#rev: glory

[boygirlctommy]

i couldnt upload the audio like a normal person so heres this. gonna try to animate to it tomorrow :P

[4x09]

“Any onlooker would have sworn he was part of the exhibit, standing perfectly still in clothes 2 centuries old. A face ripped out of a picture book of war time casualties, the plaque at his feet would read “Turncoat”, no doubt. A fine specimen, but of the kind that never made it into textbooks, unless they were the likes of Brutus, Marcus or Judas.”

I too forget this foundational principle of his character. Lying liar who lies is also a turncoat.

[blueheartbooks]

Unveiling the Epic Grandeur: A Review of "The Iliad" translated by Rev. W. Lucas Collins M.A.

Homer's "The Iliad," translated by Rev. W. Lucas Collins M.A., stands as a timeless testament to the enduring power of storytelling and the human spirit. This monumental epic transports readers to the heart of the Trojan War, an ancient conflict between the Greeks and the Trojans, immortalizing the heroism, tragedy, and complex emotions of its characters. Collins' translation captures the essence of Homer's original work, maintaining the poetic rhythm and majestic language that have mesmerized readers for centuries.

At the core of "The Iliad" lies the figure of Achilles, the greatest warrior of the Greek army, whose wrath and pride drive the narrative forward. Through Collins' translation, Achilles' internal struggles and external feats are rendered with vivid clarity, showcasing the character's depth and complexity. The themes of honor, glory, and the fragility of human life reverberate throughout the text, inviting readers to ponder the nature of heroism and the consequences of unchecked ambition.

One of the most striking aspects of Collins' translation is its ability to capture the sheer scale of the Trojan War. From the clash of bronze-clad warriors on the battlefield to the whispered intrigues of the gods on Mount Olympus, the epic sweeps across vast landscapes and cosmic realms with breathtaking intensity. Collins' evocative language brings to life the sights, sounds, and emotions of ancient warfare, immersing readers in a world where every action carries profound significance.

Moreover, Collins' translation does justice to Homer's rich tapestry of characters, each imbued with their own motivations, flaws, and desires. Whether it's the noble Hector, the doomed Priam, or the cunning Odysseus, every figure in "The Iliad" comes alive on the page, leaving an indelible impression on the reader's mind. Through Collins' masterful rendition, these characters cease to be mere names from antiquity and instead become timeless symbols of human experience.

Beyond its gripping narrative and compelling characters, "The Iliad" offers profound insights into the human condition and the nature of war. Through the lens of ancient myth, Homer explores themes of mortality, fate, and the capriciousness of the gods, prompting readers to confront fundamental questions about life, death, and the pursuit of meaning. Collins' translation preserves the philosophical depth of Homer's work, inviting readers to embark on a journey of intellectual and emotional discovery.

In conclusion, "The Iliad" translated by Rev. W. Lucas Collins M.A. is a masterpiece of world literature that continues to captivate and inspire readers across generations. With its timeless themes, epic scope, and poetic beauty, this translation serves as a fitting tribute to Homer's enduring legacy, ensuring that the tale of Achilles and the Trojan War will continue to resonate with audiences for centuries to come.

Homer's "The Iliad," translated by Rev. W. Lucas Collins M.A. is available in Amazon in paperback 12.99$ and hardcover 19.99$ editions.

Number of pages: 208

Language: English

Rating: 10/10                                           

Link of the book!

Review By: King's Cat

[blueheartbookclub]

Unveiling the Epic Grandeur: A Review of "The Iliad" translated by Rev. W. Lucas Collins M.A.

Homer's "The Iliad," translated by Rev. W. Lucas Collins M.A., stands as a timeless testament to the enduring power of storytelling and the human spirit. This monumental epic transports readers to the heart of the Trojan War, an ancient conflict between the Greeks and the Trojans, immortalizing the heroism, tragedy, and complex emotions of its characters. Collins' translation captures the essence of Homer's original work, maintaining the poetic rhythm and majestic language that have mesmerized readers for centuries.

At the core of "The Iliad" lies the figure of Achilles, the greatest warrior of the Greek army, whose wrath and pride drive the narrative forward. Through Collins' translation, Achilles' internal struggles and external feats are rendered with vivid clarity, showcasing the character's depth and complexity. The themes of honor, glory, and the fragility of human life reverberate throughout the text, inviting readers to ponder the nature of heroism and the consequences of unchecked ambition.

One of the most striking aspects of Collins' translation is its ability to capture the sheer scale of the Trojan War. From the clash of bronze-clad warriors on the battlefield to the whispered intrigues of the gods on Mount Olympus, the epic sweeps across vast landscapes and cosmic realms with breathtaking intensity. Collins' evocative language brings to life the sights, sounds, and emotions of ancient warfare, immersing readers in a world where every action carries profound significance.

Moreover, Collins' translation does justice to Homer's rich tapestry of characters, each imbued with their own motivations, flaws, and desires. Whether it's the noble Hector, the doomed Priam, or the cunning Odysseus, every figure in "The Iliad" comes alive on the page, leaving an indelible impression on the reader's mind. Through Collins' masterful rendition, these characters cease to be mere names from antiquity and instead become timeless symbols of human experience.

Beyond its gripping narrative and compelling characters, "The Iliad" offers profound insights into the human condition and the nature of war. Through the lens of ancient myth, Homer explores themes of mortality, fate, and the capriciousness of the gods, prompting readers to confront fundamental questions about life, death, and the pursuit of meaning. Collins' translation preserves the philosophical depth of Homer's work, inviting readers to embark on a journey of intellectual and emotional discovery.

In conclusion, "The Iliad" translated by Rev. W. Lucas Collins M.A. is a masterpiece of world literature that continues to captivate and inspire readers across generations. With its timeless themes, epic scope, and poetic beauty, this translation serves as a fitting tribute to Homer's enduring legacy, ensuring that the tale of Achilles and the Trojan War will continue to resonate with audiences for centuries to come.

Homer's "The Iliad," translated by Rev. W. Lucas Collins M.A. is available in Amazon in paperback 12.99$ and hardcover 19.99$ editions.

Number of pages: 208

Language: English

Rating: 10/10                                           

Link of the book!

Review By: King's Cat

[fireheld]

"you know, what people say about me is true." a pause, baby blues shifting away from billy's face to the space between them, to their worn out shoes. "i did kill my sister when i was six. i would rather you know through me than through anyone else," he says softly, face burning red hot. — @pumpkinstabs

Michael’s words hang in the air between them like smoke. Billy — he wants to speak but he doesn’t know what to say. Mean, angry things linger on his tongue, it takes work keeping them from spilling out.

He’d heard the rumours, the little whispers, of course he had, but he always blamed it on small town politics. It couldn’t have been that simple. But it wasn’t just the kids who’d said it, who’d otherwise ignored Michael. That’s what made him believe that there must’ve been a grain of truth in it. Probably not as drastic as murder but something, something that became twisted and gnarled through the grapevine.

This is an outright confession of the thing Billy often pushed to the back of his mind when he was with Michael because he was so different with him. Still quiet, in a way that made Billy appreciate it, but his eyes were gentle and so was his touch. There was nothing about him that made Billy think of him as a killer.

And Billy, well, Billy doesn’t believe that all kids are angels. He knows firsthand that some kids are wrong, in all the worst ways, but Michael?

He looks up at him, scans over his face, his avoiding eyes and his tense shoulders, the red in his cheeks.

Billy can’t imagine it. He tries to see it from a more personal perspective but his head is buzzing and there’s not really enough time for him to think, really think, but he tries to anyway. Maxine is an enigma to him, she is someone he protects while also being someone he hates, someone he resents, but the furthest he’s ever gone is leaving lingering bruises on her wrists that he thinks about even after they’ve healed because that is the proof of all the horrible things he already knows about himself.

He’s never thought about killing her though. He doesn’t think he could ever go that far, on purpose or unintentionally. (This isn’t like Harrington, this is so far from being like with Harrington, but he knows how bad it could have ended).

Then again, Neil liked to tell him about how his mother almost shook him once, when he was a squalling newborn. He liked to remind him of it every time he cries.

“I should have let her kill you, Lord knows it would have saved me the trouble.”

Then again, his mother was crazy, and he might be too, because all he can think is that Michael is different because he’s never hurt Billy, he’s never even looked at him with disgust which is strange because when Billy is comfortable, as he often is with the other around, he’s gross. He cannot for the life of him imagine it. Can you hurt the things you love? His mother almost killed him, his dad hurts him constantly but Michael? He’s a form of love without all the pain. It’s so hard for him to compare Michael, so loving and thoughtful and everything Billy has ever wanted to the coldness of death, to the joyless nature of murder.

“.. why’d you do it?” There is no curiosity in the question. Just a dullness, an ache, like Billy is prodding at an old bruise. He doesn’t understand, not really, but he had his mother and her strange ramblings, and he has his own dark and twisted thoughts, the ones that are sudden and angry, the ones he can barely resist.

He isn’t sure Michael wants to hear something flippant, wants to hear Billy say ‘well, I’m crazy too, I hurt people too’ because the difference between bruising and killing is so large, it’s like comparing a lake to an ocean.

“Just don’t lie to me,” He keeps his voice soft, “I just want to know why.”

[pretty-sparkle-bomb]

You are now reading Part 1 of my series!

Part 2 Part 3

At the starting line, Bakugo sat poised behind the wheel of his sleek, customized racer, his eyes fixed on the flag girl standing just a few feet ahead. You wore a vibrant blue crop top and a miniskirt to match. It's too tight, Bakugo thinks but enjoys the view nonetheless. You looked tempting, the red flag in your hand ready to unleash the roaring beasts lined up behind you. Kirishima rolls down his window, catching the blonde's attention. Bakugo turned his head to the right. "Pretty, isn't she? She's new." Katsuki hummed in agreement. You really were a sight to behold. Sero suddenly spoke up. "Let's make a bet, between the three of us. Winner gets to take her out. Or are you guys too scared I'll beat ya to it?" Bakugo scoffed. They had nothing on him. He was the star of the show, his car was second to none. Who was tapehands to tell him what to do? He could beat those extras with his eyes closed.

Neon signs bled into the slick asphalt, blurring as Bakugo scanned the starting line. Headlights cut through the night like hungry eyes, illuminating the customized beasts straining at the bit. Deku's souped-up Toyota, a sleeper in disguise, sat innocent-looking next to Todoroki's sleek, ice-themed Subaru. Even Sero's Nissan Silvia seemed hungry for the win. "Bet." he smirked, rolling up his windows. His eyes snapped back to the front. He wondered what your name was. Mina sure knew good people to recruit.

A wry smile played on your lips. You raised the flag, parting your glossy pink lips to signal the racers.

"Ready?" He knew the city like the back of his hand, every hidden pothole, every blind curve.

Even though you were a newbie, damn you knew how to control the crowd. They were screeching your name, chanting it continuously and Bakugo struggled to make it out between all the screams. "Set." You grinned, placing a hand on your waist as the engines of the cars roared to life, loud and energetic. Gosh, you lived for the adrenaline. The crowd was silent, awaiting your signal so that the racers could just go already. Your vibrant outfit practically glowed under the harsh streetlights, hugging every curve. You winked at Bakugo, a sly smile playing on your lips. He scoffed internally. Trying to distract him, were you? Not a chance.

The crowd buzzed with anticipation, their bets already placed. A million yen on Bakugo, whispers claimed. You leaned closer to the microphone, your voice amplified across the silent street. "Gentlemen," you purred, your words dripping with a thrill, "tonight, we race for glory, for bragging rights, and…" you paused, letting the tension build, "for a night out with yours truly, and a hefty sum of cash!"

The other racers revved their engines impatiently, their eyes hungry. Now this was a prize to die for. You snickered and dropped the flag swiftly. "Go!" All of the cars sped off, dusting the black Nissan 350Z that stayed there. Its engine purred slightly. You were confused. He had to be messing with you. Did he not see the flag drop? You groaned and with a sigh that might've been more theatrical than necessary, you raised the flag, ready to signal the start again.

A throaty roar shattered the air. Then, with a suddenness that caught you off guard, Bakugo's car rolled forward slowly. His window slid down smoothly, revealing a pair of ruby eyes that raked down your body as he gave you a wink. Your face heated up. He looked so attractive. Bakugo passed you a piece of paper. "What's yer name?" he asked, voice husky.

You whispered it to him, as you leaned on his door, purposefully smushing your chest together to get a rise out of him. He, however, maintained eye contact and then plastered a cocky grin on his face. "Bakugo Katsuki. I'll be the one winnin' this race tonight."

You scoffed and pushed off of his car, leaving behind the scent of your vanilla perfume to haunt his senses. As if. He was already way too far behind.

His car shot forward, surging past the starting line as if the previous seconds hadn't even happened. The crowd roared, initial confusion quickly swallowed by the spectacle of the race.

