opinions about everything. Disclaimer done. On to the analysis!

Before I begin the analysis, I actually cut the scene and am putting the video here so everyone can watch it and listen before I do my analysis. As you watch, I want you to think about some questions:

What is the emotion this scene is trying to convey?

How would that emotion change without the music?

What is Charlie’s reaction to overhearing someone?

What noises other than the music were included in this scene and why?

What can the music in this scene tell us about Willy’s character?

Let’s start with the most glaringly obvious thing happening in this 1 minute clip. “Tick tick tick tock.” Even without the soundtrack providing additional tension and suspense, that repetition of “tick tick tick tock” would manage. Typically, when trying to invoke imagery of a clock, people would use the words “tick tock.” The repetition of “tick” is something to pick up on. It’s outside the norm. It is designed to invoke a feeling of anxiety. Which Charlie will already be feeling because of the race. The fact that Willy is seemingly over-repeating the word “tick” in a way that increases Charlie’s anxiety makes me believe that Willy knows that Charlie can hear him. (I believe that for other reasons too but I’m focused solely on sound here.)

Going back to clocks, let’s think about what clocks represent and specifically what they could be representing in this show at this moment in time. Clocks represent time. The passage of time. We learn later that it has been one year since Way’s death. One year since the events and traumas of the last season. One year since we were blessed with Pit Babe season 1. It could represent the time it takes to complete one lap around the racetrack (which circles back to the one year thing because it’s one lap around the sun). I don’t want to go in too deep about the symbolism of time here just that Willy’s ticks and tocks are representing time in some form. 

What’s most interesting to me about this scene isn’t actually Willy’s repetition of “tick tick tick tock,” but rather the little melody he sings to himself afterwards. It’s a cheerful little tune and the second time he does it, it’s even cheerier. This is after Charlie has a reaction to hearing him. Almost as if he knows that Charlie heard and he is enjoying himself. He is knowingly messing with Charlie at this point. This is punctuated by Willy’s giggle at the very end. Almost like a taunt. Charlie is both inexperienced as a racer and as the person with Babe’s Alpha powers. If Babe had been hearing Willy instead, there is a possibility that Babe would have brushed it off completely. Not Charlie though. Charlie’s nerves must already be heightened due to the race. He is already on edge, and now he is hearing something that he knows is out of the norm. This is leading Charlie to question himself. Is he hearing things? Who is he hearing? Why is he hearing something right now before the race? I ask that last question with the assumption that he and Babe have already fucked to help focus Charlie so his powers don’t get out of hand (have I ever mentioned how much I love this show?)

But it’s not just Willy building the tension for Charlie, it’s also the soundtrack itself. This is where I had to phone in a sibling (my brother has a music degree so I trust his judgement here) because I could not for the life of me identify the instrument that was causing the most tension building. I knew it but I didn’t know it. I digress. The instrument that caught my focus entirely was the didgeridoo and clapsticks (that is if I am not mistaken and that is always a possibility). The clapsticks begin the didgeridoo’s entrance as it slowly fades in and overtakes the rhythmic hand drums to establish the tone of the scene. This happens after each of Willy’s “tick tick tick tocks” lending importance to both aspects of the music. When Willy is speaking, it is given importance and the didgeridoo is silent, and when he is not, the long drone of the didgeridoo builds and maintains the tension that Willy has already established. The didgeridoo gets slowly louder and consumes the music. Consumes the rhythm of the drums. The only thing that isn't consumed by the music is the revving of the engines. They built the tension with the music and now they are telling us what to be nervous about with the sounds of engines. Now the audience is questioning the same things as Charlie. Who is this? Why is Charlie hearing him? What is going to happen during this race? Despite it being the first episode, the audience can expect that this race will not be straightforward for our boys on the X Hunter team. 

And just a little side note, I did the tiniest (and I mean tiniest) bit of research on didgeridoos and it seems as though they are traditionally only played by men with women not allowed to play them. That makes its usage here very interesting to me because of the definite lack of female characters in the first season and the addition of only one woman so far in the second season. I am not making any sort of judgement on that here, simply pointing it out.

Whether or not Willy is an alpha with a special power or not, before the race begins, we can anticipate the team will struggle because of Willy. (And if Willy doesn’t have a special power, he is a damn fine racer and also knows how to use Charlie/Babe’s powers against them. 

I have not written all of my thoughts about this scene (I simply have not been well these past few days and have had to focus my energy elsewhere) but this is already very long. This is just about less than one minute of one scene. This is barely scratching the surface of my thoughts about Willy and Charlie and what will happen and what this music and this soundtrack means. Soundtracks help set the overall tone for not just individual scenes, but for the show itself. And the soundtrack for the first episode was phenomenal. This is just one piece of the soundtrack that fits in beautifully with the overall score.

[meowstix]

fuck it. beyblade ask meme. send a character and i'll give you, if applicable,

a brief overall summary of how i feel on them

something i find neat/interesting about them

something that i think could've been pulled off better

a headcanon i have about them

my thoughts on their sacred beast/motif/avatar (assuming they're a blader)

up to 3 miscellaneous thoughts i have on them, ie something i associate with them or some random opinion i have (feel free to specify something you're curious about in regards to these)

(this applies to all the series btw. go ham)

[skaterfc]

HELLO MERRY CHRISTMAS (if you celebrate)!!

Also this is a little bit random but I got so very excited when I saw the amount of Ghostbur posts you’ve reblogged :) A fellow fan of Ghostbur!! Yippee!!!

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HI HI HI HI HI HI HI HI HI HI :DDDDD

I was v excited when i saw how much of a based Ghostbur fan you were as well!!! There's very few of us these days so its nice to find each other!!! :DDDDDDDD

I am ALWAYS down to talk about Ghostbur i have so many thoughts about that little cubito. At one point i even made like a whole 40 slide power point presentation on his character!! (its outdated now but the point stands). I hope you enjoy ur stay at my blog tehehehe

[ijustwannabecool]

Defending Your Honor

Charles Leclerc x Wife!Reader Summary... When online hate targets you, Charles takes matters into his own hands. A fan gets banned. The fandom gets obsessed. And you? You get reminded that Charles will always choose you—loudly, publicly, and intimately.

Trigger Warnings: Online harassment, misogynistic slurs, public confrontation, smut, explicit language

A/N: enjoy reading this little piece. let me know how you like it. dont forget to like, reblog, and comment your thoughts. request are open guys, so feel free to request anything. have a beautiful day :)

--

Charles wasn’t always online—but when he was, it was either to scroll through memes Arthur had sent or to check your Instagram.

Even after a long race weekend—press conferences, media obligations, debriefs—he always made time to find you.

That night, you were curled against him on the couch of your Monaco apartment, fast asleep in one of his red team shirts. The TV hummed softly in the background, showing some home renovation show you’d both forgotten to change.

He should’ve gone to sleep too. But instead, he opened Twitter.

You were trending.

Not in a fun way.

#JusticeforYN

His brows furrowed. Clicking into the tag, his stomach tightened.

A video from the Canadian GP paddock. You and Charles, walking hand-in-hand, laughing at something he’d whispered. Normal. Sweet. Intimate.

Then another clip.

You talking to Arthur, sipping on an iced coffee with a soft smile. And in the background—loud, jarring, hateful voiceovers:

“Charles’s hoe.”

“She’s only famous because she’s fucking him.”

“She thinks she’s special? Please.”

The woman recording was clearly visible. A bright red Ferrari crop top and cowboy hat. Screaming over the barrier.

Charles’s jaw clenched as the screen glowed against his face. You hadn't even flinched. You hadn’t heard any of it over the music and crowd.

But now he had.

Scrolling deeper, he found more: the same account tweeting threats. Saying she’d be at Silverstone. That she was going to “ruin” you. That she’d won a meet and greet through a sponsor.

Not on my fucking watch.

You found him pacing the kitchen the next morning, phone pressed to his ear, wearing nothing but boxers and a deep frown.

"...yes, I want her name off the list. Immediately. No, I don’t care who approved it. It’s a safety concern."

You rubbed your eyes. "Cha? Everything okay?"

His expression softened. He pressed the phone to his chest. "It’s handled, mon coeur."

--

Silverstone.

You were chatting with Lily and Carmen near the espresso machine when Charles stiffened beside you.

“She’s here,” he murmured under his breath.

Your chest tightened. You didn’t have to ask who. You saw the flash of red and country through the corner of your eye.

She was in line for the VIP meet and greet.

Charles excused himself with a kiss to your temple. You watched him cross the room with that quiet, purposeful energy that always made people stop and stare.

“Hi,” he said politely to the girl.

She lit up like a Christmas tree. “Oh my god! Charles, I’m such a fan—”

“Can I speak with you? Privately.”

They moved off to the side. You couldn’t hear the conversation, but you saw her face fall. Security flanked them moments later.

Charles returned a few minutes later and wrapped an arm around your waist, pressing a kiss behind your ear.

“She won’t bother you again. Or anyone else.”

Later that evening, tucked in your hotel bed, his hand slid beneath your shirt.

“Still thinking about it?” you asked softly.

He kissed your shoulder. “Only how I should’ve found her sooner.”

You turned in his arms, straddling his lap. “You’re not responsible for every idiot with a Twitter account, Cha.”

His hands gripped your thighs. "Non. But I am responsible for making you feel safe."

You leaned forward, brushing your nose against his. "I feel safe."

His lips were slow, reverent, then suddenly needy. His hands pulled your underwear aside and you gasped into his mouth.

“You’re mine,” he whispered into your skin, over and over. “Only mine.”

----

Fan Footage, Later That Week:

A blurry video of Charles sneaking a kiss against your neck before heading into the team garage. Captioned: “he’s obsessed with her and I love that for him.”

A Polaroid posted to your Instagram: your feet resting on Charles’s lap in the motorhome, coffee cups on the table, his hand on your thigh. Caption: quiet moments.

Another clip from a fan outside the paddock: Charles lifting your suitcase out of the car while wearing your name embroidered on the back of his jacket.

----

Twitter Aftermath

@f1gossipgirl: charles leclerc handled that like a KING. his wife is off limits, period.

@slowmoferrari: she didn’t even flinch. queen behavior.

@theylovecarles: charles removing a fan for disrespecting yn, then going out and qualifying P1? the husband energy is CRAZY.

----

That night, as you curled into his chest, Charles whispered, “They’ll never understand what you mean to me.”

You smiled against his collarbone. “They don’t have to.”

He kissed your hair, heart steady now. “I’ll always protect you. Always.”

[planet-dusk]

cw ; oral, degradation, sexting ig?, dirty talk abt threesomes and exhibitionism, name calling: slut, pet names: angel ( 639 w. )

minors dni. for mature audiences only !

strands of minho's dark hair stand up straight from your relentless tugging, your hands now clenching restless around the edge of the kitchen counter.