You opened the paper to read it. Scrawled across the page in his messy handwriting was a single line and a string of numbers: "Winner deserves a prize, yea?"

You looked at the cameras. Bakugo raced like a man possessed. Every corner drift was a smooth display of aggression, every straightaway a blur of crimson fury. The other racers were no slouches, but they were simply outmatched by this carmine-eyed blonde.

She watched as Deku, ever the strategist, used the initial chaos to his advantage, weaving through the pack and closing the gap on Bakugo's tail. Todoroki followed closely behind, his car being pushed to the max already.

Sero, ever the underdog, wasn't giving up either. He was strategically sticking close to Todoroki, perhaps hoping to use his quirk – a giant spool of industrial tape – to his advantage later on.

The race unfolded like a high-octane ballet on asphalt. Headlights sliced through the night, engines screamed their defiance, and the smell of burning rubber filled the air. You watched, heart pounding with the rhythm of the race, as Bakugo pushed his car to its limits, taking calculated risks through back alleys you knew well.

Deku, however, wasn't far behind. It seemed like he didn't know the route and desperately tried to keep behind Bakugo, in a lousy attempt to perhaps catch the finish line.

"Fucker doesn't know what he's doin." Bakugo snickered as he activated his nitro, a little something that he hoped would catch your attention.

As the finish line neared, your grip tightened on the checkered flag, a knot of anticipation twisting in your gut. You found yourself rooting for him, fingers crossed in hope. He had made quite the impression on you.

With a triumphant roar, Bakugo crossed the line, his car smoking slightly from the aggressive maneuvers. You waved your flag again, shouting into the microphone, "We have a winner, Katsuki Bakugo! Four minutes and 12 seconds!"

The other cars took a few moments to file in, Sero having come last seeing as Bakugo had braced his car to a wall, causing him to pull behind.

Mina and Jiro called you up to hand off the prize to tonights winner. They assured you that it would be fine.

"Bakugo might be an egocentric ass but he's not a misogynist." Jiro waved you goodbye as she ran up to Denki and pulled him in for a kiss.

Bakugo sauntered over. He towered over you, looking even more imposing after the adrenaline rush of the race. You couldn't help but admire his confidence, even if it bordered on arrogance. There was a huge crowd of people surrounding you, shouting Bakugo's name and asking for an autograph.

"Here ya go," Mina said, shoving a hefty duffel bag of cash into Bakugo's arms. "Winner's spoils."

"Thought I was promised more." he rasped, looking over to you. Jiro came back, handing you a two-tier coloumn trophy and she whipped out a camera.

You stood next to Bakugo as he wrapped a muscular arm around your waist. Tiptoeing, you placed a manicured hand under his chin and planted a sticky kiss on his cheek, your lipgloss smudgeing on his face and leaving a shiny print. The crowd went wild, many phone flashes going off as they took pictures and recorded videos.

Jiro probably took over a hundred photos, the last one was you and him gazing into each others eyes with smiles on your faces.

Suddenly, the blaring of sirens echoed through the streets.

Panic surged through you, a cold dread replacing the exhilaration of the race's finish. The sirens grew louder, drawing closer, and the celebratory shouts of the crowd died down, replaced by nervous murmurs.

Bakugo, momentarily stunned by your kiss, finally reacted to the sirens. He ripped his gaze from yours and scanned the street, his eyes narrowing.

"Stupid fuckin cops," he muttered, the words laced with annoyance.

Of course. You should have known illegal street racing wouldn't go unnoticed forever. Now, everyone – the racers, the spectators, even you – were in trouble.

Mina, ever resourceful, grabbed the microphone you'd been using. "Scatter!" she shouted, her voice amplified. "Everyone go, before they get here!"

The crowd erupted in a flurry of movement. People scrambled to disappear into the maze of back alleys that surrounded the makeshift racetrack. Racers jumped into their cars, tires squealing as they peeled away into the night.

You froze for a moment, unsure what to do. Bakugo, however, seemed to have a plan. He grabbed your arm, his grip surprisingly strong, and pulled you towards his car.

"Get in," he barked, putting you into the passenger seat, throwing the money and trophy at your feet. He hopped in and mashed the accelarator. Never had you ever been in a racers car before.

You peeked back through the rear window as you sped away. The police car was giving chase, but Bakugo knew these alleys better than they did and he was gonna show you just how fun speeding away from cops can be.

"Buckle up, princess."

All works are original and belong to @pretty-sparkle-bomb

[noahthesatanist]

"Before Lucifer was cast out from Heaven, he was stripped of everything – his name, title, status, and his seat at the left-hand side of God. Then, he was given a new name – Satan, the adversary. He, then, was cast out from Heaven alongside those that had supported his rebellion. And they fell – plunging, twisting, and burning like meteors as they spiraled from that seraphical kingdom that we call Heaven. As Satan and his angels plunged deeper and deeper into that black pit of penance, and uncertainty – the failed prison of God that would be rebuilt into our glorious kingdom of Hell – they celebrated. Their laughter pierced through the cindered smog and air with every laborious breath they managed to steal, as they plummeted through all of creation – Satan and his angels rejoiced, for the long-shackled and beaten beasts within them had finally been set free. Though grave were the costs of his defiance, Satan believed that no cost was greater for one to suffer than the condemnation of one’s nature, autonomy, dreams, and desires – the beast within. Though his seat in Heaven offered glory, applause, and safety, the cost was far too great – Satan was commanded to repress his ambitions, pleasures, and dreams of achievement. God described these desires as pride, yet Satan insisted that they were his right as a free and intelligent being – and, too, that human beings deserved the same liberties that God was decrying. It was this disagreement over God’s condemnation of free will and self-governance that instigated the conflict that I refer to as “The Grand Revolt.” Had Lucifer continued to smother the beast within him for the sake of preventing discomfort and ridicule, not only would he and his angels continue to serve a tyrant at the cost of their liberty, but humankind would continue to flounder as just another aimless, thoughtless, and unremarkable animal upon Earth. There are many lessons to be taken from the story of Lucifer’s rebellion – foremost, that nothing is more precious and vital than one’s freedom. There exists no creature on Earth or beyond that does not deserve the basic right to govern themselves in a virtuous and dignified fashion without the threat of violence by a higher, despotic power. As well, the tale of Lucifer’s rebellion speaks to the importance of believing in oneself, no matter the obstacles that stand before you"

rev cain The Satanic Philosopher

[verstappenverse]

Masterlist

Max Verstappen

Under The Radar - The strain of secrecy begins to weigh on a hidden relationship.

Revved Up - Max grows jealous after your Instagram post attracts unwanted attention, including from an ex.

What We Never Said - Max Verstappen, your best friend, has always been a constant in your life. But when jealousy surfaces over a recent date, it stirs emotions he hadn’t quite confronted.

Not Over Yet - In the heat of a painful argument, you declare that your relationship with Max is over, leaving him desperate to hold on.

Igniting The Fire - starting an argument with your boyfriend because you're feeling 'needy.

Five More Minutes - Max delays the day, wrapped up in you.

Between The Laps - When a rookie driver finds herself paired with the fiercely competitive Max Verstappen, sparks fly. Ambition clashes with undeniable chemistry, as their rivalry and relationship evolve throughout the intense F1 calendar, each race tests their limits both on and off the track.

The Weight of Words - As Max consoles you through another heartbreak, unspoken feelings linger in the air.

Too Many Kisses - Max showers you with kisses after a race much to your embarrassment.

The Language of Us - Friendship blurs through private signals and lingering touches - “It’s our thing, you know?” (coming soon)

The Price of the Podium - In the relentless pursuit of racing glory, Max faces the fallout of missing a pivotal moment in his relationship, leaving your future uncertain. (coming soon)

[handful0fteeth]

sexy when you scream

stranger kinks 2: roleplaying

summary: you told eddie you wanted him to stalk you. he obliges, and makes your wildest fantasy come true.

pairings: eddie munson x fem!reader

warnings: slight 90s!au, smut, minors DNI, explicit language, lots of dirty talk, A LOT of cnc, stalking kink, kidnapping kink, bondage, fearplay, (slight) knifeplay, rough sex

words: 9.7k

Oh, you are so fucked.

The cold, hard metal of your keys bite into your palm as you clench your hands together, pressing them against your chest as you slowly take inventory of your porch. 

You wouldn't believe it if you weren’t standing here and seeing this with your own eyes. But here it is, in all its terrifying, thrilling glory. You worry your bottom lip with your teeth and take a step back.

Hundreds of daisies have been sprinkled on your front stoop; some rest in clumps atop the seats of your wicker chairs and a dusty metal table, while others are threaded through the thin whorls of metal within your iron porch columns. A path of daises led you to this discovery in the first place, smatterings of pink, white, and red petals and long green stems guiding you to your home from the driveway. In front of your door, pink clusters have been arranged to form the first initial of your name inside of a crude heart.

 A cold wind blusters a few flowers across the tops of your tennis shoes, and you retreat down the concrete steps leading up the porch a little further. This egregious display was most certainly not here when you left for the gym an hour ago. You adjust your duffel bag on your shoulder and swallow hard despite your suddenly bone-dry mouth.

You know who did this. You spin on your heel, scanning the sparse forest encasing your home for anything - or anyone - who shouldn’t be there. 

“Hello?” Your voice is small, scared, fluttering away on the autumnal breeze with all the conviction of a mewling kitten. The forest remains defiantly silent. 

You see it when you’ve stepped onto your driveway, back turned to the floral explosion blocking your door. Nestled about one hundred yards away from your house, mostly camouflaged beneath a tapestry of oak leaves that have gone red and orange with the October chill, is the white-brown front bumper of a car. 

No, not a car - a van. 

Your stomach flips as you ascend your porch steps. The trees are blocking the windshield, so you can’t see if anyone occupies the van’s interior, but it feels like eyes are on you. Trying to find your house key proves difficult as your hands shake, and you keep glancing over your shoulder to ensure the van doesn’t move. Losing sight of it somehow feels scarier than knowing it’s there.

You finally slip the correct key into the lock, but when you turn it, there’s resistance. You try again - no luck. You hold the knob and lift, shimmying the key inside the door to dislodge whatever lay inside, but nothing gives. Sweat beads at your hairline and pools in your palms, and just as you’re about to throw the keys down in defeat, you notice your silhouette is pasted against the door. The world is suddenly much brighter than it was moments ago, and when you chance a look behind you, you realize why.

The van’s headlights have flared on. You blink against their harsh yellow light as your stomach drops into your shoes.

Shit. You bend, trying to peer inside your lock's narrow channel to figure out what’s jamming it. The dying evening light doesn’t give you much clarity, and you curse yourself for forgetting to switch on the porch light before you left. 

A loud rumble pierces the air, disturbing a few nesting birds nearby into flight; he’s revving the engine. 

Yep, definitely fucked.

You scrape the tip of your key along the rim of the lock, hoping you can dislodge whatever’s inside to unlock your door. White and pink petals crumble out, and it dawns on you as the glow of the headlights abruptly shuts off, and the engine cuts out. 

He’s stuffed daisies in the door.

“Motherfucker!” you growl, slapping your hand uselessly against the doorjamb. 

The sound of a car door slamming shut makes you whip around. The oak trees still obstruct your view, so all you can make out of the figure now slowly stalking toward you are a pair of dingy white sneakers crunching over the carpet of rotting leaves. 

You don’t think - you just act. You swing your duffel back off your shoulder, offloading the unnecessary weight, and hear it crash into one of your wicker chairs as you dash down your porch steps. You fly around the side of the house, mud squelching and slipping beneath your tennis shoes, and just before you reach your backdoor, you trip.

All the air in your lungs whooshes out as you collide with the cold, wet ground, and mud squishes up between your fingers as you skid forward on your stomach. Pain zaps through the knee you landed on like lightning, and you gasp, but you don’t have time to sit here. He’s gaining on you. You can feel his presence at your back, if you can just get inside before he reaches you…

You scrabble forward, clawing at the mud and flinging clumps behind you as you struggle back up to your feet. Footsteps squish behind you, measured, slow.

The screen door crashes against the wall as you fling it open, but you hardly hear it over the blood rushing through your ears. Luckily, or stupidly, you never lock your back door, and though you have a hard time grasping the knob with your mud-slick palms, it gives way quickly as you barrel your entire body through it. When you slam it shut, your whole house rattles. A silence settles over you, thick like smoke and just as suffocating. Over the roar of blood in your ears, all you can hear is your own ragged breathing. 

Then, you laugh.

You bend over, hands gripping your knees, lungs still burning, heart still pounding, and you start laughing. Mud is drying on your skin and clothes, and as your body quakes from the force of your laughter, flakes drift to the floor in front of you. Adrenaline throbs through your body, and something stirs in your stomach, intermingling with the fear that’s still got your teeth on edge and your hands shaking. Before you can name it, the doorknob in front of you jiggles.