"please, minho — " you moan at another sharp suck of his lips around your clit, his cheeks dusted pink with arousal. "we have to stop. what if jisung walks in?"

"idontfuckingcare."

he cants your hips to bury his face deeper between your legs and you notice he's got a smidge of pudding on his cheek. the rest of the dessert sits next to you, long discarded in favor of something tastier.

"b-but i do," you counter weakly.

"is that so?" minho finally sits back on his haunches and locks eyes with you. there's a mischievous glint to his eyes. it makes your blood sing with arousal and anticipation.

"because i know you care. i think you'd like for him to walk in on us."

your eyes widen in shock, the sudden heat rising to your face feeling like it'll burn the skin right off. you open your mouth to protest but minho's faster —

"don't lie to me, angel," he chuckles. "i can see the way your pussy clenches."

if you thought your face couldn't get any hotter than this, you were wrong.

minho rises to his feet, the sweet siren call of your pussy momentarily forgotten now he's hooked his claws into this little secret of yours.

he wasn't supposed to know. how did he…?

"you want him to watch, don't you? want him to see how well i fuck you." minho's lips are so close they're almost touching the shell of your ear, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your thighs. "you want to see how desperate he'd get when watching you stretch around my cock like the good slut you are."

your breath hitches in your throat and minho knows he's got you. hook, line and sinker.

"and you're just as desperate to give him a good show, aren't you? come on, open your pretty mouth."

you oblige without thought and minho pushes two fingers in deep, pressing down on your tongue and making you gag around them. he holds them there for a moment to watch your struggle before bending in close again. his breath tickles against your skin and you shiver.

"bet you'd let him fuck this tight cunt. he wouldn't even have to beg for it."

although his fingers slide in with ease the stretch still surprises you, the mild sting bleeding into a dull pleasure at the curl of his digits.

minho whistles. "you're this soaking wet just from thinking about fucking my best friend?"

you're too embarassed to look him in the eye, but whimper nonetheless when he pulls his hand away and sucks his fingers clean. it leaves you feeling aching and empty.

"what… what are you doing?"

minho retrieves his phone from his back pocket and waves it in front of you.

"i'm sending a voice message."

you swallow your reply as he presses the recording button on the screen.

"hey jisung-ah, you want some dessert? i have leftovers."

"minho!" you slap his arm and he chuckles, holding the phone out of reach. it only takes a few seconds for it to ding. your chest tightens in anticipation when he opens the chat, revealing jisung's text.

is this a threat? did i buy the wrong pudding?

minho smiles and leans in, brushing his soft lips against yours in a tender kiss. you blink up at him, puzzled by the sudden gesture. then his fingers pinch your clit. a jolt of pleasure shoots up your spine and a loud, whimpering moan tumbles from your lips.

minho's grin widens and he presses send. then he pushes the recording button again, the fingers of his free hand slipping down and sinking home with practiced ease.

who said anything about pudding?

© planet-dusk reposting, copying and translating my works is prohibited.

[y2kstarr]

Chris just can't keep his hands to himself

࣪˖ ִ⭑ ࣪ warnings : 18+, smut w/o plot, fingering, (eventually) getting caught, dirty talk

When Chris had complimented you in your new, pretty sundress, teasing that he'd totally find a way to finger you with the much easier access, you didn't think he'd be stupid enough to do it in the worst fucking place imaginable.

Of course, you thought wrong.

Different seating arrangements were made to accommodate Nick's comfort, leaving you and Chris to sit in the back of the car whilst Matt and Nick chatted away with one another to the camera upfront, making a new car video for the channel.

At some point, you and Chris had turned quiet, instead letting Matt and Nick talk about anything they were wanting to share with the camera. In the silence from the backseats, you hear nails gently scrape against something, making your eyes glance over at Chris's hand and feeling your breath stutter just for a moment.

His three fingers were hooked in the cup holder at the back of the console box, pinky on the outside of it as his thumb pressed on the back of it. His ring glinted on his index finger, his middle and ring fingers flexing and twitching a bit within the cup holder.

Your traitorous brain pictured those long fingers somewhere else, stroking and pumping between your thighs rather than just fidgeting on their own, but you tried to clean you mind of those thoughts, lifting your gaze to look at Chris... only to be met with his pretty blue eyes already surveying you.

A playfully, mischievous little smirk curled at the corners of his lips before he raised his eyebrows, as if silently asking you for something, and oh, you knew exactly what that something was.

You mouthed a silent "no" to him, as if that was crazy for him to even think about doing. But god damnit, your blushing cheeks and pressed together thighs were all Chris needed to unhook his fingers from that cup holder.

Thick, long fingers now found their way sliding into your cunt with ease, his hand as hidden as he could get it underneath the skirt of your dress. Your lips now held bite marks as his fingers slowly pumped in and out, thankfully any quiet sounds muffled by Matt and Nick conversing.

"So wet f' me, ma," Chris cooed quietly in your ear, loving the way you had to physically hold yourself back from making noises, a mean smirk on his lips as he curled his fingers just right to hit that sweet spot for you.

You quickly turned your head away from him, burying your mouth into your palm, sealing your lips closed as blush tinted your cheeks and the tips of your ears due to a slight whine escaping from your throat, only to be muffled against your skin.

Pleasure burned between your thighs and within your tummy, your free hand starting to grip the fabric of your skirt hard as Chris picked up speed a bit. Your heart raced at the risk of his brothers turning to look back at you two, a gut feeling of adrenaline and nerves mixing into one as your knee jerked.

"So anxious, ma, it's cool," Chris assured your thoughts, whispering into your ear once more before pressing a kiss to that spot right underneath your ear, your eyes fluttering just a bit. "They ain't gonna know.."

But what if they did? What if Nick turned his head just a few more angles? What if Matt glanced in the rearview mirror? What if their conversation stopped and the noises spilled without you being able to hold them back?

Nerves sparked like loose wires, you didn't even realize Nick was outroing the video, your body tensing with pleasure and fear at the same time as he grabbed the camera and tilted it down, turning it off.

Chris's fingers curled once more, in an almost teasing manner with the silence, that growing knot in your stomach tightening, your fingers nearly turning white as you internally begged yourself not to cum yet, please not yet-

It was as if the gods were finally in your favor.

Matt quickly made his way out of the driver's seat with the reason being he had to piss bad, and Nick too busy with packing the camera back into his bag at his feet to even look back. You jolted for a moment as Nick questioned you both, asking if you were getting out or not, your face burning hot as you tried to stumble out words.

"W–we uh—"

"Yeah, in a minute, dropped my phone back here," Chris answered instead with such ease, as if his fingers weren't knuckle deep in your pussy right now. You finally let go of your breath as Nick needed no more explanation before huffing and getting out of the car, finally going inside and leaving the two of you out in the garage.

"Told you they wouldn't find out," Chris chuckled next to you, finally turning his body a bit more. God you wanted to hit him and scold him so bad right now, the fucking asshole– but all that came out of your mouth was a whine that had been held back for far too long.

He grinned like a damn kid in a candy shop as his fingers picked up speed, the noises of your soaked cunt starting to become audible, mixing with your quickening breaths and moans, and fuck, it was hot.

"S–shit— Chris—" Your hand, previous on your mouth, gripped the car door armrest tight, your other moving from the skirt of your dress to his forearm, your nails digging crescent shapes into his skin.

"Gonna cum, mama?" He teased against your cheek, making you feel pressed up against the door as you whimpered and nodded your head, before letting it fall back against the headrest. A mewl poured from your mouth as his thumb began drawing circles against your clit, the added stimulation making your thighs start to tremble.

"Soak my fingers, baby, c'mon–" He nearly groaned in your ear, his fingers keeping up a heavenly pace as that knot tightened harder and harder within you, your chest heaving with pants, until Chris's name fell from your parted lips in a choke moan.

Pure, delicious pleasure crashed over you as you gushed around his fingers, back arching from the seat, your thighs clenching around his hand as his fingers just kept pumping, sweet praises whispered in your ear nearly muffled from the intense orgasm.

Your body finally fell slack against the leather, your chest rising and falling with steady breaths as Chris finally slowed down his fingers for you, pressing kisses all over your face like some affectionate puppy, your earlier anger washing away to adoration as you weakly giggled.

"Need to get you more dresses, so fuckin' pretty and accessible," He cheesed against your forehead before gently slipping his fingers from your spent cunt, pressing his lips to yours before licking his fingers clean.

Later...

You and Chris chilled out in his room, the both of you watching some random movie, when suddenly you'd heard Nick's voice booming from his room.

"YOU GUYS ARE FUCKING GROSS!"

It didn't take you long to piece together that he was probably editing the video right now and had seen their backseat shenanigans, your face flushing with blush out of pure embarrassment.

You wanted to absolutely die, disappear out of thin air right then and there, but suddenly you heard Chris next to you, making you glance over at him just to see him holding back a laugh, which earned him a slap to his chest, his loud laugh finally pouring out shamelessly like it was the funniest thing in the world.

God damnit, you hated him.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

a / n : since @brookheartsmatt asked so nicely 😋

i dunno if i like how this turned out, im sorryyy 😭 regardless i hope you guys like it

based off of this clip i need him to finger me BAD

tags : @sillysillymatt, @jcsturniolo11, @strnilolover, @whore4mattsturniolo, @courta13, @sophand4n4, @blueboeh444, @mattspinkiefinger, @theyluvivi, @thecrawlys, @k4urltzx, @chrislova, @fadedstvrn, @emely9274, @raesturns

dividers → me

[deepestdelulu]

How to be confident part 2

Be proud of your achievements.

No more people pleasing. Something I had to learn is that you don't have to be everyone's darling.

Get out of your comfort zone. Get a coffee and chat with the barista, go to a concert alone, try a new hobby and so on :)

Talk politely and expand your vocabulary. Reading and writing can help a lot!

Start journaling. Vent when you need to, it doesn't have to be pretty or aesthetic; clean your mind.

Watch your body language. Stand up straight, don't slouch, walk with purpose, and don't hide your hands.

Don't be afraid to ask questions.

Stop chasing people. The ones meant to stay in your life will remain with you. Sometimes we need to distance ourselves from people so we can grow! :)

Moisturized. I get nervous when my lips and hands are dry!

Keep your standards high. This applies to friendships, dating, grades, pretty much anything. Self-respect!!

Don't let people interrupt you!!

Start each day with a positive mindset. Get up in the morning with purpose and try to make the best out of any day. <3

Be on time. Coming late to something important is always a bit awkward.

Use fewer filler words when speaking. Uhm, just, like, I think, etc. Don't be afraid to slow down and think about what you want to say. Take your time!

Don't chase anyone's validation. Instead, do things for yourself and make yourself proud.

Unfollow people on social media that make you feel bad about yourself.

Be kind. I see people on TikTok all the time being rude and mean to appear confident. Let's be honest, they look quite silly, lol.

Have a signature scent! I like something that gives me comfort and helps me stay calm. My fav is vanilla. <3

Don't look at your phone when entering a room or going somewhere. Instead, try being as present as possible, or at least look like you are, lol.

Take care of your appearance. Whatever feels good to you, maybe get a lash lift, find makeup that works for you, clean nails, wear something you like...

Don't tell everyone your insecurities. Putting yourself down is not a good conversation topic.

Make time for yourself. Relax, recharge and focus on yourself. <3

Confidence is a huge deal, so if you have any questions feel free to ask them in the comments or my 'ask me anything'. I will also make a post soon on how to improve your public speaking! <3

I also plan on going through my asks Tomorrow (Sunday), so if you have anything you would like to share or need advice on, just submit it to the link above (the ask on, haha) <33

[endereies]

JUST NEED YOU - CS

No Nut November - Day 3

NNN Masterlist...

-➤ After a long day, Chris goes to you for comfort

Being awake late into the night repeatedly created such a messed-up sleep schedule and it was taking its toll. Ever since the triplets made a new schedule to fit around meetings and events, they found themselves filming into the dark hours of the day so that they could publish a higher quality video.

Chris was always energetic, and he portrayed that during every free opportunity. However, today was slightly different. Him and his brothers planned a stream about midday, along with a late filming session. Nothing he couldn’t handle until his team wanted to have a sudden meeting about his upcoming Fresh Love merch drop. It was early in the day compared to what he was used to.

The meeting wasn’t anything special, but it cut into the hours of rest he hoped would get him through the day. He wasn’t even sure of the meeting wasn’t necessary or a topic that couldn’t be discussed over a few strings of emails.

Then the streaming session followed. So many interactive tasks messed with his brain. Reading out the subs, communicating with the chat, following the requests, playing games while having to make the content engaging with commentary, it was becoming too much. Everything started to blur together, and his brothers could see that. They picked up on the subtle changes of their brother and brought the stream to a close.

“You going to be okay for filming dude?” Matt’s voice caught his attention and dragged it away from the day dream he didn’t even know he was having,

“Yeah, yeah. I’m just a little tired but I’m fine. I’ll grab an energy drink or something.” He shrugs, hiding the mental exhaustion on his face behind a meek smile. His brothers chose not to bring it up again and trust Chris with his words.

“Alright then, see you later.” Chris mumbled a goodbye to Nick, leaving the room to grab a drink from their fridge. The crack of the can giving him some hope that he’d feel more awake. But that’s the opposite of what happened.

The triplets had scheduled a car video for this Friday and if Nick wanted to have it edited by then, they had to film tonight. He was sat in the passenger seat, his third drink laying in the centre console. The filming started promising. Even with no topic, they each found small topics of conversation to entertain. He felt the drinks start to wear off and he couldn’t help but feel more agitated. Bantar turned into insults and left his mouth before he could process. Guilt filled his stomach as more words came out, eventually falling to silence.

When the camera finally stopped showing the red light, Chris sunk into his seat. Overstimulation ran through him by now and he hated it. Every cell in his body practically vibrated and he didn’t feel okay.

“Matt?” He offered a sincere tone to his brother, not opening his eyes while he leant back.

Matt glanced over to his body, evidently full of fatigue. “Yeah buddy?”

“Could you drop me at y/n’s house, please.” His brain felt fuzzy, he needed to just take his mind off his life for a moment. With his own home full of cameras, social media plans and reminders of what he had to do next, he needed a secondary. Your place held sanction to everything that made Chris feel calmer, safer. Away from cameras, away from his job and into your arms. When Matt hummed in response the car grew silent once more. Relief flooded him and a gracious smile twitched at his lips.

Neither Nick nor Matt uttered a word about the situation to Chris. They understood. There had been times where both of them had been in the same boat. The weren’t about to ridicule and tease Chris for that. Chris was just staring out the window at this point, falling silent which allowed the aux’s music to be heard. His eyes traced the painted lines on the road awaiting the moment those lines turned into the gravel of your drive way.

Chris knew you were home, he had been on and off messaging all day. Every few hours he’d receive a text from you just asking about his day. It wasn’t uncommon for Chris to seek your attention after a harsh day, today was no different.

He found himself stood in front of your door for mere moments before pushing the door open. His breathes instantly levelled and a feeling of relief filled his body as he took in the familiar surroundings. “Baby?”

“I’m in my room, Chris!” It didn’t take him long before he wondered into your bedroom.

When he pushed the door open, the scent of your vanilla candles breezed past him, the light casting a soft glow against your skin. You were stood by your closet, organising out piles of clothes freshly washed and dried. He couldn’t help but admire the way the flickered candle lights lit up the room. You feel his eyes baring into yours.

“What’s s’matter babe?” You don’t lock eyes with him briefly as you stretch your body to place a t-shirt away. Chris dawdled towards you, a breathy chuckle leaving his mouth.

“Too fucking much, m’exhausted and stressed.” His arms easily wrapped your waist, the feel of your skin making him sigh softly. You felt the pressure of his face, buried into your neck as he breathes in your scent.

“Would you want to lie down for a bit?” A small giggle passes your lips when Chris’s grip on your waist gets tighter. “Thought you’d never ask…”

Reluctantly, he let go of your body only for his hands to find yours, dragging you both towards your bed. Your bodies align so easily so that you were lying on his chest. Peppered kisses trace your features gently. Chris loves these moments more than anything, the times of the day where he could just be him with no camera or responsibility pushed into his face.

You settle your body in his arms, his heartbeat prominent when you placed your head flat on his chest. Chris’s hand finds his way to your scalp, running his fingers back and forth.

“You want to talk about your day?” You whisper softly, tilting your head to meet his gaze once more. Something in the way you look at him makes his body relax further.

He is quick to shake his head, planting a kiss on your lips. “ Jus’ need you…”

@melliflws @yuhayeee @st7rnioioss @sturn-bugz @bueckerrss @worldlxvlys @raysmayhem-72 @patscorner @y0urm4m @bernardsbendystraws @junnniiieee07 @luverboychris @jnkvivi @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @shorthairchris @colorthecosmos444 @anabethinking @zay-sturns @anyaa23 @emilyfaith2003 @zariyam @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @sturniolosiphone

© ENDEREIES 2024

[sanaexus]

"yeah my boyfriend's pretty cool, but not as cool as me" -bllk boys

synposis- lovesick blue lock boys who can't help but worship the ground their girlfriend walks on (written as girlfriend but please feel free to read this as gn)

boyfriend!alexis is the type of boyfriend who buys you just because flowers, he has a little too much money and you love flowers putting two and two together he pretty much bought you flowers every other day.

boyfriend!bachira is the type of boyfriend who tries to remember your favorite everything so bad but he just can't because what do you mean olives are fine on pizza but not on anything else? but poor baby tries so hard to memorise everything he can.

boyfriend!chigiri is the type of boyfriend who's the best at giving you advice! it doesn't matter what problem you're facing he somehow has the solution. he's like your mom no matter what the issue is he has a way to resolve it.

boyfriend!eita is the type of boyfriend who cannot keep his hands off you, doesn't matter where or when he's all over you. it's not even remotely sexual in any way either! he just likes being around you, the skin to skin contact makes him feel so comforted and homely.

boyfriend!isagi is the type of boyfriend who's your no.1 supporter and defender. he's your personal hypeman, there isn't a day where he doesn't shower you with compliments, he's also always there to defend your name, doesn't matter who it is he's there insulting them and their entire lineage even if one negative word was spoken about you.

boyfriend!yukimiya is the type of boyfriend who does literally everything for you! he physically stops you from doing basic tasks like putting away the dishes. of course it bothers you because this man is working overtime at this point but he couldn't careless as long as you're being treated like the princess you are.

boyfriend!karasu is the type of boyfriend who's always making you laugh, if you're with him you're gonna always be giggling and cracking jokes, mans does not care where when and who is listening he just wants to hear that sweet melodic giggle, he just loves the sound of your laugh and NEEDS to see you happy.

boyfriend!nagi is the type of boyfriend who's always trying a little bit harder for you. abandoning his previous status of being the laziest person to ever live, he started trying harder for you. not by alot but he's putting just a little bit more effort in everything he does, just so he can be better for you.

boyfriend!sae is the type of boyfriend who's spoiling you rotten. he's away a lot and hates to see you sad so he's always sending these cute (expensive) little gifts he knows you'll like, a chain with a pendant of your favorite flower, chocolates from the country he's currently in, small souvenirs. but when he is with you, be rest assured if you mentioned a single thing, even in passing HE WILL BUY IT FOR YOU. robux? you got it, a new kuromi plushie is out? you got it. he just can't help himself when you're all giddy with excitement.

boyfriend!rin is the type of boyfriend who starts opening up more with you. after the fall out with sae, he closed his poor heart off but then you came and being with you healed his inner child. he started smiling a bit more (only around you), stopped insulting every living creatures existence. he opened about his heart up to you, gradually of course but every insecurity every doubt anything he felt he told it to you, because to him you were his safe space.

boyfriend!reo is the type of boyfriend who makes cute thoughtful gifts, growing up all he got was gifts with monetary value, and no real emotions attached, so when he started dating you. he gave you these cute handmade gifts (obviously he also spent a lot of money on you) and they had this sense of warmth and comfort to them. he also bought you your favourite foods and drinks as a treat almost everyday, they had these small notes telling you how much he loves you and what not! he's so silly in love.

HI CHAT IM BACK AHAIN AND MY FINALS ARE OVER AND IM FREE THIS IS KUST SOMEJTING SMALL I WANTED TO WRITE BEFORE DEDICATING TIME TO AN ACTUAL FIC PLIS ENJOY 😽😽

[temiizpalace]

☆┊DRESS TO IMPRESS!

SUMMARY: playing dress to impress with him!