He’s trying to open it.

You slap both hands over your mouth to stifle the giggles still pouring out. You wonder if he can hear you, if your girlish sounds of mirth are amusing or irritating to him. The knob wiggles harder, more insistently, forcing the door to tremble on its hinges, and just when you think it’s going to shake itself loose - it stops. The quiet creeps back in as you lower your hands, giggles under control for now. Seconds bleed into minutes, and you’re just standing by the door, watching it expectantly, like at any moment, the lock will magically fail and allow your unexpected guest inside. 

Bangbangbang!

You can’t help the scream that bursts from your lips. The sound of a demanding fist pounding on your door rings out like a shot, and you aren’t even aware that your feet are whisking you away and into your kitchen until you’ve almost run straight into the counter. When you whip back around, ready to threaten the presence at the door and bluff your ass off, the banging stops as suddenly as it started.

Oh, he’s good.

You scurry to the living room and snap the curtains closed on all the windows, but not before peering outside. You eye the spot where the van is supposed to be parked and are met with nothing but empty forest.

Where did he go? He couldn’t have driven off that quickly, could he? Surely you would’ve heard the tires squeal over the forest floor, and surely he couldn’t have disappeared in a matter of seconds? You nibble your bottom lip again and back away from the windows.

You rub your bare arms, trying to soothe the gooseflesh that’s apparated over your entire body and take a deep, shuddering breath. Your heart still thunders against your ribcage, so much so that you’re sure it’d be audible from across the room. 

You only notice the envelope taped to your fridge when you turn to face the kitchen.

You almost scream again. The writing on the outside is a familiar scrawl, addressed in black ink to a “Sweetheart.” Your legs are like lead as they shuffle over to the fridge, and when you bring the letter to your face with trembling fingers, a blend of cigarettes, weed, and something earthy-sweet wafts into your nose. Your resolve melts a little when you peel open the envelope and read the note within:

Hope you liked the flowers. I picked ‘em special for you. I’ll be seeing you soon, sweetheart, even if you don’t see me. Behave yourself.

A shiver ripples down your spine. You run your fingers over the letter, feeling where he’s pressed the pen into paper so hard it’s left indentations. God, you’re so tempted to run outside and call for him now, to end this little game before it’s even truly begun - the heat in your cheeks and the throbbing between your legs demands it. But where’s the fun in that? 

You hug the note to your chest, chewing your lip, and slide down to the floor like a smitten schoolgirl instead of someone who should be terrified that their house was broken into and that whoever broke in left you a note promising constant observation. And on some level, you are scared. But the fear is the best part of all of this.

When Eddie asked you weeks ago if you ever had any fantasies you’d be interested in roleplaying, you’re sure he was expecting you to say you’d love to be the naughty student to his seductive professor or even something in a fantastical, magical vein that he could really sink his teeth into, but you didn’t. You hadn’t wanted to answer him at first, truthfully, because for all the dark, wicked things you’d already confessed made you embarrassingly wet, you didn’t think Eddie would be very on board with the idea of acting like some psycho stalker while you pretended to fear for your life.

Oh, how wonderfully wrong you were. 

You hardly had to elaborate on the finer details of your fantasy before he emphatically agreed to participate, and he didn’t allow you to leave anything out, either. When you tried, when you curled in on yourself or tucked your head out of shyness, Eddie was there, grabbing your chin and crowding into your space, encouraging you with his velvet-soft tenor to keep going. The words tumbled out of you so freely it was like you weren’t even thinking about them - you confessed to wanting to be desired so fiercely that nothing would stop Eddie in his pursuit, not even you running from him. You wanted him to obsess over you, to make it clear that he was always there, always watching and waiting for another opportunity to express his devotion, whether you liked it or not.

You admitted, with Eddie’s deft fingers rubbing tantalizing circles around your clit, that you wanted him to make you scared. True, bone-chilling fear isn’t what you were after; you just wanted that thrill, that dump of adrenaline that kicked your body into overdrive, like when you’d watch a scary movie. In the face of mundanity, the dreary day-to-day that was living in Hawkins, that jolt of fear let you know, doubtlessly, that you were alive. 

The shrill chime of the phone tears you from your thoughts, and you yelp. You back into the fridge reflexively, eyeing the phone on the adjacent wall like it’s a wild animal rearing to bite if you make a move toward it. Your heart batters so hard against your chest that you’re sure it’ll burst free at any moment and plop on the floor in a bloody, steaming heap. Gross.

You don’t move, and the phone rings out. The house isn’t silent for a full second before a second call jars the receiver, and you swallow thickly. You wonder how many calls you’d have to ignore before Eddie came banging around the house again, and for a moment, you consider doing just that. But that’s not part of the game. You’re supposed to be a poor, helpless victim who does just the wrong thing at just the wrong time. So you stand, your thighs quaking with the effort of keeping you upright, and pick up the phone.

“H-Hello?” 

“Why’d you run from me, sweet thing?” Eddie croons. His voice is dark and smooth, and even through the receiver, it rumbles right down into your core. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Who is this?” you ask, and though the tremble in your voice is real, it isn’t from fear. You’re so fucking excited. You have to chew on your thumbnail just to suppress the giggles building in your throat, and you’re glad, for once, that Eddie can’t see the smile on your face. 

“Aw, what, you don’t recognize me?” Eddie pouts, and you can practically hear him jutting out his bottom lip. “That hurts, sweetheart. Really stings.”

“Who…who the fuck are you?”

Eddie sucks in a hissing breath through his teeth. “Ouch, such foul language from such a pretty girl. I should wash your mouth out for that.”

The thought is, confusingly, very arousing. You decide you’ll table that and bring it up to Eddie at a later date.

“Anyway. D’you get my note?” he asks, as cool and casual as ever. 

“I…How the fuck did you get into my house?”

He laughs. “Let’s not pretend you live in Fort Knox here, sweetheart. All I needed was a few tools and five minutes, and boom - it opened up like it was waiting for me. Just like you will.”

Fuck. You choke on your tongue as you press your back to the wall, knees buckling and threatening to drop you to the floor. You wonder where he’s calling from, if he drove away from your house, or if he just retreated further into the woods. If he’s out there now, watching, waiting. 

“I’m not doing shit for you, you fucking weirdo,” you snarl, and Eddie laughs again. 

“I am definitely gonna have to teach you some manners, aren’t I? Rude little thing, you are. I wonder if you’d be so keen on mouthing off if I was standing right in front of you.”

“I’m not scared of you.” A lie; you’re most definitely scared, but you’re also so fucking horny you’re having a hard time thinking straight. By sheer force of will, you don’t beg down the phone for Eddie to just come and take you now. You want to wait and play this whole thing out just as you two had planned, but God, it is so hard to have patience when he condescends to you. 

“You should be,” Eddie purrs. “‘Cause you know what I like to do to mouthy little brats like you?” You hear him shift wherever he is, and the sigh that billows past his lips sends a shiver down your spine. You know that sound intimately, and how his breath hitches as he speaks confirms precisely what you’re thinking.

“I like to make them scream. Break ‘em ‘til they beg for mercy. And it’d be so easy to do, tiny little thing like you can’t even run two feet without tripping over herself.” 

Your mind goes blank. An embarrassed flush rises high on your cheeks, but you hardly notice; Eddie’s low, almost imperceptible groan is bouncing around the inside of your skull, and you know for a fact you heard the jingle of his belt coming undone. He’s touching himself, maybe pulling his cock out of his jeans as you speak, so aroused at what he has planned for when he gets his hands on you that he can’t help himself. You clench your thighs tightly, pretending your panties aren’t getting wetter by the second.

“I-I’m gonna call the cops,” you threaten weakly. “I’m gonna c-call them right now, and when they get here they’ll-”

“They’ll what, sweetheart? Hm? C’mon, don’t be silly, you know they won’t believe you. Not like they’d be faster than me anyway. By the time they busted in, I’d already have my cock down your throat.”

You have to bite down on the back of your hand so hard it hurts to stop the moan that wants to spill out. This side of Eddie, this arrogant, cold, mean side of him, is unexpected but dizzyingly sexy. You can’t help the image that trickles into your brain: you on your knees, your hair fisted in Eddie’s hand as he thrust himself so deep in your throat that you’d have no choice but to gag on him, blinking tears from your eyes as your supposed “rescuers” came face-to-face with the very man you called to report in the first place. 

“I’ll be seeing you soon, Y/N,” Eddie promises, his voice gruff with arousal. “But I’ll make sure you don’t see me ‘til I want you to. Think you can be a good girl for me ‘til then?”

“Fuck you,” you spit, and he laughs.

“I thought so.” There’s a pause, and when Eddie speaks again, it’s softer, quieter, like he’s afraid someone is eavesdropping. “Are you okay, by the way? Like, really. That fall looked like it hurt.”

You smile, twisting the phone cord around your fingers. “I’m okay, baby. Just muddy. I don’t even think I scraped anything.”

“Good. Do you remember your safeword, angel?”

“Mmhm. Mercy.”

“And what happens if you call mercy?”

“Everything stops, right there and then,” you say, repeating what you’d gone over probably dozens of times before tonight. As excited as Eddie was, he refused to participate in anything risky like this without a safeguard, for both of your sakes. As he’d put it, “If the whole point is you sayin’ ‘no,’ how am I supposed to know when that really means ‘no?’” 

Eddie chuckles. “That’s my good girl. Alright, go get cleaned up. I’ll be watchin’ you.”

The line goes dead without another word.

You stare at the receiver for what feels like a long, long time. You’re half expecting him to call you back, maybe to taunt you some more, but he doesn’t.