CHARACTERS: all dorms + others

GENRE: fluff

WARNINGS: none

NOTES: i feel so bad for having people with requests wait so long but im losing ideas and idk what to write 😭😭😭 please bear with me event requesters,,,,, ik i suck at this

reader gender is not mentioned, reader not specified to be yuu

VERY COMPETITIVE

if he catches you trolling it’s on sight. he takes this game very seriously, and refuses to get anything lower than 3rd. when you play together and ask to duo, he carries. you’ll see him with the most impressive and beautiful outfit you’ve ever seen and watch him lose his mind when he gets 5th. he spams poses, like in full concentration mode. also a very harsh critic. if he sees you off theme it’s an immediate 1 star, no exceptions. anytime he critiques your outfit you feel like an office worker with an overly harsh boss that demands better. he also probably has VIP. and beef with 10 year olds. (so think of when caseoh plays, but less yelling)

riddle, azul, jamil, vil, rollo

PLAYED IT AS A JOKE : IS NOW HOOKED

at first he thought it was just a dumb and silly dress up game for girls.. boy was he wrong. when he first played with you, he was expecting to hate this game to its core. he was a troller at first, purposefully making dumb outfits that don’t even match, barely adding anything to his outfit at all. suddenly, something in his mind flipped, and now he’s addicted. you’ll catch him sometimes playing his free time, teasing someone like him for playing a dress up game. not that you have room to talk. duos are fun, he likes being partners with you. he’s probably the kind of guy to vote everyone one star and then vote you five, but he expects five stars in return.

deuce, ruggie, epel, idia, skully j. graves

LOVES THE GAME

he’s played this before, he loves it! dressing up in cute outfits and watching other people dress up in cute outfits? why wouldn’t he play? and to play with you? that’s even better! wouldn’t be as competitive as the first category, but does take the game seriously. he doesn’t despise trolls, actually laughs at them sometimes. he does find it unfair they make the podium sometimes, but it’s really just a game. he loves duoing with you and wearing matching outfits, absolutely adorable! he either votes pretty fairly or votes everyone five stars depending on who they are. please play more with him, he loves this game!

cater, kalim, rook, ortho, lilia, neige

NOT THAT INTERESTED

what’s the appeal to it? it’s just playing dress up, nothing special. he’ll play once in awhile with you, but don’t expect it to be a regular thing. it’s just not his cup of tea. obviously since he doesn’t play often, his outfits are subpar. nothing podium worthy. votes pretty fairly, giving criticism and critique on other people’s outfits (though his aren’t that much better). he doesn’t mind being a duo with you, but you definitely carry. personally he thinks trollers are ruining the game and making it annoying for those who play religiously. overall, just a dress up game. would play but only if you play too.

trey, leona, jack, sebek, silver

THE TROLLER

is that one guy who has nothing on their character and walks onto the stage with no hair or makeup. skin tone is still at the default, colors on the clothes are unchanged, and it’s all on purpose too! would dress up in dumb outfits for a completely different theme and loves watching people argue about it in the chat. votes everybody one star because they’re just silly like that! absolutely cackles if he gets on the podium and loves watching the server get into fights about it. you don’t duo with him, you know better. loved playing with you, but it doesn’t seem the feeling is mutual.

ace, jade, floyd, che’nya

HOW TO POWER HANDHELD DEVICE

teach him how to use a phone first. doesn’t know how to log in to his account. when he joins the game, poor baby kept running into walls trying to put on shoes. outfits are usually incomplete or unchanged because he doesn’t know how to take off accessories or how to put them on. votes fair enough, but doesn’t ever make the podium. if you ask to duo, you’ll have to teach him cause he also doesn’t know about that either. basically just a big man baby who needs help using technology for the first time.

malleus

A/N: obsessed with this game lately (idia would know all the lana lore)

date published: 10/10/24

© temiizpalace — do not copy, steal, or put my work into ai. thank you!

[matrixfangs]

blood and elderberries

Remmick x fem!reader

summary: Remmick has been your friend since childhood, and he's been spending a lot of his time in the woods.

word count: 5.8k

warnings: slight smut, DUBCON AT THE END, pls pls skip if you’re uncomfy with that!!!, blood, murder, fire, spooky woods, probably inaccurate religious imagery, definite misuse or mistranslation of Irish Gaelic, 18+ please!

a/n: hi everyone! this is my first fic on this account so please be kind to me! it's also my first time writing anything related to smut and I'm very nervous about it so please bare with me if it's written a little awkwardly! my requests are open if you'd like to send me anything, though it may take me a few days to get back to you, as this took me a few days so I'm gonna take a break now lol <3 also feel free to shoot me something in my inbox if you just want to chat! enjoy! :3

In Ireland, it hardly snowed, but when it did, it didn’t disappoint. Fat snowflakes fell over your hair as you walked on the cobbled road, the snow crunching underneath your feet and soaking into the fabric of your shoes that weren’t built for the cold. As you journeyed to the local market, the sun was still rising, warm pink and yellow streaks bled into pale blue. On the horizon: a burning hole of a sun. You let it burn spots into your vision, just to continue looking at it.

The market was quiet when you entered it, the only sign of life being the freshly baked goods at the front windows, handcrafted pies, and loaves of bread. Steam coated the glass, and underneath it all was the lingering scent of him. Something earthy with a sweetness underneath, like the berries he liked to pick in the woods at the edge of town. “Dia dhuit.” A honeyed and resonant voice pulled you away from the pies, your head rearing up to glance at the front counter. He was there, an apron tied around his waist and a streak of flour against his cheek from the early morning. Remmick, the shopkeeper's son. He’d been your best friend since you were young, but the feelings that had developed for him as you’d gotten older were something new entirely. Watching his careful hands work had become your personal torment. You shifted from one foot to another, warmth spreading across your face. Your eyes roamed over his body, all neat angles and sharp lines. Despite the dusting of flour across his cheeks, his hair had been neatly combed back, and the clothes underneath his apron were clean and pressed. He somehow always managed to look completely perfect, standing before you like a marble statue. Completely untouchable yet begging to be disheveled. “Nice pies.” You smiled, crossing the distance to him and placing your hands on the counter. The wood cooled your burning fingertips. “You've been out in those woods again?” “Aye. They’re elderberries. Picked them just last night.” He raised his fingers, revealing the faint purple stain on the tips of them. Your gaze lingered on the veins in his hands, the skin that looked tough enough to knead dough but soft enough to caress skin. “You should be careful, Rem. Those woods spread out for miles.” You told him, the words easily tumbling from your lips for the hundredth time. But he never listened. Those woods weren’t safe; you’d been told that by your parents and grandparents for as long as you could remember. Your childhood had been filled with fables of people who’d gone missing for days and coming back changed. Like they’d been hollow shells of who they’d been before, something heavy sitting on their chests.

Remmick shrugged, and it was a familiar gesture that made frustration eclipse all other emotions. He moved around the counter with a small box in his hands. “Nah, they’re plenty safe.” He opened the box, placing a pie inside and securing it with a piece of twine with a baker’s precision. His eyes shot up to meet yours, and he held out the box. “You should come with me sometime.” He let that hang in the air for a moment. “I’ll keep you safe, a pheata.” 

He pressed the pie into your hands, his thumb grazing over the bumps of your knuckles. “No charge for a fine thing like yourself.”

Heat traveled up your neck as you met his icy gaze. “You’re sure?”

Remmick cleared his throat and let his hand release the box so he could instead lean forward, bringing his lips inches away from your ear. His scent lingered, cinnamon and clove filling your nose. You felt his warm breath brush the skin of your collarbone.

“You’ll just have to owe me, a chuisle.” He backed away, his eyes never leaving yours as he returned to the counter. “The edge of the woods, tonight after supper.” He winked, only breaking contact when a new customer came inside, ringing the bell against the door. You had to remember to take a breath before you left the shop, the pie held so tight in your hands that the delicate paper of the box had crinkled beneath your fingers. The snow continued to fall as you left the shop, but somehow you felt warmer than before.

The day dragged on, slow and painful. Your father worked checking and cleaning the game traps at the border of the woods, while you and your mother tended to the animals at home. Fed the chickens, milked the cows, spun wool from the sheep. You were stirring the stew for dinner in the kitchen when your father returned home. His cheeks were bitten red by the cold, and he held three rabbits in one of his hands. He kissed your mother on the head from where she stood, setting the table. “Fierce strange day.” He hummed, setting the rabbits on the counter. “Tracks in the snow near the traps. No animal footprints I’ve ever seen.” He shrugged, rubbing his rough hand over his beard. “Tracks went deep into the woods, I didn’t want to follow.”

You chewed on your lip, continuing to stir the stew. Your father made quick work of sharpening his butcher knife against a whetstone and slicing into the rabbits to add them to the stew. A loud curse from your father cut through the evening calm. The inside of the rabbits was black and dry, like the blood had been completely drained from the poor things. The only thing that remained were the organs, shriveled and lifeless.

“Th'anam 'on diabhal!” Your mother cried, hands flying to her mouth. “What sort of thing could have done that?” “Could it have been the cold?” You asked, your voice cracking. It was a hollow question. You knew the cold couldn’t dehydrate a creature from the inside out. You thought of Remmick, of the fables and the elderberry bushes. The woods that liked to eat people whole and spit them back out as ghosts. You dropped the wooden spoon of the stew and headed to the front door, grabbing your cloak.

“Where are you going, wean? Your mother followed after you, wiping her hands on the apron covering her dress. She looked at the dining table. “We haven’t eaten.” “I’m sorry,” You told her, hand wrapping around the cold metal knob. “I forgot that Mrs. McCoy asked me to pass along a message for Remmick. It was urgent, I don’t want to forget.” Crisp winter air met your skin as you pulled the door open. Night had claimed the village, and all that was left from the sun was a melted slush of water on the road. The squeak of your shoes was faint as you walked in the direction of the woods, a heavy anxiety pressing on your chest. You’d tell Remmick that he needed to stay away from them - that the Devil walked in the wood. You rehearsed the words in your head, your lips moving in a silent speech, until you reached the line of trees at the edge of town.

Remmick wasn’t there yet. You pulled your cloak tighter around your body as you gazed up at the trees. They seemed to groan with each gust of wind, as if warning whoever stood before them. The branches reached up to grab the sky with crooked fingers, and the pale blue moonlight spilled between them. 

Though the snow remained on the ground here, the air seemed to be heavier, warmer in your lungs. It felt like a large hand was pressing on your chest, trying to reach your pounding heart. Whispers drifted by your ears like breaths, just barely unintelligible. You turned, looking back toward the village.

“Remmick?” You called, your voice hoarse from the cold. 

“Remmick?” A voice called back from deep inside the woods. It was nearly identical to your voice, but wrong. It was distorted, like it’d been shoved into a throat not made for human noises. The tree branches made giggle-like sounds in response, and you felt the bile rise hot in your throat. When you turned to flee, your face met with an obstacle, solid and warm against your skin.

“Woah, where are ye going?” Remmick’s voice was like water in the desert. His eyes caught the moonlight, his gaze gleaming at you as his brow furrowed. In the dark, his hands found yours. The interlacing of your hands ceased your trembling.

“Remmick, you need to stay away from these woods.” You tried to pull him away, but his hands caught your shoulders, spinning you around to face him. The dark hollowed out his eyes and carved his cheekbones into sharp shadows. “What are you on about, pet?”

“A voice,” You swallowed. “I heard a voice, it was like mine, but it was…” How could you describe a wrongness so strong that it was supernatural? That something had stolen the voice from your throat and put it on like a disguise?

Remmick squeezed your shoulders - comforting or restraining you, you couldn’t tell. “Ah, the wind in the trees feels like they’re speaking to you sometimes, is all. Nothing to be scared of.” “Rem…” You said quietly, letting go of one of his hands, squeezing the other.