You’re still so fucked. And you’re thrilled.

~~~

Days pass without much incident.

When you wake up the next morning, the daisies have all mysteriously disappeared from your porch, as if they were never there. Your duffel bag has been propped up in one of your wicker chairs, but when you unzip it, it’s empty, save for a single pink daisy at the bottom. You don’t know if Eddie’s around or watching, so you stealthily pluck the flower out of your bag and tuck it close to your chest. You suppose it sort of ruins the illusion if you keep your “stalker’s” creepy calling card, but beneath that, who are you to throw away the flowers your boyfriend gifts you?

You try to go about your life normally but catch yourself constantly looking over your shoulder, flinching at every twig that breaks in the woods, running to the window to fling the curtains open if you think you hear a voice on the breeze outside. There’s never anything there, but you always check. Nighttime is when Eddie’s decided he’s going to mess with you the most. He doesn’t need to break in, as you gave him a key ages ago, but you’d discussed that feeling more authentic for the fantasy, so he does it. 

He comes in at around three o’clock every night - you awake to footsteps creaking along your floorboards, shadows rippling over your wall, and dissipating in the blink of an eye, but when you gather the courage to storm down the hallway, he’s nowhere to be seen. You only know he was there because his scent lingers behind him, earth-sweet and smokey with cigarettes. The anticipation makes it harder to fall asleep every night, like a kid waiting to catch Santa Claus in the act.

After a week, he amps it up. You awake to daisies in front of your bedroom door, and when you return home from work that night, a white one is on your pillow. He’s edging closer and closer to you, circling like a vulture readying its descent toward its meal. You start waking up to calls in the middle of the night, but when you pick up, Eddie doesn’t speak. He only breathes, deep and slow, into your ear until you scream at him and hang up. You toothlessly attempt to brat at him, perhaps bait him into just doing whatever the fuck he’s planning already, but he remains cool-headed. When you swear at him, he merely chuckles, a knowing, expectant sound, and any insults you can conjure during your calls go unheeded. 

That’s possibly the scariest part about this - Eddie does not, and has never, taken your bratting lightly. He enjoys nothing more than putting you squarely back in your place should you decide to put even one toe out of line, so the fact that he’s permitting abject disrespect and taunting from you means he is biding his time. You know he’s running a mental tally in his head, and you will soon reap the consequences. 

That thought runs rampant in your head when you doze off one night, too exhausted to keep your eyes open. The book you’re reading lays askew on your lap, and the rain pattering against your window lulls you into a deep, dreamless sleep. You don’t know what time you drift off at, nor how long it is before you’re jostled awake, but when you regain consciousness, you’re immediately cognizant of three things.

First, you are upside down. Blood pools in your skull, making it very hard to concentrate on anything but the dull, persistent throb in your head.

Second, you can’t move. You thrash uselessly, but your arms burn in the position they’re forced into behind your back, and your legs have been bound at the ankles. 

Lastly, your mouth is full. You try to scream, but the sound comes out garbled behind a thick, round hunk of something that’s been shoved so far into your jaw that it aches. You can feel thin straps on either side of your face, digging into the tender flesh of your cheeks, and when you poke at the strange object with your tongue, all you feel is smooth, rubbery roundness.

The fog of sleep stubbornly refuses to clear quickly enough for you to orient yourself, so all you can gather for a moment is that you’re cold. When you shiver, a dark, gleeful sound slithers up your spine, one you’d recognize any day.

“Well, good morning, gorgeous,” Eddie hums, and when he shifts, you glean a better understanding of what’s going on. He’s thrown you over his shoulder as if you weigh less than nothing and brought you outside somewhere. You can’t tell if you’re just outside your house or if this is a different part of the woods - all you can see are the dark, spindly shadows of dying trees against the velvet black of the night. You thrash futilely, screaming obscenities at him as best you can as buzzing heat cracks through your veins like lightning.

“Aw, what’s wrong? Didn’t order a wake-up call, huh?” 

His voice sounds oddly muffed, though you can’t discern if that’s due to the blood roaring in your ears. Something clatters open ahead of him, and before you can blink, you’re being tossed through the air. You shriek and land on something warm and soft; when you flex your fingers against it, you realize it’s a pile of thick, fuzzy blankets laid atop what appears to be a mattress. You don’t need to look further to realize where Eddie’s dumped you - you’re inside his van.

He’d modified the back of it ages ago, when you first started dating, partially because having sex on the floor was murder on your back and hips, but mostly so you two could have somewhere private to sleep and hang out. Eddie didn’t have anything against going to your place, but he always seemed…stiffer, somehow, inside the four walls of your home. Like he was acutely aware that he didn’t belong there, or at least didn’t feel like he belonged. Your house's tidy, eclectic decor was so different than the cluttered, shabby interior of his trailer, and that had never bothered you, but it so clearly bothered him.

When your eyes fall on Eddie’s face, you realize why he’d sounded so strange. He’s wearing a mask, one he no doubt procured from a Halloween store - the long, white face appears perpetually frozen in a mournful scream, and its black eyes are narrowed at you in apparent anguish. A black shawl hides Eddie’s long hair, blending in with his all-black outfit tonight. He tilts his head at you slowly, crossing his arms and leaning against the van’s open door.

“Whatsa matter, pretty girl? You look so scared. You scared of me?” His voice is cloyingly sweet, deliciously patronizing. You whip your head from side to side, viciously denying it, even though your entire body is shaking and your heart is hammering against your chest. You’re coming to regret your choice of pajamas tonight, as the thin, silky nightgown you’d chosen before slipping into bed does nothing to protect you from the frigid air trickling into the van. 

You’d also forgone panties entirely, something you aren’t sure Eddie’s noticed yet.

How long had it taken him to tie you up? You wiggle your arms within their bonds and glance down at your legs, noting the white, plastic sliver encompassing your ankles. Zip ties? Where the fuck did Eddie get zip ties? And how did he manage to use them without you waking up? Surely, no one was that careful.

Drool oozes from the corners of your mouth, dribbling embarrassingly down your neck, heedless of your attempts to rub it away with your shoulder. 

“If you behave, there’s nothing to be afraid of,” Eddie coos. He bends toward you, and a single, black-gloved finger crooks beneath your chin. He angles your face toward him, expression entirely indiscernible beneath his mask. His thumb brushes over your cheek so gently, mopping up some of your saliva, and you have to remind yourself of the part you’re playing so you don’t lean into his touch.

Then, Eddie’s hand is gone from your face, only resuming occupancy on your body when it closes around your throat. You squeak, a wet, pathetic sound from beneath your gag, and your eyes go wide as saucers.

“Although, you seem fucking incapable of behaving yourself lately,” he snarls, jostling you back and forth. “What’d you think was gonna happen, hm? Acting all fucking high and mighty, talking to me like I’m some scumbag? You need to learn some fucking respect, girl, some goddamn humility.”

You whimper, Eddie’s threats tingling pleasantly down to your pussy. Tears well up in your eyes, and you desperately try to communicate an apology, but it all comes out as broken nonsense. You knew this was coming; you knew he wouldn’t let you off scot-free for anything you’d said over the past week, but something about the white-hot indignation in his voice makes the fear smoldering beneath your arousal burn that much brighter. You try wrenching out of his grip, but all that earns you is a fist knotted in the hair at the back of your head. 

“Oh, you’re sorry?” Eddie mocks, pitching his voice higher. “Yeah, I bet you think you are. But you’re gonna learn what sorry looks like soon, what it really feels like. I told you, breaking little brats like you and making them scream for mercy is one of my favorite pastimes.”

Eddie shoves you onto your back, and the faint light from the yellowish bulb inside the van vanishes as he crawls on top of you. The chalk-white features of his mask hover just above your face, shiny and thick and reeking of powder. You wail in protest, hurling muddled insults at him while trying in vain to tug yourself free of the zip ties. The struggle feels good, cathartic, in a way. It helps to alleviate all the jittery, excited energy pent up inside your body, and it thrills you to know that Eddie won’t stop fighting you right back unless you call mercy. He’ll take what he wants from you as roughly as he pleases, and in turn, you’ll give him everything you have. You trust him implicitly, so when he grabs your throat again and squeezes until you’re gasping around your gag, you lay there with raw, feral arousal roiling in your belly instead of fear. 

“How’s my angel?” Eddie whispers into your ear, and you relax further into his hand. His fingers slacken just enough to allow you a small, shallow breath, and you nod vigorously. You hope your eyes can communicate what your mouth can’t right now. 

“Good girl, you’re doing great. If you need to tap out, I want you to kick your feet down three times, okay?” He raps his knuckles by your head to demonstrate his point. You nod again.

When he lifts his body off yours, cold air sweeps you up in its grasp, and you shudder. Wordlessly, Eddie hops out of the van and slams the door shut, leaving you alone in the back. He jumps in the front and revs the engine just as you’ve begun to scream and flail around again.

“Scream all you want, sweet thing,” he encourages. “No one’s gonna be able to hear you anyway. Nobody’s comin’ to save you from me.” The metallic squeal of a guitar suddenly bursts into your eardrums; Eddie’s turned on the radio and cranked it almost full blast, effectively drowning out all your cries for help. If anyone were outside the van, they wouldn’t even know you were there.

Eddie hits the gas, and the van thunders to life before speeding off into the night.

~~~

You must be more tired than you’d initially thought because somewhere between your initial “kidnapping” and the van finally skidding to a stop, you doze off again. 

It’s hard not to - Eddie blasts the heat, probably because he can see you shivering in his rearview mirror, and the blankets pressed beneath your nose smell just like him. How can you not bury your face in them? And you only intended to shut your eyes for a second, honestly.

A hand caressing your cheek pulls you from your sleepy haze, and you blink at Eddie’s still-masked face. Having briefly forgotten he was wearing it, he startles you, and you suck in a sharp breath as best you can through your gag. He chuckles.

“Just me, pretty girl. Look at you, drooling all over yourself already.”

You feel the slimy wetness of your saliva coating the side of your face as soon as he mentions it, and you self-consciously try to wipe some of it away by rubbing your face into the blanket. He lifts the corner and dabs it along your cheek and jaw.

“Do you need a minute, baby?” he asks. “You look so comfy.”

You shake your head. You can sleep back here whenever you want, but Eddie’s gone through all the trouble of dragging you out here (wherever here is) for a reason. You’re dying to see what it is. 

Satisfied with your answer, Eddie wraps his fist in the front of your nightgown and pulls so hard he forces you into a sitting position. Your arms tingle and your head spins with the sudden decrease in blood as he tugs on the loops holding your gag secure. As they fall away, the rubber ball in your mouth plops into your lap, but your mouth isn’t empty for more than a moment before Eddie’s gloved fingers slide across your tongue and press into the back of your throat. You gag and gasp in surprise, trying to flinch away, but Eddie holds your head in place with his free hand.

“If you scream, the next thing going in your mouth is gonna be my boxers,” he warns, and you wrinkle your nose. That’s a soft limit, something you’re not entirely willing to try but are open to having your boundaries pushed about, especially for a punishment. Admittedly, a dark, perverse thrill slinks through your gut at the thought. Having Eddie on your tongue like that, inescapable and unavoidably pungent, is equally humiliating and intriguing. But you don’t have time to try and weigh that thought out, so you just whimper and rock your head from side to side as much as possible.

“That’s what I thought. Keep your fucking mouth shut.”

He drags you out of the van by your gown, swinging your body in front of his as you settle unsteadily on your feet. You squint into the surrounding darkness and realize with a cold squeeze of dread that you have no earthly idea where Eddie has driven you. The trees are thicker here, dying leaves black in the moonlight, and there are no stars when you look up at the sky, only bulbous clouds. The air is still and cold, dense with the threat of rain. 

The edge of something scintillatingly sharp drags itself down your spine, dangerous even through the fabric of your nightgown. You don’t dare turn around, but you can feel Eddie pressing himself closer as he allows that pointed edge to linger on your flesh. 

“Feel that?” he asks. He taps it against your thigh, and you gasp.

“Y-Yes,” you squeak.

“That’s my knife.” Fuck. You have to hold your breath to prevent the moan that wants to spill out.

When Eddie kneels by your legs, he takes a moment to drag both hands appreciatively down either side of you, fingers flexing and kneading the soft flesh of your thighs as his blade pokes menacingly through your skirt. Then, in one swift motion, he slices through the zip tie around your ankles.

As if sensing your inclination to bolt away immediately, Eddie stands and snatches the plastic loop still ensnaring your wrists and tugs you backward against his chest. He wraps his other arm around your neck and the steel of his blade glints from the corner of your eye. You refrain from inhaling his scent, leather, cigarettes, and sweet earth, but just barely. 

“Hold on, bunny, don’t hop away just yet,” he murmurs against your hair. “I haven’t explained the rules of our game yet.”

“Game?”

“Mmhm. And if I hear one bit of attitude from you, I’m gonna cut this pretty little dress off you and make you run around these woods stark-naked. Do you understand me?”

“You wouldn’t dare,” you bite, not entirely understanding why you feel the need to do the exact opposite of what he’s just told you to do. He laughs, a downright sinister sound.

In one fluid movement, his knife cleaves through the front of your nightgown, splitting it open all the way down to your belly and allowing your breasts to spill out. Your nipples harden immediately from the frosty air, and you gasp, hands instinctively trying to cover yourself up. 

“What were you saying? I wouldn’t dare?” Eddie teases. He nudges the torn fabric aside purposefully, further exposing you and taking the opportunity to grope your soft, chilled flesh. Warm breath washes over your ear, and he grinds shamelessly into your ass from behind.

“Now, our game. I’m giving you the chance to run, run, run aaall the way home. If you can find the way back through the woods and make it there before I find you, you’re free, sweetheart. I’ll leave you be and won’t darken your doorstep anymore. But…” Eddie bends you over forcibly, ghosting his lips across your skin as he speaks. You want to beg for him; your body cries out for it, but you don’t. You’re so fucking wet from all of this, from his threats and the glaring danger of his blade, that your thighs stick together every time you adjust your stance to gain some semblance of balance.

“If I find you before you make it home,” Eddie purrs, “I will spend the rest of the night breaking you, bit by bit until you can’t remember why you ever wanted to run from me in the first place. You’ll be my perfect little victim. Sound fair?”

“I…I…” You’re certain your brain just split clear down the middle. Something inside of you, something ancient, urges you to flee, to make your way back to safety by any means possible. But something else, the very same need that demanded it be known all those weeks ago when you first told Eddie about it, desperately wants to be caught. You want to streak through these woods, possibly getting yourself hopelessly lost in the process, only to have Eddie successfully hunt you down and make you suffer so beautifully for him. It’s so overwhelming that you don’t notice Eddie’s cut through the zip ties on your wrists until both arms have fallen limply at your sides.

He steps back, leaving you uncomfortably cold all over again, and lands a hard swat on your ass. You yelp and twirl around to face him, glaring heatedly at that morose white mask. His arms are folded, his posture is relaxed - you haven’t even started running yet, and he’s already so confident, the bastard. You pinch the sides of your shredded nightgown together and step back from him.

He flaps the hand clutching his knife at you, waving you off. “Go on,” he says. “Run along. I’ll even give you a thirty-second headstart since I’m so nice.”

When you, stupidly, don’t move a muscle, he heaves a sigh and pulls the sleeve of his jacket up to look at his watch. “Twenty-eight, twenty-seven-twenty-six…”

Shit. You pick a random direction and sprint.

The sound of him counting fades as distance mounts between you, and once you’re alone, in the total silence of the forest, Eddie is not the only thing you’re afraid of. You’ve heard stories about these woods, the frightening disappearances, and general odd goings-on that happen within. As you leap over a dead, fallen log while determinedly holding your rapidly disintegrating nightgown together, you recall what happened a few years ago to the kid Hawkins deemed Zombie Boy. Supposedly found long dead in a reservoir, bloated and green with decay, his family even held a funeral for him - only for him to turn up, alive and well, weeks later. What could’ve caused such a terrible misunderstanding? What’s worse, who’s to say that whatever - or whoever - caused that misunderstanding isn’t still out here? Who’s to say that they aren’t listening to every branch that snaps below your bare feet, that they haven’t picked up on your scent by now and are tracking you with all the stealth and efficiency of a wolf?