“Trust me, A chuisle mo chroí.” His soft voice made your inhibitions melt away. He pressed your knuckles to his warm lips, letting them linger there for a moment. “I just want to be alone with you.”

Your heart lost its rhythm, your hand on fire where his lips had pressed to it. His warm gaze held such a certainty that you weren’t sure how to say no. Maybe it was the feeling of his palm pressed to yours that made you feel safer, but you followed him into those woods.

Remmick’s hand never left yours as you passed the first row of trees, pine needles, and wet grass muting the sound of your steps. He ran his thumb over your knuckle repeatedly, soothing you without words. With him beside you, his arm brushing against yours, the groaning trees and crying wind didn’t seem as frightening. He hummed beside you, low and deep in his throat. 

The deeper you ventured into the woods, the more the cold disappeared, as if time moved differently there. Soon, you were shrugging off your shawl and wrapping it around your waist, as Remmick rambled along about the bakery, the plants he’d come across, a mushroom that matched the color of your eyes. Like summer rain, his voice fell over you, and you wished to open your mouth and catch the drops. “I’ve been keeping track of the plants I come across.” He told you, hand reluctantly releasing yours to pull out a leatherbound book. “See?” He passed it to you, and you flipped through pages of drawings and descriptions of different plants and bushes - their scientific names and the names he’d come to know them as next to that.

“I didn’t know you could draw like this.” You hummed, your voice trailing off as you flipped to the next page. A perfect charcoal drawing of your face, head thrown back in laughter. Every line had been drawn with loving precision, like he’d studied every valley and line on your face. You looked to him, an embarrassed flush brushed across his cheeks. “Didn’t think it worth mentionin’.” He shrugged, taking the book from you and tucking it carefully back into his coat.

“Everything about you is worth mentioning.” You squeezed his hand, looking back out to the woods. They were approaching a clearing, a strange area where the trees seemed to move around it like a circle. 

“My gran would tell me about this place,” Remmick explained as they entered the clearing, his hand on the small of your back as you walked over a fallen log. “She used to say that these woods existed outside of time, and that’s why so many weird things happened here.” 

Your eyes roamed over the white branches of birch trees curling around the clearing. A patch of dry, dead grass lay there, despite the rest of the ground being wet, surrounding it. You followed him in, feeling the very air change around you. It was thicker, warmer, like when you’d step into the room after a hot bath. 

“Have you ever taken anyone here?” You asked Remmick as you crouched down to run your fingertips over the grass. 

Remmick released your hand to sit down in the middle of the clearing. “No,” He shook his head as he stretched his long legs out. Every line of his body seemed to be carved from stone in the pale moonlight. His loosened collar revealed the strong, tanned column of his throat. His broad shoulders filled out his coat, and you could see just a peek of his suspenders underneath. You wondered what it would feel like to pull them off, to let them hang over his hips as you took him apart. “Just you.”

His words fell over you like a warm blanket, like arms wrapped around your middle. 

“Why me?” You sat beside him, shoulder pressed against his. His hand moved to rub the fabric of your skirt between the pads of his fingers, and he looked at you, all soft and pliant in the light.

“Because it was only ever you.” He said, leaning in until your foreheads touched. His breath mingled with yours as his eyes slid down to your lips. “Because every path that I’ve ever walked in these woods has always led back to you.”

Remmick’s hand released your skirt so he could rest it against the soft skin of your cheek. His thumb reached for your bottom lip, pulling it down and letting it go. The first press of his lips to yours was gentle, a soft brush of a kiss. The second was hungry, his rough hand grabbing the nape of your neck to pull you to him. The kiss was a liberation in your body - your fingers flying to his coat, clutching the fabric in your hands like he’d fly away if you didn’t. He shrugged it off in a heartbeat, lips hardly able to leave yours. Your heart drummed in your ears as you reached under one of the straps of his suspenders, pulling it down with a desperation that surged through your body like a flood. A pulse had begun between your legs, its roots spreading through your entire body.

Remmick pulled away from you, his eyes half open as he pulled the other strap of his suspenders down. He kissed you again, his body slithering against yours and pushing it down until your back was hitting the ground. The cool grass pressing against your back was a stark contrast to the warmth of his body pressed to yours. One hand braced near the side of your head, while the other slid down to lift your skirt up above your waist. His lips found your neck, his teeth nipping and licking downward. Your breath caught in your throat as he worked to slide his hand under your stockings and underwear, his fingers pressing against your center. Your nails dug into the dirt beside you, your hips lifting up to meet his fingers. 

“Remmick,” You said his name like a prayer, your eyes fluttering closed at his gentle touches. His mouth had reached the swell of your breast, his teeth marking and bruising the soft skin there. “Moilligh beagán, mo ghrá.”

Remmick pulled back, his chest heaving as his hand continued to move against you. His fingers had just begun to curl, your hands gripping the grass - and then he stopped. He looked out into the woods, his brows knit together.

“Do you smell that, love?” His usual soft and warm voice had an unusual edge to it, making you pause.

You sat up on your elbows, your body trembling as you tried to register what he’d asked you. But you didn’t have to. The overwhelming smell wafted past you, and Remmick stood up. The reflection of orange in his eyes made you turn your head, looking up to see heavy, charcoal gray smoke rising from above the trees.

“Fire.” You said, panic rising in your throat. You stood on shaky legs, wrapping your hand around Remmick’s toned arm. The muscle underneath his shirt tensed. “In the village, there’s fire.”

Remmick’s jaw clenched, and his hand reached down to grip yours. He pulled you through the woods like he knew every branch on the ground. The warm air from inside the clearing turned back to cold, filling your unprepared lungs. Your boots were soon hitting snow again as you reached the threshold of the woods, your eyes immediately searching for the source of the fire.

Remmick’s home - a small cottage at the end of the road.

“My mother.” The words were strangled, hoarse.

Remmick released your hand, clutched in his grasp as he sprinted down the slope and toward his burning home. Angry flames were licking the blue-black sky, the smell of burning wood filling your nose as you ran after him, your heart hammering in your ribcage. His feet splashed against melted snow and cobblestone. Local villagers had gathered outside the home, holding each other as they watched the fire eat the house and the small barn that Remmick’s father had built behind it. Their faces glowed orange, demonic masks that the fire had made for them.

“My mother?” Remmick called to neighbors, grabbing them by the shoulders and shaking them. “Has anyone seen my mother?”

They were shaking their heads, apologizing, crying. Remmick turned to look at the cottage, and you knew what he wanted to do. You reached for him, but he wouldn’t even look at you.

“No,” You said, tears beginning to fill your eyes. “Remmick, don’t.”

He wasn’t listening, his arm tearing away from your grasp. He shook his head, the fire waving in his pupils. His mouth hung open, slack in a dreamlike state.

“I can hear her,” He said quietly, walking toward the fire. “I can hear her calling…”

You looked up, trying to hear what he was talking about. You heard nothing but the foundation of the house cracking like bones, the sparks popping and flying off the roof. 

And then, in the doorway, you saw it. Your entire body froze, your own nails digging into your hand. You felt blood trickle down your palms, but you couldn’t feel the pain.

A dark figure stood there, cloaked in black. It stood in the flames like it was nothing but a summer breeze, fingers longer than what could be human. A shadow of horns spiraled from its head, something akin to the horns of the ram. And on what would be the face, if you could have seen it, were two red glowing dots for eyes. Despite what you could see, Remmick hadn’t stopped moving. He was walking into the fire, like the figure was calling him. You had been right. The Devil walked in the woods.

You couldn’t move, you couldn’t scream for him. Something had seized your body, pinning your feet into the snow-covered ground. The villagers cried, but none of them seemed to see Remmick entering the fire, or the figure that beckoned him. You felt your entire being die as he disappeared into the orange abyss. There was no scream of pain as the fire absorbed him, nor an acknowledgment of the figure that followed after. There was just numbing silence afterward. When the force that had kept your body still released you, you fell so hard to your knees that you felt the skin break open, blood against snow. 

The villagers hadn’t been able to move you from that spot, not for hours. You watched the roof collapse in on itself, the shed behind become reduced to ash. But you still somehow thought that Remmick could walk out of those flames, that he would press his lips to yours and wake you from this nightmare.

—------------

The murders began a few weeks after the fire.

The first victim had been Mr. Flynn, a sweet old man who had the biggest book collection you’d ever seen. When you were young, you’d run to his house with Remmick in the summer heat, feet bare and grass-stained. You’d sit in his room of books and tear through pages like you wre starving for them. He’d been found in that room, sitting in the armchair by his hearth, a book in his hands. He looked like he was sleeping, until you reached the front of them and discovered the two holes at the base of his throat, an inch or so apart. Sticky, wet blood stained the front of his shirt and trickled off the chair onto the hardwood floor. 

The book in his hands - a collection of James Joyce's poetry. A favorite of Remmick’s.

Rain on Rahoon falls softly, softly falling

Where my dark lover lies.

Sad is his voice that calls me, sadly calling

At grey moonrise.

Love, here thou

How desolate the heart is, ever calling

Ever unanswered - and the dark rain falling

Then as now:

Dark too our hearts, O love, shall lie, and cold

As his sad heart has lain

Under the moon-grey nettles, the black mould

And muttering rain.

The murders continued, one every week. The fifth week, the midwife who had brought both you and Remmick into this world, found just outside the nursery doors. The seventh, a local farmer who had been tending to his horses, found in his stables. Eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve. While your village disappeared, your mother struggled to get you to eat, to sleep, to do anything. You spent your days on the porch, watching people begin to board up their windows, place crucifixes on their doors. The village priest began to host nightly services to pray for their lives, and though you didn’t attend them, you could hear their prayers and sermons echo through the village.

“And I stood upon the sand of the sea, and saw a beast rise up out of the sea, having seven heads and ten horns, and upon his horns ten crowns, and upon his heads the name of blasphemy. And the beast which I saw was like unto a leopard, and his feet were as the feet of a bear, and his mouth as the mouth of a lion: and the dragon gave him his power, and his seat, and great authority.”

People didn’t leave their houses much after the priest was dead, the thirteenth to be found. 

After that night, you opened the door in the early morning to find something nailed to your door. An elderberry leaf, splattered with red. You turned it over and over in your fingers as you sat on the porch that day, waiting for the sun to go down. You waited for him because you knew it was him. 

The sun went down slowly that night, like it was trying to keep you from your fate. The last of the snow had melted, the air a bit warmer to welcome a morbid spring. Your bare feet pressed against cold pavement as you walked to the corpse of Remmick’s home. You hadn’t dressed all day, a sheer white nightgown clinging to the curves of your body as you stopped in front of the charred remains. 

You waited, standing there for nearly an hour as the breeze blew through your legs and hair, kissing your skin. 

A voice, as familiar as his hands on your body.

“A chuisle mo chroí…” The words that had once warmed your chest every time he said it now made your body go rigid.