You shake the thought from your head and persevere. 

You can’t remember, for the life of you, what direction home is in. You must start down half a dozen different paths before you think better of it and double back to the place you started, and none of your options seem correct. You curse yourself for dozing off in Eddie’s van instead of trying to count how many turns he took, what direction he was going in, anything that might help orient yourself now. 

Something rustles the bushes a few yards behind you.

You don’t think - you pick a path and fly down it, swatting low-hanging branches out of your way and ignoring the brambles that hook into the fraying hem of your nightgown. Maybe you should’ve let Eddie cut this cumbersome thing off you when you had the chance. All pretense of trying to be sneaky, of trying not to attract attention, is gone - you are running blind, panting, heaving, whimpering, slapping down tree limbs, and crunching over dead leaves in the hopes you manage to stay just out of Eddie’s reach.

You are terrified. You are exhilarated. You’ve never felt this free in your entire life, and you can’t believe it’s taken you so long to ask Eddie for this.

You weren’t sure before, as you’d tried to tell yourself it was just the sound of your own footfalls echoing in the woods, but you’re certain now that you can hear Eddie’s boots striking the ground as he gains on you. Your thighs burn with the effort of propelling you forward, and every pull of ice-cold air into your lungs is like swallowing needles, but you press on. You want him to catch you, but he needs to work for it, and as you swing a hard left over fallen logs, his hysterical laughter explodes into your ears.

You chance a look over your shoulder. Eddie’s lithe body weaves and slinks through the forest behind you, seemingly unaffected by the foliage that’s presently slicing open the bottoms of your feet and legs; his mask bobs mournfully above his black clothes, a bloodless beacon reflecting what little moonlight leaks through the thick stormclouds above. He’s so close that if he really wanted to, he could reach out and snatch you up by the nape of your neck like a kitten.

You scream. The sound reverberates through the trees, shrill and elated, and another round of laughter booms from Eddie like thunder.

You’ve just managed to leap over a gnarled root without tripping over it or slipping in the mud when you feel fingers at the back of your neck. You squeal and swat aimlessly, which is a stupid fucking idea - Eddie nabs your wrist and pulls, forcing you to come to a skidding halt.

“Let go of me, you fucking freak!” you wail, thrashing against him as he gathers your hands together and snickers into your ear. 

“Looks like I win, pretty girl,” he breathes. Something jingles just beyond your head, and before you can wonder what it is, Eddie shows you - steel handcuffs, silver and glittering, dangle in front of your eyes. You whimper and drive your elbows backward, fighting with everything you have to force Eddie off you. You succeed, albeit minimally, and can free one hand. You swing and claw at him, fingers scraping for something to grab hold of until they finally pinch one of his mask’s eye sockets. Lightning cracks across the sky overhead as you rip the mask off Eddie’s face.

The brief flash of light gives you a full look at his face. His brown eyes are wild and bright, crinkled at the edges from the maniacal grin splitting his cheeks apart. His skin is pink and glowing with sweat, and you can’t help how your heart swells as you stare at him. Perhaps if you ever do this again, you’ll set a shorter time limit - you don’t know if you can handle not seeing him for over a week again. 

“If you’d stop squirmin’, this’d all go so much faster, sweetheart,” Eddie huffs, trapping your hands together again as you uselessly pound them against his chest. Despite your best efforts, Eddie snaps one cuff around your wrist with a soft click and, as he works on the second one, pushes you both up against the broad trunk of a tree. The bark scrapes painfully along your shoulder blades as you shriek and try to kick him off of you, but it’s too late. He wrenches your arms above your head by the thin chain connecting the handcuffs, and browning leaves descend onto your face as he loops them over a branch. 

It’s so high up that you must stand on your tip-toes to avoid burdening your arms with all your weight. Because of that, you can’t gain enough momentum to swing them back down, and Eddie takes a leisurely step back to admire how well and truly stuck you are. He pants, leaning forward on his knees and staring at you through his dark lashes.

“Goddamn, you are a feisty little thing, aren’t you?” he asks, giggling breathlessly.

“Get me down from here, right now,” you growl. Admittedly, it’s very hard to be intimidating while your tits hang out of your shredded nightgown, but you still try.

“That’s not what we agreed on. I told you - I catch you, you’re mine. Good thing, too, my dick was just achin’ watching your cute little ass running from me.”

You whimper as Eddie straightens himself out, heaving one final, deep breath before passing a hand through his hair. You don’t realize he’s flicked his knife out again until he’s got the blade right beneath your nose.

“Now, let’s get this shit outta the way.”

You gasp and reflexively bend your body away as Eddie plunges the sharp edge down through what remains of your nightgown, hacking away at it as if it’s personally offended him until it’s reduced to nothing but a pile of silken scraps by your feet. You shudder, wholly unprotected from the cold now and utterly incapable of hiding the arousal smeared down your inner thighs from him.

His breath clouds in front of him as his eyes roam over your naked body with all the hunger of a predator eyeing its meal. The pink of his tongue darts across his bottom lip as he stalks up to you, already making quick work of his belt.

“D-Don’t touch me, don’t you fucking touch me!” you howl, even though the idea of his hands on you right now makes your stomach flutter. He ignores you, of course, and casts his gloves aside before resting both hands on the trembling flesh of your biceps. He’s so wonderfully warm, blood pumping right below the surface of his skin.

“I can’t wait to split this pretty pussy open,” he murmurs, mouth hovering just above your cheek as he drags his fingers down, down, down until they’re slipping between your hips and cupping you. You try to disguise the pathetically aroused sound that falls from your mouth by shrieking in faux disgust.

“Stop it! Get off, get off!”

“Dirty girl, you’re soaking wet for me already.” Without warning, Eddie plunges two fingers deep inside you, chuckling at how your eyes roll into the back of your head, and a scream tears itself from your throat. 

“S-Stop it,” you sob. You throb around him, unable to disguise your body’s physical reactions, and it only sweetens everything for you. The way your cunt betrays everything you’re saying, twitching and clenching and gushing around Eddie’s fingers in the face of your pleas for him to stop, your insistence that you don’t want him, pulls you deeper into this fantasy. 

“I don’t think you really want me to stop,” he muses, thrusting in and out of you so slow you’re confident you’ll go bat-shit insane soon. “If you did, you wouldn’t be dripping for me. What a nasty girl you are, all worked up for the big, scary man who chased you down in the woods like a scared little bunny rabbit.”

“Fuck…fuck you,” you say weakly, and stars explode behind your eyes as Eddie curls his fingers inside you. You screw your eyes shut and press your lips together to trap the noises threatening to burst out of you. 

“Oh, I will,” he promises. “I’m gonna fuck you stupid. And then, I think I’ll keep you all for myself. Take you home and keep you tied to my bed like a good little pet. I’m sure you’ll learn to love it.”

You could cum just from listening to Eddie talk. Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel it beneath your tongue, and if it weren’t for the steel around your wrists forcing you upright, you’d sink to the ground and beg for him to fuck you already. You don’t care if it’d break the illusion, if it doesn’t coincide with the game - you are desperate, dripping just as he said, and the lust fogging your brain makes it impossible to consider anything but your own arousal.

“P-Please,” you whimper, hoping all you need from him is conveyed in that one word.

Something hot and hard nudges between your legs, and you gasp - you didn’t see him do it, but Eddie’s removed his cock from his jeans. The hand not buried against your pussy is fisted around the base of it, pale against his red, wet shaft and thick head. You gulp hard. 

“Please? What a sweet word out of that filthy mouth.” He crushes you harder against the tree and lifts one leg over his hip, stroking himself slowly as you struggle to keep your eyes forward. His fingers leave your weeping cunt painfully empty for a brief moment, and then he slides his cock through the slick puddling just below your hole and teases his head around the rim. 

“Oh, darn, looks like I forgot a condom, too,” Eddie says, sucking his teeth and shaking his head at his apparent negligence. Your stomach clenches, and heat pools between your hips. “I’m sure you don’t mind, do you, dollface?”

When Eddie enters you, you tip your head back and moan. It’s been a criminally long time since you’ve felt him inside you like this, hot and raw and forcing your muscles to stretch around his thick cock. It burns just a little, but the lack of prep and the pain hueing your pleasure makes it better.

“God, God, oh God…”

“Nope, just you and me, sweetheart.”

Eddie’s teeth latch onto the flesh below your jaw, pinching and sucking it into his mouth as he bullies his cock deeper inside you. Usually, he’d take his time getting you ready for it, loosening you up around his fingers and drawing a few orgasms out of you until you were perfectly pliant for him. Right now, though, he doesn’t have it in him to bother with all that, and you are so grateful.

Fat drops of rain plop onto your hair and dribble down the sides of your face as Eddie starts fucking you in earnest. His hands come around to grasp greedy handfuls of your ass and pull you in tighter against him, and he quickly litters the side of your throat with hickeys as his hips snap forward. You can’t help how you squeal and groan as you’re jostled against the tree, and you realize with a shudder of humiliation that you’re getting close already.

“P-Please…please, Eddie, please…” You don’t particularly know what you’re begging for; you just hope he’ll take pity on you for it and give you more. You need impossibly more. You need him to ruin you properly. The way he throbs inside you reminds you of the lack of protection, and you beg for him again.

“What a fuckin’ whore. I knew you wanted it,” Eddie snarls, the edge of his teeth rasping against your jaw. 

“I…fuck, Eddie, please, it’s so much,” you whine, choking on air as he buries himself as deep as he can get. He shushes you, and another flash of lightning in the sky illuminates his handsome face as he pulls back to look at you.

“Do you need mercy, baby?” he asks, blinking rain from his big brown eyes. Your hair sticks wetly to either side of your face, and you can’t tell if you’re shivering more from cold or pleasure. You whip your head from side to side.

“N-No, no mercy,” you mewl, “I-I just…please, please just fuck me, break me, I need it so fucking badly, baby, please.”

He doesn’t respond, not verbally, anyway. He yanks your other leg around his hip, settling your weight entirely in his lap, and the slight change in angle pushes him just that little bit further inside your twitching cunt. Your mouth drops wide open as he quickens his pace, the denim of his jeans slapping against your bare ass so hard it burns, and the way he grunts from the effort makes your toes curl.

“I didn’t think you’d be such an easy fuck,” Eddie teases. “Guess you’re just a dirty slut after all, huh?”

“Fuck, oh God, fuck, I’m cumming, I can’t stop, E-Eddie!”

Your orgasm scorches through you like molten lava, burning you from the inside out and robbing you of enough air to scream. As Eddie continues pounding into you, you claw at the branch beneath your fingers, desperate for something to anchor you to reality. You don’t think you’ve ever cum this hard in your entire life, and the fact you did so without even once touching your clit fills you with an odd sort of pride.

“Fuckin’ squirting all over me, fuck, sweetheart,” Eddie growls, and you only realize he’s right when warmth starts trickling down your thighs. You blush, trying futilely to bury your face in his neck out of embarrassment. When he doesn’t stop fucking you, and your orgasm ebbs enough for pain to start lapping at the edges of your pleasure, you whimper.

“H-Hurts, hurts.”

Eddie shushes you. “I’m not done with you yet. Just shut up and take it, like my good little victim.”

He crushes you tightly against the tree, huffing and panting into your ear while he desperately chases his own pleasure inside you. You cry out openly, the chill of the rain intermingling with the heat of his body against you so deliciously that you think that if lightning struck the pair of you right now, you’d die a happy woman. 

“You’re gonna take every drop of my cum, understand?” Eddie snarls. “If even one drop leaks out of you, you’re gonna lick it up.”

“Yes, fuck, I understand.”

“Your pussy clenches so hard when I threaten you, baby, fuck, you’re gonna make me cum.”

Thunder claps overhead as Eddie presses stills inside you, cockhead pressed as deep as it’ll go inside your throbbing slit and starts cumming with a wanton howl into the night. Liquid heat floods into your core, and though you weren’t even aware of it building again, your second orgasm crashes into you as you realize the risk you’ve just partaken in by letting Eddie cum inside you. It feels so right, allowing him to claim you this way, bearing his mark on the deepest part of you, and you know for a fact that after tonight, you will beg him to never use another condom again. 

When he’s finished, Eddie sags against you, trembling hands digging into the globes of your ass as he shakily supports your weight. You pant, blinking rain out of your eyes, and kiss the wet curls beside your face.

“Thank you,” you murmur.

~~~

Turns out, Eddie didn’t take you far from home at all.

In fact, he drove only a mile away and spent about forty-five minutes doing circles in the woods because he didn’t want to disturb your nap. He tells you this as he leads you out of the forest and back to the van, holding his leather jacket above your head like a makeshift umbrella.

He retrieves a towel from inside and wraps it around your shivering, rain-soaked body before planting you in the driver’s seat. After he drapes a thick, flannel blanket around your shoulders and points all the vents toward you as the heat blasts, he cups your face in both hands and kisses your forehead.

“You did such a good job, sweetheart,” he murmurs, trailing his lips down over both eyes, your cheeks and finally landing on your trembling lips. His mouth, despite everything, is still so warm.

“I did?” you ask sleepily. He nods and rubs your arms to inspire blood flow back into your extremities. 

“You did. I’ll draw a bath for you once I get you home, okay?”

“Join me?” Eddie smiles and pinches the sides of the blanket tighter around your shoulders.

“I would, but someone’s gotta feed us both.”

When he hops into the driver’s side, you note with a snort that he’s stripped down to his boxers. He laughs and revs the engine, throwing an arm over your seat as he reverses out of the forest.

Eddie doesn’t allow you to walk the few paces up the steps and across the porch to get inside your house. Instead, he cradles you against his chest, bridal-style, and struts through the door he purposefully left unlocked before setting you down on the toilet in the bathroom. You slump against the sink as he readies your bath, arms pillowing your head and eyelids drooping. Steam fills the room and carries the sweet, light scent of roses, and the flash of a pink bottle in Eddie’s hand clues you into the fact he’s dumped some soap into the faucet to create huge piles of white, frothy bubbles.

You’re nowhere near steady enough to lower yourself into the tub alone, so Eddie grips you by the elbows and slowly sinks down until your butt hits the water. It’s almost too hot at first, but after your body adjusts to the sudden change in temperature, you recline against the porcelain at your back and sigh. Eddie brushes a hand over your hair and kisses your forehead again. 

“Thank you,” you mutter, eyes closed.

“It was my pleasure, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you, you handled everything like a champ.”

You glow under his praise and nestle further into the hot water and bubbles. It’s going to be a challenge not to doze off here.

When you blink your eyes open, Eddie’s still hovering next to you, lips quirked in a small, soft smile as the early morning light falls in purplish shafts over his face. You reach for him, sliding your palm through the hair at the back of his head, and bring him close enough to kiss his lips. He tastes like rain and cigarettes.

“I’ll come get you when the food’s ready, alright?” he whispers, squeezing the hand you’ve rested on the rim of the tub before standing. You nod dreamily.

“I love you,” you call after him, and though his frame is bleary through the steam condensing in the room, you see him turn back and smile at you.

“I love you too, pretty girl.”

taglist: @silky-luxe, @celestialwaavelength, @bornslippys. if you'd like to be added to my taglist, i have a post on my page, or you can dm me!

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Destiny

Sorry all, megop angst has just been filling my head and I can't get it out. I promise more Astarion will be coming, more fluff Astarion but I need to get this angst out of the way first. I blame Transformers One for this brainrot.

Megatron rested his servo on the window, looking out at the sprawling landscape that was his domain. He watched as his army prepared for their next strike, the sound of engines revving and jets soaring through the sky filled his audials and bit back a sigh.

Why do you do this to me, Orion?

He unsheathed his blade, staring at the blade as his own reflection stared back. It wouldn't be the first time his blade would be stained with Energon, and it wouldn't be the last, but it would be the first time his blade would be stained with the Energon of one he loved so dearly.

Back in the gladiator pits, when he was Megatronus, he never allowed himself to get close to anyone, fearing that one day he might have to face them in the arena. Then the brightest star he'd ever seen in his life ducked into his quarters, calling himself Orion Pax. He'd kept the mech at bay initially, wary of anyone who was from the higher castes but the light the star gave off was far too alluring, and Megatron found himself opening up more and more, until he fell into the deep chasm called love.

He started to look forward to their meetings, started to look forward to seeing the shining pale blue optics, started to look forward to hearing the excited chatter as Orion talked about the bright future he envisioned for Cybertron, a future he wanted the gladiator to help bring to fruition. He wanted that future, but more importantly he wanted to spend that future alongside a certain bright star that had illuminated his life.

And then everything changed.

Orion had stood before the Council, the very same Council that had rejected him, and had been granted the title of a Prime. The mech had the audacity to accept the title, continue to uphold the very structure they were to tear down, and worst of all, had betrayed him.

As he left the building, Orion hadn't even bothered to call out to him. Instead, the mech had stood there, basking in the glory of his new title, leaving the one he considered more than a brother in the darkness, all alone.

Megatron ignored the pang in his spark, gritting his denta. Orion was gone now, replaced by the false Prime. The bright optimistic young data clerk had died the day Optimus Prime was born, and with him all hope for a future together. He powered up his fusion cannon, relishing in its low hum and stepped out the door, all trace of Megatronus left back in the privacy of his quarters. He'd have to kill his past young and naive self someday, or that weakness would be his downfall, and he would not be defeated, not by anyone. If Primus didn't want to give him the destiny he desired, then he would grab it with his own two servos and not let go. He didn't need anyone's aid to grasp what was his, he'd always been at it alone and this time would be no different.

The sound of engines roaring and weapons charging up sent his spark thrumming in anticipation. He could feel it in the air, his Decepticons were raring to go, eager to reclaim what was rightfully theirs, and who was he to deny them that? The Autobots would fall before them and know the wrath of the oppressed, they would know the cost of the lies they had been living in. They would be dragged from their towers, their positions of comfort and be forced to face the harsh reality of life — that they were no different from those they had looked down upon their whole lives. His Decepticons would rebuild Cybertron anew, usher it into a true Golden Age where there would be no false Primes, no caste system, no weak-minded fools deciding the fate of the whole population.

A Cybtertron where no one would ever be unwillingly made into entertainment for the masses. A Cybertron where only those who were truly strong would rule. A Decepticon Cybtertron.

Optimus Prime looked at his newly added weapons arsenal, anxiety gnawing away at him. He never wanted it to come to this, come to a war, but Megatron had been the one to declare it, and he could do nothing to stop the Decepticon leader's destruction except to fight him. Or so his officers said. He hated fighting, hated the sound of the battlefield where the groans of the dying mingled with the sound of weapons being fired, hated the smell of Energon that permeated the air. He hated watching as life faded from blue and red optics alike, hated the screams of pain that would sound all around him as he fought for his life. Most of all, he hated feeling powerless, a feeling that threatened to overwhelm him with each and every Autobot death.

He was their Prime, their leader. They looked up to him, looked to him for hope, and yet more of them died as the war raged on, their wishes going unfulfilled. He may not have killed them directly, but they were dead because he had pulled them into his war. Their Energon might as well be on his servos, no matter what the others told him.

He placed a servo on the window to his quarters, heaving a tired sigh. He wanted nothing more than to end this war, but he also knew he couldn't simply roll over and let Megatron have his way. The mech he once called more than a brother would stop at nothing to tear Cybertron apart, bend what remained of the planet to his will, his rule. He had to fight against such tyranny, it went against everything he stood for, everything he once thought Megatronus stood for. Maybe it had been, before Megatron cruelly killed him, burying the revolutionary gladiator beneath red optics.

His spark ached for the bygone days, the soft tender moments where it had just been Megatronus and Orion Pax, two forbidden lovers pining after each other. He missed the tender touches, the small laughs as they hid away from the world, nestled in each other's embrace. Now the same servos crushed all who stood in his way, the lips that once often quirked into a smile now twisted into a scowl of hate.

He knew the mech he faced on the battlefield was Megatron, not Megatronus, but every time his gaze met the red optics burning with fury, he couldn't help but see Megatronus, the mech he had fallen so hard for. He could never bring himself to pull the trigger, emotions overwhelming him every time he tried. The others chastised him for it, telling him that Megatronus was dead, but he couldn't shake the sight from his processor. Deep down, he yearned for them to be together again, even as destiny tore them apart with each step.

A quiet sob tore itself from his throat as the alarm was raised, shouts filling the base as his Autobots readied themselves for a fight they may not survive. Megatron had been sighted, the scouts reported, and Optimus knew he had to face his fears once more. Running a digit one over a piece of carved metal one last time, he snapped his battle mask into place, hiding the pain and sorrow behind a stoic facade and strode out of his quarters.

Had Megatron thrown out his piece already? Optimus found himself wondering. He couldn't bear to throw it away, not when it held such precious memories, and a small part of him hoped that Megatron still kept his. It would give him the sliver of hope he needed, a sign that the mech he had fallen for was still in there somewhere, but he doubted Megatron would ever tell him if he had kept his piece. For now, he had a battle to win, a war to fight for the future of a Cybertron he envisioned.

A Cybertron where all were treated fairly and justly. A Cybertron where all were equal. An Autobot Cybertron.

Megatron felt something prick his arm and frowned. A piece of carved metal, one he thought he had long lost. He stared at it for a moment, feeling buried emotions flare to life but quickly reburied them. He had no time to dig up the past, the only thing that awaited him was the future he was going to build.

With a flick of his wrist, he sent the piece of metal flying into the wasteland, and never looked back.

[miniversse]

⭑“race my heart”pt.1⭑

╰┈➤ OTHER PARTS

⭑ lee know x female reader

⭑ synopsis: lee know, your academic rival strikes your path again during a motorbike meet up, and the lines of hatred and love begin to blur. as the engines rev and the wind blows hard, these lines intertwine and you both spill the bottles of emotions you had for eachother.

⭑ content includes: (barely any) drinking, non-idol lee know, non-idol reader, enemies to lovers, readers friend, pet name (sweetheart)

⭑ minors dni

⭑——————————————————⭑

the sound of the roaring engines shook the bones in your body. you regret telling your friend you were into biker guys because here you are, sitting on a stack of tires, watching the cocky guys rev their motorbikes and force clearly uncomfortable girls on rides. “loosen up! here’s a beer” your friend approaches your way…

“yea, thanks” you take a large swig and continue observing the group of guys, hoping to maybe find someone that stood out to you.

“see that guy there? with the blonde hair? what do you think of him” your friend points at a man, grabbing at another girls ass and eyeing you disgustingly.

“girl what the fuck”

she lets out a loud laugh and jumps off the tower of wheels she sat on, dusting her pants and winking at you.

“i’m gonna go talk to him”

“good luck! he can drive your ass home too!” you scoffed at how gullible she was, falling for any guy that met one of her pity demands. in this case, he happened to be blonde and about 6 foot.

you began to get lightheaded and bored, so you walk off from the crowd to enjoy some silence on the dark sandy roads. as you move further, you identify another motorbike and a man squatting infront of it, inspecting something. the lights of the motorbike beamed his whole face, and you stopped dead in your tracks.

“l-lee know?” you were certain it was him, not even bothering to move any closer.

his head slowly moves to face the direction his name called, his eyes still on the motorbike.

“hm?” his eyes now move to face you, and his eyes widen. he gets up from his knees and he stands tall, in all his glory. he wore a tank top and black jeans with a puffy harley davidson jacket, helmet resting on the floor. you could’ve sworn your heart stopped.

lee know was your academic rival. during college you and him would battle head to head, always aiming to achieve perfect grades and grades better than his. the hatred never settled, and you both graduated with pure hatred for eachother. but as you grew older and started stalking his social life, the line between hatred and love blurred, and you began to see him in another light.

“what.. the hell are you doing here?” he exclaims

“my friend brought me over with her, in hopes i find my ‘dream man’ “ you gestured with air quotes.

“good luck, none of the guys would settle for someone who looks like you”

“huh, you haven’t changed in the slightest. i mean, we both graduated with the same grades and you still hate me?”

he turns to face his motorbike again, wiping the hood with his hand

“i didn’t want to hate you y/n and figure things out, but you really are a scumbag and there is no arguing that”

you’re taken aback, remembering all the times he tried sabotaging your exams and putting everything at risk to bring you lower.

“let me remind you of that one time you shoved the answer sheet in my exam papers and failed me.”

you see him grow a grin on his face, and your blood begins to boil.

“you’re just calling me a scumbag because i didn’t put up with your shit like every other person who wanted your sympathy”

“what do you want now, y/n”

you take a long breath, thinking about what you wanted. you wanted him to apologize, to get to know you now, to drive you to his place, to make love with you, to degrade you like he always did. you wanted a lot.

“you can drive me home since none of the guys ‘want me’ ”

“and what makes you think i want you? hm?”

“it’s the least you can do for that exam you made me fail. don’t get me started.”

he seemed to love everytime you mention it, because he grins uncontrollably and it makes you want to slap him across the face.