Your head turned before the rest of your body, eyes meeting his cold, gleaming ones. He was dressed in clothes that weren’t his. A black button-up shirt, a size too small. Pants a size too big, held up with suspenders. The carved lines of his face had become even sharper, the hollow points of his eyes and cheekbones cloaked in shadow. The only part you could see of his eyes were his irises, amber, orange, and red, swimming in pools of black. Nothing like the clear blue you’d looked into just weeks ago, before he pressed his lips to yours. Your body betrayed you, a heat forming in your throat. His beauty hadn’t diminished; maybe it was even stronger.

You took a step forward.

“Your eyes…” You said hoarsely. “Looks like the fire is still in you and fighting to get out.” 

He smiled, and his smile was odd. More crooked than usual, and his teeth in the dark seemed.. sharper. Not the smile that he had pressed against your skin, though it still somehow made your legs feel weak. “No fire could have kept me from you.”

Your chest ached. All you could do was let out a broken breath that felt forced out of you, your hands aching to reach for him, but too terrified to move.

“Where have you been, Remmick?” You asked him, taking a step back. “Rather, where do you go when you’re not…” Draining your neighbors. Draining them of all their blood like those rabbits your father had found near the woods. The woods where Remmick had pressed his fingers to the most intimate parts of you.

Remmick turned his head, looking out to the slope that lead to the woods. Even in the early spring, you could still see your breath in the cold nighttime. Remmick had no breath, no movement in his body that read any way human. The rise and fall of his chest that you had once used to ground yourself was absent now.

“Come to the woods with me.” He said quietly, looking to you with an insatiable hunger. “When the sun is out, I sleep in the cold dirt, and it’s the most peaceful silence you could ever ask for.” You frowned. Remmick’s voice had changed, an accent that you didn’t recognize bleeding into his regular speech. You took another step away from him, and he followed, his body becoming coated in moonlight. It was then that you could see the viscous,  thick blood that coated his chin and chest, and the way that his teeth didn’t fit right in his mouth. A monster in your lover’s body -  the Devil in your lover’s body.

You asked what you didn’t want to know. “Who?”

Remmick didn’t answer. He just continued to ramble. “I can show you what I’ve seen. Life beyond life, death beyond death. The ability to move between worlds, to see what can’t be seen-”

“Remmick,” You backed away as he continued to move toward you, eyes seeming to get redder with each step. His gaze no longer held anything that made you feel safe. “Remmick, who? Who’d you-”

Remmick paused, inches away from you. He lifted his hand, and his fingers were long, with curved nails that went well past his fingertips. He took a strand of your hair in his fingers, twirled it around. Your body remembered his touch, wanting to connect to him like a magnet. But you stilled, staring at his eyes that gleamed like stained glass windows. “Do you know,” He said quietly. “I thought it would be your father that would taste rotten, but it wasn’t. It was your mother.” He smiled, his eyes fluttering closed as he breathed in deep through his nose. He had begun drooling, like a rabid dog. “She called your name as she went, sweet Death taking her into his arms…”

You tore yourself away from him, your hair tugging from his grasp. Your body burned, wracked with grief as you looked at Remmick, or whatever had replaced him. He was grinning, his hands pushed into his pockets. The drip of blood from his chin onto the ground made you feel nauseous, your hand clutching at your stomach.

“You’re scaring me, Remmick.” You said quietly, holding your hands out as if you were trying to not frighten a deer. But he wasn’t a deer. He was a wolf, and you were the prey. “Why don’t you just go?”

“You sweet summer lamb…” Remmick frowned, as if from genuine concern. “I’m not leaving without you.”

Remmick’s body twitched, as if taken over by something otherworldly. His head cocked to the side with an inhuman crack, his eyes traveled up your body, to the sky, to the woods.

“A game,” He said, a grin forming on his face again. “Like when we were children…do you remember? I’d chase you… You’d laugh.” His arms twitched as he took his hands out of his pockets. 

His voice fell into a deep purr, his eyes half lidded with a sick sense of desire. “Wouldn’t you like to laugh again?” 

Remmick lunged, his body moving quicker than you’d ever seen a human move. Your body twisted around, sprinting away as fast as you could with your bare feet on the cold ground. You knew he could have caught you from the moment that you started running, but he was having fun. Playing with his food. When you turned your head for a split moment to look behind you, you could see him walking, slowly. Hands at his sides, drool dripping from his mouth to the ground. His tongue caught out to catch it, and it was longer, flicking out like a serpent.

He was leading you to the woods, your feet feeling the switch from cobblestone to wet grass coated in mist. You felt the twist in your stomach as you passed the threshold, the way the air changed, and the trees whispered no longer fascinated you. You couldn’t help but wonder if the chase was somehow foreplay to something bigger, to something worse that he would do to you. 

Deep down, you wanted to know what he’d do to you if he caught you. The shame of that ached in your chest as you ran. 

You whipped past tree branches that seemed to reach out for you, catching on your nightgown and cutting your skin. You could hear his voice, echoing around you. 

“And they worshipped the dragon which gave power unto the beast: and they worshipped the beast, saying,”

You groaned as a branch ripped into your arm, your head spinning. You jumped over a log, passed through a bushel of elderberries.

“Who is like unto the beast? Who is able to make war with him? And he opened his mouth in blasphemy against God, to blaspheme his name, and his tabernacle, and them that dwell in heaven…”

A blow to the face, your nose crunching against something rough. Your body flew back as you felt the blood flooding from your nostrils and over your lips. You’d run into a tree that you couldn’t have seen in the dark. The woods spun in your vision, your nose already swelling and pulsing. Your lungs burned, and you turned, preparing to run in a different direction. 

You stopped, a breath caught in your throat. He was there, standing like he’d been there the whole time. In a speed incomprehensible to your eyes, he was in front of you, his hands pushing you to the ground with a force that you never would have been able to fight. His boot pressed into your shoulder, the inhuman weight of him keeping you still against the cold grass. 

Remmick leaned down, his thumb brushing against your lips and collecting the blood that ran there. He looked at you as he pressed his thumb into his mouth, his tongue swirling around to collect what he’d gathered there. He hummed, eyes fluttering shut.

“You taste like the sun… like goodness.” He opened his eyes. “And fear.”

His thumb left his mouth. The same hand moved to wrap around your throat. Not tight, but firm, like a collar that claimed you. His skin was abnormally cool against yours.

“What happened to you, Remmick?” You asked, tasting your blood on your tongue. “After the fire, I saw…”

Remmick smiled, using his other hand to push your hair from your face. “I died. I came back. I was hungry.” He said it so matter-of-factly, like it didn’t matter. “I know it wasn’t kind, what I did to them. But I prayed for their souls when I was done.”

He pressed his finger to your cheek, the sharp nail of his fingertip cutting into your skin. “But not you. I’ll keep you. Our souls will be damned, but we’ll be together.” 

Remmick removed his boot from your shoulder, and you still didn’t move. He leaned down, his body hovering over yours. His hands ran down your sides, his eyes wandered over your face.

“I watched you every night since my death.” He said quietly, something akin to the old Remmick in him as he said it. “And all I could think about was how my teeth would feel sliding into you.” His nose twitched, his mouth curled. “My tongue lapping up your blood.”

Remmick’s knee slid between your legs, pressing against you. Your treacherous hips lifted up, pressing against him. His drool dripped onto your skin as he leaned down to press his lips to your neck, right at the pulse point. His teeth digging into your throat didn’t hurt; not like you thought it would. It was warm and wet, his teeth sliding out of the holes to lick over the bleeding wounds. His hand gripped the fabric of your nightgown, pulling it up to reveal you bare underneath.

“Tastes like sin and goodness all at once.” He moaned against your skin as his hand pressed against your center, rubbing in circles that matched the rhythm of his tongue on your throat. You hated him. Hated the way your body responded to him and how he knew what to do to make you undone. 

The blood was nearly drained from your body when you found your release, your nails digging deep into his shoulder blade. Your body ached from the emptiness, and your nightgown pooled around your legs like a blanket. Remmick sat on his haunches before you, rolling up the sleeve of his shirt to reveal a toned arm, stained with blood. 

His teeth, still coated in your blood, dug into his arm. He let the blood trickle down his skin, hovering it over you to let it drip into your mouth.

The taste was unlike anything you’d ever had before. The very taste of God on your tongue, sweeter than the elderberry pies that Remmick would give you at his family’s shop. It sang in your veins, making you reach for his arm to drink more. You drank until he had to force himself from your clutch, his body falling to lie next to yours, arm pressed to his chest. 

Your body had begun to die, a terrible pain wracking through your body. You convulsed, Remmick’s blood dripping from your lips.

He laughed breathlessly, turning his head to look at you. 

“Our covenant, my love.” He said finally. “I told you every path led back to you.”

_______________

Irish Gaelic translations:

dia dhuit - Hello or God be with you

a pheata - my pet

a chuisle - my pulse

th'anam 'on diabhal - your soul to the Devil! (expression of surprise)

wean - child

a chuisle mo chroi - pulse of my heart

moilligh beagan, mo ghra - slow down a little, my love

_______________

Also credits to the poem She Weeps Over Rahoon by James Joyce, and Revelations 13:1 from the Bible lmao

[worlds-we-write]

Not So Funny Now, Huh?

pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

summary: Patrol gets messy when a friend teases you about "your man" and Joel overhears. Back home, jealous and possessive Joel makes sure you remember exactly who you belong to.

tags: dom!Joel, jealous/possessive behavior, rough sex, heavy dirty talk, hair pulling, choking (light), marking, unprotected sex, overstimulation, praise/degradation mix, possessiveness, aftercare.

AN: jealous + filthy Joel is always the mood 🔥 thank you @/stankyedits27 on TikTok for inspiring this nasty little one. enjoy xoxo

My Masterlist

The patrol was supposed to be quiet.

Just routine—south perimeter check, little chit chat, nothing serious. But of course, Lila couldn’t help herself. She kept glancing between you and Joel like she was watching the start of some soap opera.

"So… how’s your man these days?" she asked with a knowing smirk, nudging your arm as you both walked a little ahead of Joel.

You laughed it off, waving her off quickly. “Shut up. He’s not my man.”

“Uh huh,” Lila singsonged. “You sure don’t sound like someone who isn’t head over heels. I see how you look at him.”

Your face flushed hot, but you couldn’t stop the grin that tugged at your lips. “Drop it. Seriously.”

But Joel was behind you. Joel was listening.

His boots scraped harshly against the gravel. His jaw ticked, heavy silence radiating off him like heat from the summer pavement. You didn’t realize he’d even been paying attention. You didn’t realize just how closely he’d been listening.

By the time patrol ended and the sun dipped low, Joel hadn’t said a word.

Not until you were back at your place. Alone.

You barely locked the door before he was right there, crowding into your space, hands braced on the wall beside your head. You blinked up at him in confusion.

“‘Your man,’ huh?” His voice was a low growl, soft and dangerous. “That who you were talkin’ about out there? Someone else?”

You swallowed. “Joel—what?”

“Answer me.” His palm wrapped around your throat, not tight, just firm enough to make you feel small and trapped against him. His eyes were wild with something dark and simmering.

“Of course I was talking about you,” you whispered, breath catching.

He huffed a sharp breath through his nose, like he wasn’t sure if that satisfied him or pissed him off more.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he muttered. “Laughin’ it up, blushin’ like a fuckin’ teenager. You like gettin’ people talkin’, baby? Like makin’ ‘em wonder who’s fuckin’ you?”

His words hit you like lightning. You felt them between your legs more than you should have.

“Joel, no—”

“No?” His free hand slid down, gripping your hips so tight it hurt. He hauled you against him, letting you feel the hard, thick press of him through his jeans. “Don’t lie. You want me like this, don’t you? All worked up. Jealous. You know what that does to me.”

Your knees went weak. You whimpered as he shoved you back toward the bedroom.

Once you hit the bed, he didn’t waste time. Pulled your pants down roughly, threw them somewhere across the room. Fingers dragged down your soaked panties like he expected you to deny how wet you were—but you couldn’t.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Joel hissed, running his fingers through your arousal. “You’re so fuckin’ wet already. From just me bein’ mad at you, huh? You like pokin’ the fuckin’ bear, girl. Like knowin’ you’re mine.”

“Yours,” you gasped, arching up as two fingers pushed deep inside you.

“Yeah,” he grunted, leaning down so his mouth was right by your ear, lips brushing your skin. “Say it again.”

“Yours. I’m yours.”

“That’s right. No more gigglin’ with your little friends. No more wonderin’.”

His fingers fucked into you relentlessly until you were crying out, hands scrambling for something—anything—to hold onto.

“Joel—oh my God—Joel—”

“Not good enough. Tell me whose pussy this is.”

“Yours, yours, it’s yours—please—”

He groaned, pulling his fingers free and shoving his pants down just enough to free himself. The head of his cock nudged against your soaked entrance and without waiting, he pushed in deep, all at once. You cried out, body jerking.

“Fuckin’ hell, baby. So fuckin’ tight. Like you were made for me.”

He set a brutal pace, hips slamming into yours as his hand tangled in your hair, tugging your head back so you had no choice but to look at him.

“Look at me. You wanna act like I’m not your man? Huh? Then why’s your pussy squeezin’ me like this?”

You could barely breathe, the mixture of pain and pleasure making your head spin.

“I—Joel—can’t—”

“Yes you can. Gonna take every fuckin’ inch. Gonna let me ruin you.”

He was relentless. Filthy. Every word pouring from his mouth more possessive than the last. He owned you in every sense—his cock driving you toward oblivion, his hand gripping your throat again, his voice branding you.

When your orgasm hit, it shattered through you. You screamed his name as your body arched off the bed, clenching and fluttering around him.

Joel groaned deep in his chest, letting go and fucking you through it, chasing his own release.

“Mine,” he snarled as he spilled deep inside you, hips grinding down as if he could bury himself even deeper. “You’re fuckin’ mine. Say it.”

“Yours,” you sobbed, overwhelmed and trembling.

Joel collapsed over you, breath ragged. But even as he kissed your temple and whispered soft praises now, his hips still lazily rocked against you, keeping you filled, keeping you marked.

“You ever even think about sayin’ otherwise again, I’ll fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk for a week,” he murmured against your skin.

And somehow… that didn’t sound like a punishment at all.

Your legs were jelly by the time Joel finally let you go. He could see it too — the way you slumped back against the mattress, boneless and dazed.

“Shit, baby,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Wore you out, huh?”

You could only nod weakly, eyes fluttering shut as his hands caressed your sides. The rough, jealous edge was long gone now. In its place was something far softer — careful, protective Joel, whose fingers traced the marks he’d left with visible regret.

“Didn’t mean to be that fuckin’ rough,” he whispered, voice thick with guilt. He kissed the faint red lines on your throat, then your collarbone. “You alright? Talk to me, honey.”

“M’okay,” you mumbled, sleepy but floating. “Was good. Really good, Joel.”

That seemed to ease something in him. He gave a low hum, kissed you again — this time slow and unhurried — and then stood.

“Stay right there,” he ordered gently. “Ain’t done takin’ care of you.”

You barely registered him moving around the room, but minutes later he was back with a warm, damp cloth. He cleaned you up with slow, tender strokes, murmuring sweet praises the whole time. Took me so good, baby… fuck, I love you like this.

When he was finished, he pulled you into his arms effortlessly, carrying you bridal style toward the small bathroom.

“Joel,” you mumbled, half-asleep against his shoulder.

“Shhh,” he soothed, “gonna run you a bath. Just relax.”

He didn’t let you lift a finger. He set you down carefully on the closed toilet seat as he filled the tub, making sure the water was just right before helping you in. His hands stayed on you the whole time — washing your hair, massaging your scalp, running soft cloths over your skin.

By the time he pulled you out, wrapped you up in his flannel, and carried you back to bed, you were nothing but pliant warmth in his hold.

Once tucked under the covers, he slid in behind you, pressing his chest to your back and hooking a heavy arm possessively around your waist.

“No more jokin’ about ‘your man,’” he murmured sleepily, voice rough but fond as his nose nuzzled into your hair. “Ain’t no fuckin’ joke. You’re mine. You hear me?”

You smiled, drowsy and warm and safe.

“Yours,” you whispered back.

Joel hummed, satisfied, pulling you closer as he drifted off with you in his arms — wrapped up in the sweetest kind of aftermath.

[vampyr-ss]

baby | s. getou

wc: 1.2k

other: chat this was a random thought so it's unedited this is brainrot.

warnings: dark content (stepcest) + non con kinda sorta + mating press + daddy kink + 'angel' + infidelity + creampie + breeding kink + squirting + pussy slapping + slapping + subspace + smut under the cut babe

geto knew your pretty little cunt couldn't take the pounding he wanted to give you. he's watched you walk around the house in those tiny fucking shorts with no panties. he's watched you lean over to pick something up in just your thong and a big shirt--his shirt. he doesn't even remember lending you any of his shirts.

his marriage to your mother is on the rocks because she's cheating on him. he knows this, you know this, and you've always thought he was attractive. you didn't care that they got married when you were 19, you don't care that he's 20 years older than you. you want him. your mother doesn't deserve him.

geto isn't an idiot, he knows you've been trying to fuck him. he didn't 'let it happen', he plotted on it. he waited until your mom left for work. he waited until her car pulled out of the driveway before he found himself practically charging into your room. you were still laying down in bed on your phone, silently giggling at whatever was on the bright screen.

he hadn't cared before what you were laughing at, and he sure as hell doesn't care now. all he needed was to fuck your throat, fuck you, and watch his cum ooze out of every hole he could possibly fill. a very reasonable ask if you asked him.

"the fuck are you crying for?" geto asks you as he watches the tears spill from your eyes. his feet are steadily on the bed and your legs dangle over his shoulders. your ass hurts from the previous slaps he'd adorned it with, but nothing beats the pleasure that ripples through your body when he slaps you across your face. "da- suguru i'm sorry!"

he tuts at you and his thrusts only get stronger. he wraps his hand around your throat for more leverage, and at this point he's basically throwing his body weight into his thrusts. the way your pussy clenches around him has him thanking god for you, for this cunt, for this life. he hasn't had pussy like this in years.

"-too much! 's too much suguru i can't daddy please! i feel like-" you pause to catch your breath since his hand is tight around your neck. another sob racks your body when geto slaps you again, anger building in his body. "feel like what? you're the one who kept bending over in front of me. you kept wearing those slutty ass panties so i could see a preview of this cunt." you shake your head in an attempt to deny everything he's saying but the both of you know it's true.

your pussy clenches at the thought of him watching you bend over and thinking about it later. did he think about it while fucking your mom? did he wish it was you instead? "i'm sorry! i'm sorry daddy!" you're practically screaming your pleas and geto takes the time to shift his free hand to rub at your clit. he wishes he could fuck your ass and watch your pussy clench around nothing because you don't even deserve his dick.

"my slutty stepdaughter, what am i gonna do with you angel?" you shake your head to say that you're not a slut but before you can say anything a loud moan rips from your throat. "that's it sweet angel." he purrs. "take it. this is what you wanted right? for your stepdaddy to fuck this tight cunt?" he frees your throat to wait for your response.

he leans over so he's closer to you, pressing wet kisses along your neck. "admit it. my sweet angel's just a fucking slut." you clearly haven't found your voice again because you just nod. geto tastes the tears as they run from your cheeks to your neck. "admit it or you won't cum. i'll make sure you get to the edge and then i'll pull out. i know how desperate this pussy is. sloppy fuckin' cunt." his hand comes down on your pussy for extra measure, a wet squelch following the slap to your cunt.

"yes! i'm just your slut daddy, please let me cum. i need it so bad!" your hands find purchase on his back and your pretty acrylics dig deep into his back. geto can feel the skin break a little and the pain somehow fuels him into pounding your pussy further. he can feel his orgasm get closer and closer with each thrust and with your pretty moans and the tightest cunt he's ever felt aren't helping it either.

geto laughs at your begging and adjusts so he's face to face with you. he glances over your face, taking in how swollen your lips and eyes are. your face is somewhat red from him slapping your cheeks and somehow he's harder than before. "good girl," he pauses to grin widely, "maybe i'll fill this pussy up and give you a baby. you can't leave me then, huh? can't leave your daddy for one of these stupid fucking college boys."

you shake your head in protest, your hands pushing at the bottom of his stomach to get him out of you. "no! no, please! i can't- how- no!" geto understands your questions even if you don't get them out properly. "i don't care, you can just tell your mom one of those frat boys knocked you up. i'll take care of you, angel. i'll divorce your mom to marry this perfect pussy." you cry out as he finishes his sentence, shifting your hips away from his as the knot tightens as far as it can go.

"stop running, angel. take daddy's dick, yeah? go ahead. cum for me." you shake your head again, because you know when you cum he'll cum with you. he'll cum inside of you and make you a mother. that isn't something you can truly explain. geto sighs heavily from above you, gripping your cheeks in his hand. "cum so i can make you a mommy, baby. cum so i can see my cum ooze out of your perfect pussy."

despite wanting to fight it your body convulsed under his. you lean up to kiss geto, crying out against his lips to no avail. your stomach shifts and a new sense of euphoria floods your senses. your pussy twitches as you cum, fluids spurting out against geto's pelvis and onto the sheets under the two of you. geto grunts against your lips, chanting your name like an unanswered prayer. he barely gets another thrust in before he's coming deep inside of you.

he continues short sharp thrusts into you, forcing more cum out of you and your orgasm to prolong. your legs are shaking on his shoulders, but he doesn't care. he's praying that this takes so he can finally leave your bitch of a mother. "atta girl, wasn't so bad was it? you gonna have my baby, angel?"

defeated, you nod as your eyes flutter open. geto smiles down at you, a sweet sincere smile that almost makes you forget who he is. you almost forget that this is wrong and that you could be pregnant with your step-dad's baby. "yes, daddy. i can't wait." you purr softly, smiling dreamily up at him before he kisses you softly.