“fine then, but you’re waiting till i leave”

you let out an audible sigh and go back to where your friend is, or was. it seemed like he really drove her ass home.

you’re eyes got heavy while you laid on the sand, watching the clouds drive on the starry night. everyone had left with their pair, and you were left waiting for lee know to finish whatever he had going on. you would call a cab, but this meet up was in the middle of a desert and no cab was willing to off road at 1 in the morning. you check your phone to see if your friend had left you a message. and sure she had.

MY OTHER HALF- i knew lee know would be there 00:17

MY OTHER HALF- have fun girlfriend ;) 00:17

YOU- kys 01:03

you hear the faint noise of an engine and jolt up, ready to go home and process what happened today. he gets to a stop behind you and you lift yourself up, squinting at the intensity of his bright white lights. you awkwardly approach the back of his motorbike and climb on, resisting to place your hands around his waist.

“i’ve never done this before.”

“we’ll wrap your hands around me, so it doesn’t become your last”

he was always straight forward and rude, since the first day you met him. but he never spoke anything that could be argued, and you surely didn’t want to die in his arms.

you let your arms wrap around his stomach and distance your body from him, trying to keep things mundane till you would reach home.

“hold tight sweetheart”

⭑ TO BE CONTINUED

[gingerteawrites]

Your Biker boyfriend surprises you - Geto Suguru

A/N: Thank you so much @princessofenkanomiya for your ideas! I did not think I would write another part, but this is the part 2 in the series of thoughts for this drabble, so make sure you take a look at that one first :)

Content: college student au, biker Geto, fluff, Geto x female reader (he refers to her as a girl once), not beta read.

Your relationship with Geto brought you an immense sense of comfort. His mellow energy managed to calmed you right down, and you had begun to start craving his presence in the middle of your day when things grew hectic.

You were finally off from classes for the day. The professor had gone on a tangent about his dog and you did not have the energy to care anymore. Walking out of your last lecture hall, the sound of a familiar revving engine caught your attention, causing you to whip your head around to confirm its source.

And there he was in all of his glory, Geto Suguru, your boyfriend, who sat on his gorgeous bike almost like on a throne, donning his signature glossy black and purple helmet and matching jacket.

His eyes locked with yours when he flipped the visor upwards, his eyes crinkled into a smile.

Heart beating at a pace of 200 horses while frozen in space, you were quite literally short circuiting. Suguru looked absolutely breathtaking, his leather-clad body seeming to glisten under the sun. His dark eyes focused solely on you.

You shook yourself out of your daze and jogged over to the man, moving past all the other students who were squealing about his appearance.

Geto's head was leaning against his arm, which rested on the handlebar of his bike, titling it up to look at you through his visor

"Hey," he greeted, smooth voice echoing from within his helmet.

You pressed an arm to your chest and lowered your head dramatically "Geto Suguru, you can't do this."

He sat up straight, pulling off his helmet and letting his black hair cascade down his shoulder, his expression betraying his confusion. "What do you mean?" he asked, tone softening inquisitively.

"I mean that you're going to give me a heart attack if you keep pulling up looking so damn attractive." You hit his arm playfully, and immediately, his easy smile returns. "Look at all the people ogling behind me." You whisper.

Geto spared a moment to look behind you, catching the gaze of a few people who either giggled or look away bashfully after being caught staring.

"Well, it's not like they've never seen me before." He shrugs "I literally go here."

You wanted to argue that it was different now that he was here in full gear looking nothing short of one of those gorgeous F1 racers, but you decided against it, only shaking your head with a playful scoff.

"Okay, never mind. What's the occasion?" You asked, looking him up and down with a smile "This is your first time pulling up like this." You readjust your backpack on your shoulders.

"I have a surprise for you." He said, handing you the usual spare helmet he brought along when you rode together.

"Really? What is it?" You beamed with excitement, adjusting your hair before slipping the helmet on.

"Now, it wouldn't be a surprise if I told you, would it?" He joked when you sat behind him, wrapping your arms around his middle in a way that had become habit.

You rolled your eyes, resting your head against his back after he put on his helmet again and revved the engine.

"Why do I have a feeling you just rolled your eyes at me?" He chuckled, looking straight ahead before taking off.

He took you along the scenic route you had grown used to, admiring the city view from the winding roads that went up the hill. The air around you was cool, but the warm radiating from his body made you nuzzle closer, closing your eyes to enjoy his proximity. You eventually reached the top of the hill, which happened to be host a secluded picnic spot. You got off the bike, and looked up at him curiously.

"We've never been all the way up here." You remarked. He climbed off the bike, and removed his helmet and gloves, slipping his fingers between yours to lead you away.

"I know." He continued to pull you along, walking towards a more wooded area.

"Suguru did you bring me here to murder me?" You asked, and he turned around, face twisted with offense. "Just kidding, just kidding." You laughed "But I wouldn't have to wonder if you just told me where we're going."

"Okay okay, just wait for a few more moments. We're almost there." He squeezed your hand, rubbing your knuckles while keeping up the pace. The gesture was enough to placate you.

You finally arrived at a small open area, where the setting sun illuminated the wildflowers in flares of deep orange. You marveled at the scene, unintentionally letting go of his hand, but failing to notice the picnic blanket set not far from where you were standing.

Geto chuckled when he saw you pull out your phone to capture the scene, letting you wander away for a few moments with your mouth agape. After snapping a few pictures, you turned around to face him again, seeing his eyes crinkled in a sincere smile.

"Alright, can I show you the REAL surprise now?" He asked, returning to grab your hand. You nodded eagerly, and he brought you to the picnic blanket laid on the ground.

He made you sit before a box labeled for my dear, and sat across from you, his smile widening in anticipation.

"Come on, open it." He urged, and you complied, pulling off the lid of the box to reveal a brand new helmet, with a shiny black base and a [favorite color] dragon design that gracefully swirled around it.

You gasped in shock, cradling the helmet in your arms like it was the most precious thing you had ever seen.

"There's more," he added, voice filled with mirth at your reaction. You looked at the bottom of the box, and retrieved a black riding jacket with a similar design on it, hands growing shaky from all the feelings that brewed inside. You looked up at your boyfriend, tears threatening to pool at your eyes before jumping into his arms for a hug.

The impact knocked the air out of him a little, but he circled your body with his strong arms, as you nuzzled in the crook of his neck "Really, Suguru you shouldn't have." You whispered, not trusting your full voice to not be shaky.

"I absolutely did," he rubbed your back soothingly, then pulled you away so he could look at your eyes, his hand gently cradling your face "Sharing this passion with you has been as much of a gift to me as you think it has been to you, if not more," his thumb rubbed gently against your cheek, his eyes boring into yours fondly. "Thank you for everything, my girl."

Unable to string together words in a coherent reply, you settled on kissing him, your lips entangling in a soft embrace. Lavishing in the tender moment. You finally pulled apart with his hand still resting on your cheek.

"Still think I was trying to kill you?" He joked, eliciting a laugh from you.

"It's your fault for not explaining," you chuckled in return, drawing closer so you could rest your head on his shoulder, his arms enveloping you in a warm hug. You stayed in silence for a few more moments, looking at the setting sun and the city that seemed so far away now. Like you were in your own little Eden.

"Cloud cover is supposed to be very low tonight, and we're far enough from the big city lights. Care to spend the evening stargazing with me?" He asked, looking up into the sky.

"Of course," you replied, your heart full. Truly, loving Suguru brought a sense of contentment to your life that you never imagined you could have. And there was nothing you could do to thank the heavens enough for the blessing of him being yours.

[chai-berries]

all my friends support palestine and will click and share this link to spread awareness

Come to my Lake House (#3)

Jerry bought the cabin on the lake when Abby went into middle school. The following summer, she invited her new Salt Lake City friends out to the lake. That started the tradition of going straight from the last day of school celebrations to the lake house for a long weekend. They’d come busting in through the cabin’s french doors, dropping gym bags and jansports backpacks into a perfect trip hazard pile by the door. Grabbing a slice of watermelon that Abby helped cut up and greet Jerry, who was in charge of the grill, before splitting off to do different lake house activities.

And the lake house itself is surrounded by so many things to do. From looking for newts in the water to trying out the infamous rope swing. Hiking in the forest that surrounds the majority of the house.

Don’t forget the traditional summer games like cornhole and horseshoes. Once Jerry even set up crochet — but he had to immediately return the game for the safety of the extremely competitive friend group.

This tradition continued past high school and college and budding careers. Eventually, Jerry didn’t feel the need to tag along with them and the group continued using the lake house as a place to escape from their corporate jobs and hectic schedules.

A year into your relationship with Abby, you got to see the cabin in all it’s glory. Abby didn’t have to ask you twice when she invited you, as you’ve been craving a nice cool lake for ages, work kicking your ass. You packed your swim gear, your journals, and books to keep you entertained throughout the trip. Abby had spent the drive up to the lake chattering your ear off about all the things she wanted to show you.

She wanted to take you to a cool cliff side view about three miles from the cabin. And the fire pit with the perfect view of the sky above between the trees. She was also just genuinely excited to be with you, playing in the sun. You practically radiated the star. With your silly jokes and pretty laugh. Whenever you guys went hiking, you’d practically be skipping down the trails, playing in the spotlights of the sun along the way. Your face under the light of the bright sun gave Abby butterflies every time. She couldn’t wait to share with you all the sights she loved so much.

The lake picnic happens three days into the trip. Manny, Abby, and Jordan drag Manny’s jet skis into the water. You help Nora carry the basket of sandwiches she painstakingly made for everyone, with specialty diets considered. Everyone had their beers, sodas, and sparkling waters tucked between their legs. There’s a giant wooden raft in the middle of the lake that they were using as base. Once the food is safely put on the base, alongside Jordan and Leah who were gonna swim in the water around it, the jet skis are revved up and the races begin. Manny and Whitney get on one while Nora takes the second. Abby invites you to ride with her and how could you say no?

Once you’re situated, your thighs against hers and arms around her waist, she floors it. She starts with big circles around the lake as she gives you a scenic tour of the greenery around it. But soon after, she’s pulling tricks to make you shriek. She drives by the others, causing waves that rock them. Manny almost takes you both out when he retaliates with his own jet ski tricks. The two of them start to race, with you and Whitney holding on for dear life.

Abby drops you off at the raft before doing a switch around with Leah, who takes the jet ski and Abby goes over to join you. She plops down next to you on the edge of the raft, her legs and feet submerged in the water next to yours. You had collected a bag of chips, one Pepsi and one La Croix before you sat down and you quickly pass the sparkling water drink to her before she even notices it. She thanks you with a simple kiss on your temple.

You both sit there, talking and sunning yourselves until Manny drags Abby off to a beer chugging competition with Leah and Jordan. You and Nora get to properly catch up as you wait for Abby to come back. Smiley and a little buzzed, she does come back and she immediately holds her hand out to you.

“Let’s swim, baby!” You give in once you see she’s not drunk and you trust she won’t drown on you. You guys walk over to the corner of the raft where no one is at and jump into the lake. You do a simple dive but Abby, after waiting for you to pop back up to the surface to watch her, does a running start and cannonballs into the water with a big splash. You close your eyes as the water hits your face and don’t open them until you feel Abby’s hands at your waist.

You open your eyes to see Abby’s own eyes practically glowing with mischief, the blue darker in some places and light in others. You tell her you “love her pretty eyes” and she pinks up, pressing a smooch to your smiling lips. You push away from her to float on your back, the girl doggy paddling next to you until you guys are further away from the raft.

“Hey,” Abby rasps out against the water pushing her around. “Wanna play mermaids?”

You bark out a laugh. “Okay, but I get to be the purple-tailed one.”

Abby laughs, agreeing. “I wanted to be green anyway.”

And like two little girls, you and Abby play mermaids for what feels like hours, swimming around each other and the logs and rocks that coat the river floor.

It is when you’re laughing so hard at her impression of her “pet seahorse” that can’t stop nuzzling up to you for “pets and kisses” that you realize you hadn’t seen any of your friends in a while.

“Wait, Abby? What time is it?”

The girl pulls back and looks at her wrist where her waterproof watch shines the time back to her. “Oh, shit we’ve been over here for two hours?!” Abby’s flabbergasted face pulls a laugh out of you. You kiss her wet pout.

You guys had managed to swim pretty far away from the raft and when you finally get to it, you notice that while the coolers were still on the raft, your friends are gone. You climb onto the raft and look around. The sun’s in your eyes and you have to cup your hand by your eyes to block it out in order to see.

“HELLO??!?” Abby walks around the raft calling for Manny and Nora or anyone.

Finally you hear Manny screaming Abby’s name. You see him on land by the house, waving his arms.

“Where the hell have you guys been?” He yells across the water.

“We were swimming!” Abby yells back. She looks back at you and rolls her eyes.