[calwoso]

disappointment part 2

you finally tell your sister and Marta why you’re here

Caro hasn't spoken a word to you the entire ride back from the match. She hasn't so much as glanced at you as you sit sullenly in the back seat as your first couple of attempts at making conversation were shot down by silence. Even Marta doesn't seem willing to chat for once.

When Caro finally pulls into the parking lot and switches off the engine, your hand immediately flies to the door handle, pulling at it impatiently to free yourself. It doesn't budge and you huff in annoyance.

"Child lock, really?" You say snippily at your sister who glances at you once in the rearview mirror.

"We're not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on." She tells you plainly, crossing her arms and continuing to face forwards.

You groan dramatically, trying the door once more in vain, "I told you, I just wanted to visit."

Your sister remains silent, staring stubbornly ahead even though you can see the clench of her jaw as she tries not to start the argument again. Getting no joy from her you try her partner who is shifting uneasily in her seat.

"Marta, come on, she's being ridiculous." You half-whine.

Caro's head twitches every so slightly as Marta takes a deep breath and remains quiet.

"You want to get out, you tell me why you're here. And you tell me why Mamma sounded so pissed off on the phone this morning too." Caro repeats herself.

Tipping your head back against the seat you try to out wait your sister. She's always had less patience than you, and maybe if you just shut up and say nothing she'll let you out of the damn car.

It's barely two minutes of silence before Marta says, hesitantly, "Caro, maybe we should just-"

"No." Caro says sharply. "She wants to act like an adult then she can sit there and tell me why she's here."

It's the guilt, you think, of being the cause of Caro snapping at her partner. You like Marta, you never meant to cause such an issue.

"Fine! You want to know why I'm here and why our parents are so furious? It's because I'm not you, Caro. I'm not you, I don't have anything ahead of me to go and achieve." Your voice is too loud for the enclosed space but it only gets louder as you grow more upset. "Because they spent two hours yelling at me yesterday about how I have no prospects, no path forward! How I'm wasting my life and...and how I'll never be you and instead I’m just a disappointment. And I knew you wouldn't get it but I thought at least my sister might have my back in all this."

You hate the way you cry when you get angry.

"And I know I should have called ahead, but I just needed out of there. You don't know what it's like to live under your shadow. But I thought I could go to the one place someone might actually be pleased to see me!" You're sniffling pathetically now, swiping at your cheeks furiously. You feel like a kid again begging your sister not to move away because you'd miss her.

"But I get it now, so open the fucking door so I can get out of here!" You yell.

Caro sits stock still as only the sound of your heavy breathing and sniffling remains. Eventually it's Marta that presses a button on the centre console and you hear the locks disengage. You're out of the car like a shot, slamming the door behind you a little more than perhaps necessary.

You turn and stomp away down the street. You can't help the way your ears strain for the sound of Caro's voice in case she calls out for you. But it doesn't come.

Back in the car, Caro sits rigid. the keys dangle uselessly in the ignition. Marta's hand hovers above her own door handle, caught in two minds about what to do. Her gaze darts between Caro’s frozen profile and the spot where you had disappeared around the corner.

“Amor” she says softly, reaching to brush her partner’s shoulder. “We can’t just let her—”

Caro doesn't say anything but her head nods jerkily and Marta is opening her door and running after you, leaving her partner stuck in the driver's seat.

You haven't gotten too far, but you have managed to cross the road and duck into the park opposite.

"Wait! Please," She calls out to you from across the road, just as you're about to disappear further into the greenery.

You stop at the sound, and Marta doesn't miss the way you seem genuinley shocked she's come after you. The Spaniard isn't sure how long you'll stay still as she bounces on the balls of her feet waiting for the lights to change so she can cross the busy road.

The light to walk flickers on and she jogs across the street and up to you, not giving you a chance before she's sweeping you into a bone crushing hug.

You try not to melt into it. Your family aren't known for being the most outwardly affectionate and you had wondered how your sister had ended up with someone who seems to love so freely.

But it's hard not to give in as Marta runs a hand up and down your back and hugs you closer. Your tears that had barely stopped, start again and you sob like you're a child again.

Marta doesn’t let go until your sobs taper into shaky breaths, your forehead still pressed into her shoulder. When she finally pulls back, she keeps her hands on your arms, studying your face with concern. “Okay, two choices,” she says, “We either go home, or we sit on that bench over there so we can talk properly.”

Going back and facing your sister after having a full blown meltdown in the back of her Cupra does not fill you with joy.

So you collapse onto the sun-warmed wood, and Marta plops down beside you, close enough that her knee knocks against yours. For a moment, she says nothing, just lets the park’s chatter fill the silence. When she finally speaks, her voice softens. “Your parents… they’re wrong, you know.”

You pick at a splinter on the bench. “They’re not entirely wrong. I don’t have a plan. I just, I don’t have a passion, I’m not like Caro, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Marta snorts. “Your sister does not know what she’s going.” She bumps your shoulder. “You think Caro’s got it all figured out? Dios mío, I promise you she doesn’t.”

A laugh hiccups out of you, unexpected. Marta’s grin widens.

“But still, at least she always knew what she wanted. Had something to aim for. I’m just…stuck, with no idea what to do.” You sigh, kicking gently at a loose rock underneath your foot.

Marta hums in quiet agreement. She can’t argue against that, nor can she imagine not knowing or at least having an idea of what you want to do.

She doesn’t really know what to say to you, doesn’t have a way to take away your worries. So she settles on assuaging them as best she can.

“I don’t mean to sound patronising, but you’re young. You have time, despite what others may say. Comparing yourself and being compared to Caroline isn’t fair.” Marta pauses for a beat. “Your life isn’t made in your teen years or even your twenties. Or even your thirties I suppose. I mean, what am I going to do when I retire? I haven’t got a clue!”

You still don’t look wholly convinced which the Spaniard supposes is fair. You’re clearly still hurt and downtrodden from your argument with your parents and feeling raw at the way Caro took your sudden appearance as an intrusion rather than a request for help.

She really needs to have a word with both Norweigans about actually speaking to one another when everyone has had some time to calm down.

“We’ll figure it out. We can brainstorm ideas for what you want to do and you can stay with us for as long as you need.” She assures you.

“Doubt Caro would want you saying that.” You mumble a little pitifully even if your heart warms at the obvious care from your sister’s partner. “It’s hard enough getting her to respond to my texts, she didn’t even tell me you’d moved in together. I know I’m younger than her but she used to always have time for me.”

Your bottom lip wobbles and you bite down on it until it stops.

“I know it’s awful but she was so miserable at Wolfsburg and so she was always calling home and then, then she moved here and met you and it’s like she forgot all about me.” You confess, hastily adding. “I don’t want her to be miserable and I really like you and you clearly make her happy. But I was just left behind and all our parents could see was how little I achieved in comparison to her.”

Marta doesn’t really know what to say to that, a little pit of guilt forming in her stomach as she wonders if she’s taken Caro away from someone who needs her. But you keep talking before she can figure out how to respond.

“Is it so bad for me to just want to be average and not high flying and just live a stupid boring life?” You bury your head in your hands. “I never asked to have a sister who’s a footballer, I never wanted to be one either, so why am I being compared to her?”

“I know,” Marta pulls you against her side. “I know, it’s not fair. You can do whatever you want to do and that can change as much as you want.”

You laugh wetly and with a self deprecating little snort, “I don’t think I’ve cried this much since I was a kid.”

Marta doesn’t think you’ve cried that much at all, really. She reckons she would’ve cried an awful lot more if her parents had said those things to her at 18. It’s easy to forget with you, given your general sunny disposition, but you are very much Caro’s sister and the pair of you clearly both struggle with difficult emotions.

"Let's go home for now." She settles on, tugging you to your feet. "We can deal with everything else later. We have time." She suggests, not really giving you too much time to think about it as she already begins to steer you back the way you came.

You like the sound of having time, though. The idea that maybe you have enough time to figure everything out with Marta's help, if not your sister's, that maybe everyone will back off enough for you to breathe.

It’s silent when you and Marta arrive back to the Spaniard’s home and your heart drops at the idea that your outburst may have scared your sister off from her own home. But there’s a muffled sound from further inside and you frown at Marta before following her through towards the master bedroom.

The door is shut but as you near the sound becomes clearer and you realise it’s your sister’s voice, your sister’s extremely pissed off voice speaking rapidly and agitatedly in Norwegian. It’s Marta’s turn to frown at you, unable to keep up with the language at this speed.

“She’s still practically a child, definitely still a teenager! She’s not supposed to know what to do.” Caro snaps and although you’ve heard and been apart of enough arguments with your sister to know her temper, it still makes you wince. “No, Mamma you’re not listening. How I was at 18 wasn’t normal. She’s a good kid, she’s smart, funny, friendly, everything I wasn’t at that age. She has time. She doesn’t have to figure it all out.”

You swallow thickly as you listen, you had honestly thought you were all cried out but maybe not.

“And to call her a disappointment is unacceptable. Whether you were worried or not about her future or whatever it may be. She’s a good person, her own person, and she’s your daughter.” Caro’s voice despite being loud cracks a little and you hear Marta sniff too and you want to check on her but you’re also rooted to the spot. “She can stay here for a while until you’ve remembered what a wonderful child you have and she can use it as a holiday. Goodbye Mamma.”

There’s silence after that, aside from the sound of the blood rushing in your ears. You don’t think you’ve heard your sister yell at your parents, not out of true anger. And certainly not on your behalf. When another few seconds pass and you still hear nothing from the other side of the door you tentatively knock on the wood.

“Just a minute, amor.” Caro calls back in Spanish.

You can’t help but snort and reply, “Try again, it’s me.”

The door swings open almost immediately afterwards and Caro sighs, relieved, when she lays eyes on you. “Don’t run away like that.” She tells you sternly, the effect somewhat ruined by her own tear tracks.

But she sweeps you into a tight hug before you can point that out. You honestly can’t remember the last time your sister hugged like this. Not since you were much smaller instead of the inch of height difference between you both now.

“You yelled at Mamma.” You say, muffled against her shoulder.

“She was wrong about you, and cruel.” Caro explains as if it’s simple. “You can stay here, and lounge about and enjoy the sun for as long as you want. There’s no rush. At all.” Her arms squeeze tighter around you and you believe every word.

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might write some little one shots within this universe at some point in the future but for now this is where it ends