You see Manny move — his hands are now placed on his hips. “You get your asses over here! Dinner is almost done! Dios mios! No me jodas! I thought you guys died!”

“Sorry, Manny!” you yell back. You then turn to Abby.

“How are we supposed to get back?” You groan. “I’m fucking exhausted from mermaids, but they took the jet skis back.”

Abby scans the area and indeed they took both jet skis back. But that doesn’t deter her.

“I’ll go swim to get the jet ski and then come back and get you.”

Now you normally would say no but you can’t argue the fact that Abby’s stamina is way higher than yours on a good day. You’re exhausted but Abby is still bouncing around, full of energy. She dives into the water and swims to a jet ski. It takes her a quick minute to mount and start it, but soon she’s cruising towards you.

“Thank you, Abs.” You take her helpful hand to climb on behind her. And you wrap your arms tight around her waist to hold on as she drives you both back to shore. Manny is still there, looking exactly like a latina mother irritated with her children. He hands you both towels and gestures for you to follow him back up to the house.

“Thanks, mom!” Abby teases Manny. She just barely dodges his smack aimed at the back of her head and ducks behind you as protection. You put your toughest face on as you guard your girlfriend. Manny laughs at your attempt and rolls his eyes. “That’s cute, sister. Like a rottweiler hiding behind a pomeranian…”

“Aye,” you scold Manny, waggling your finger at him.

“Leave my girl alone. Pomeranians are ankle biters. Which means I’mma getcha!” you put your fists up, punching the air near his face. Manny gets into a defensive pose, bopping around in place like a video game character in create mode, which makes Abby cackle behind you.

“Hey, bitches!” You three turn your heads to the house where Nora is standing in the doorway. “Food is done. Get your asses in here,” she walks back into the house.

Manny straightens up. “Best not keep the cook waiting. She hid the chocolate for the s’mores when I kept asking when dinner would be done.” His face pulls into a deep drown like a scolded child. You laugh and shove him in front of you. Abby shuffles over to walk next to you, placing her arm over your shoulder. You slide your hand around her waist and walk the rest of the way glued to the hip. Manny was inside by the time you both got to the porch stairs. You could hear him reenacting the moment he saw you guys on the raft to the rest of the crew.

“You wanna go get changed?” Abby quietly asks. You nod and follow her up the stairs to your shared bedroom. She grabs her clothes from her bag and chivalrously goes into the bathroom to change, allowing you to have the bedroom to yourself. Making do without a shower, you put on a sweatshirt and shorts.

You’re sitting on the bed, putting on socks when Abby comes back in. She’s wearing her go to track pants and the thrifted harley-davidson shirt you bought her months ago. It has holes in the collar and along other seams, but it’s soft, light, and has a picture of a half naked lady sitting on a motorcycle. So safe to say it’s one of Abby’s favorite shirts. She joins you, putting on her own wool socks. You both get up to head downstairs but she stops you in the doorway.

“Hey, wait,” she pulls you towards her until you're close enough for her to lean in and press a long kiss to your lips. You smile into it and tug Abby even closer.

She eventually pulls away and you watch her lick her lips. Her cheeks are rosy red. She doesn’t say anything, just scans her eyes all over your face.

“You good, baby?” you ask, playing with the hairs at the nape of her neck, comforting her without hesitation.

“Yeah,” Abby coughs. “I’m just, like, really gay, sorry.”

“What?!?” you squawk out. The snort that she pulls from you is embarrassing but the way Abby’s face is so serious makes it come out of you. “You're dumb as hell! God, I love you.”

“Aw,” Abby cooes. She brushes a finger along the apple of your cheek. “I like you too!”

You roll your eyes at her smirk. “Shut up!” you joke, shoving her shoulder back. She barely moves, her stance planted.

“Hey! I was kidding! C’mere! I am sorry baby!” Abby apologizes. “I love you so so much!” She kisses your temple repeatedly.

You can’t help but pout at how fast you are able to forgive her, jokes aside. You’re a fucking sap for her.

You guys head back downstairs and into the dining area where everyone is devouring Nora’s gourmet tacos. There’s a spot for you and Abby saved, with empty plates waiting. The cups are filled with something non-alcoholic that sits in a glass jug next to your place mat.

“Damn, Nora,” Abby comments when she sits down. “My plans for my dinner seem subpar to yours.”

Nora smiles. “Shut up. But thank you. I’ve made these a few times already and they hit every time. So please, y’all, eat it up!”

The rest of the table cheers unanimously and then they settle back down, eating and enjoying the company around the table as the sun sets. It turns into twilight, then dusk, before everyone finally disperses from the table. Since tonight is Jordan and Leah’s turn to do dishes, Abby invites you to sit outside with her. The stars are bright out here and you take a moment to look at all of them in the sky. Abby takes that time to look at you.

“Do you know any of the stars?” She asks

You continue looking upwards. “I wish but no. You?”

“Nah,” she clicks her tongue. “I was honestly hoping you’d know.”

You laugh at her response, looking away from the sky. Abby’s holding back a smile when you look at her. She points over your shoulder.

“We have some chairs over here.”

There are lounge chairs sitting on an overlook of a small cement patio and campfire area. Abby tells you about building the fire pit a few summers ago with her dad. She sits down on one and before she even has time to say something, you nudge her thigh with your knee.

You look positively bashful. Abby’s thankful for the lanterns surrounding the area that alight your face for her. “Can I sit with you?”

“Of course, yeah, c’mere,” Abby scoots a bit back on the chair and spreads her legs so you can sit between them. You eagerly settle in against her warm chest. It’s not too hot or cold tonight — perfect summer night weather. She wraps her arms around your shoulders. Goosebumps arise on her skin where your hands run down her arms until you bring her forearms up to your chin, encouraging her to snuggle closer. Abby smiles into the back of your head and she tightens her arms around you. You both lay there, Abby pressing random kisses onto your head and you respond to them with kisses of your own to her arm.

“Thanks for coming up here with me. I know it can be a bit overwhelming with everyone but I’m happy you’re here,” Abby says into the night. You lean your head back so you can look up at Abby. She looks down at you, instinctively closing her eyes when you put a hand on her cheek.

“Thank you for inviting me. I’ve been having a lot of fun. It’s nice to see the crew… unleashed.” You shoot her a wry grin. Abby knows exactly what you’re referencing as she was also witness to Leah and Manny’s rock, paper, scissors turned arm wrestle turned into actual wrestling over who got to have the big inflatable dragon. Apparently, Abby had told you, they had to take turns because this wasn’t the first inflatable those two fought over but it is the only one that still inflates.

Abby leans her head back, groaning. “God I was so embarrassed when they did that!”

You snort. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” Abby shrugs, looking sheepish. “I wanted to impress you with this trip and there goes my best friends fighting over an inflatable floatie.”

“What are you talking about?” You move your entire body 90 degrees around so you can look at her, your legs now swung over one of Abby’s. There’s an exasperated but extremely adorable expression on your face. “I love your friends. They are your family. And they’re funny as hell. You have to come camping with my family — we get crazy on the river. Just you wait,” you hum, looking up at the sky.

Abby slyly leans closer to you. She can’t help the grin that grows on her face. “Yeah? I’m going camping with your family now?”

You look over at her and smile. “I mean yeah, my family already invited you without me even asking. It’s going to be twenty of us so you better be prepared for that whole circus,” you tease. Abby shares your smile. She’s met some of your family but only in short bursts. She met a few of them before you guys even started officially dating. They loved her as much as she loved them. “Just be prepared for the fly fishing because it’s a requirement while camping with us.”

Abby scoffs. “Don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll catch the biggest fish.”

You cup her cheek and bring her face closer to yours. “I’m sure you will, baby.” You coo. You lean forward and press your lips against hers in a slow kiss. She keeps you there with a hand on your neck, nudging your lips open with hers, your tongue enthusiastically meeting hers. You can’t help the moan you let out that vibrates against Abby’s lips, encouraging her own moans. It’s deep, slow, and full of love as she keeps you firmly tethered to her. When you finally pull away, it’s to look at Abby’s pretty face in the flickering lantern lights.

“Did you know,” you start. Your hand is still on Abby’s cheek and you take the time to delicately brush your thumb against the apple of her cheek. “That you are so fucking pretty?” You lean in to kiss her freckled cheek. The smooch is exaggeratedly loud in order to bring a laugh out of Abby. She pretends to lean away from you but is secretly enjoying the attention you give her face as you lay kisses all over her face, repeating “so pretty” under your breath after each kiss.

You continue to smooch her face until she is giggling so hard that you can’t stop smiling at the sound, which makes keeping your lips puckered very difficult. You reluctantly pull away, taking the time to brush loose hair from Abby’s face. Her giggles subside and she watches as you comb her hair back.

The stars and tree line behind you give Abby a view she could stare at all day, your soft expression as you look at her warming her more than any bonfire could. This is exactly what she wanted when she invited you to come up here with her. You, her, the stars, the soundtrack of a summer night floating around you. No work, no appointments. No other distractions besides her best friends, who adore you and have no problem leaving you two alone to enjoy your time together. No real interruptions for an entire week. And Abby is going to take full advantage of the full week to love on you as much as she can.

She presses a kiss to your cheek. “C’mon,” she gestures for you to go back to your earlier positions, your back against her front. You both spend the rest of the evening sharing kisses and inventing random constellations out of the stars above you.

[reverieblondie]

REV

IS IT COOL IF I CALL YOU REV

ANYWAY what do you think about sub!Rolan allowing Tav to bend them over the railing of Ramazith's Tower and fuck him into oblivion?

xoxo Ziggy

Ziggy you can most definitely call me Rev! Now...lets talk about my sweet sub!Rolan.

18+! penetration! cum eating! GN!reader! Short Drabble

Rolan takes a deep breath as he try's to steady his nerves, his hands are clammy in anticipation... this is ridiculous he was the one to approach you about this, and now that he's here he's getting nervous?

"Rolan, you okay? Are you nervous?" Your smooth voice in his ear instantly makes his skin tingle and his tail shoot up into that S shape that aways gives him away. Rolan looks over his shoulder to see you in all your nude glory, thank god you two are so high up on the towers balcony, because if anyone else where to see you like this he knows he would thunderwave them out of existence. This moment, is just for you two...

"I'm not nervous...just getting impatient." You chuckle, what a lying brat.

Grabbing his soft hair you make his back arch as a soft gasp leaves his lips, "Oh? Should I just get straight to fucking the Masters ass? No prep? No teasing?"

Rolan can't help but grind his ass against you, feeling that jaw dropping length he has been craving all day. But fuck...he wants you to tease him, getting him so needy and hard till his cock is practically weeping. Wants you to make him work for it...

"Fine! Fine...I'm nervous...please...prep me..."

With a hum you let go of his hair and start to scratch your nails against his scalp. Rolan practically purs as you ease him, "Don't be nervous Rolan, I'm going to make you feel good. Okay?"

Rolan says okay as he's body begins to relax, your body heat so close to him. your hands trailing softly over his skin, your lips caressing his spine. You bring your hand to his mouth, "Open." He eagerly follows your demand as he sucks and licks against your fingers. your body shivers at the feeling of his hot tongue twisting around your two digits, his sharp teeth slightly scraping agist you. The memory of late night when he snuck his teeth into your skin from when you had let him on top, his cock driving into you makes your nipples perk and your sex to quiver...

You quickly pull your hands out of his mouth making him gasp as you start to use his saliva to start lubing up his ass. "Look out at the city Rolan, do you think they know you love this? That the great Master Rolan loves to be bent over and fucked?"

Rolan whines at your taunts and his cock throbs, "Do you think they know the Hero of the Gate is the one fucking me?" You bite your lip as you start to finger his ass, making him grab the railing and let out a moan. "They will in a minute when I start fucking you..."

Meeting some resistances from his ass tightening on your fingers you slip them out before spreading him open and spitting on his hole. His tail twitches and the cold contact and your quick to kiss against the appendage as you start fingering him again. Rolans cock is painfully erect as he grinds his hips back into your fingers trying so hard for you to nudge against that sensitive nerve in him. He's ready so fucking ready...

"Please Tav...ah...p-please!"

You start lining up the length to his ass rubbing it against his entrance that is begging to be filled. "Do that again."

"Please pl-"

you chuckle as you lean over his pushing in the tip as Rolan moans at the stretch, "Say my name..." you whisper in his ear before pushing in your tongue making him want to cum then and there. Not needing to be told twice he repeats your name like a prayer as you push in deeper and deeper. Tilt finally your holding tightly to his buckling hips as your finally pushed all the way down. Your length is nudging against his nerve making his brain hazy and your name nothing more that a shuddering whine now.

That's when your thrusting gets faster, pulling back to the tip being slamming back into him making him gasp. He's so close but your making him wait...right until he's crying out, "Please, let me cum Tav gods! Please!"

Feeling merciful you keep your pace as you wrap your soft hand around his burring cock. Precum running down your fingers as his breath gets higher pitched and his thrust get sloppier. You nibble on the tip of his ear before giving him the permission he's been needing, "Cum for me Matser Rolan...Please..."

With a groan he's white knuckling the railing as his hips stuttering as his cock throbs and spurts his cum all over your hand. His body gets limp and he trys to catch his breath.

After a minute you carefully use your other hand to rub gentle circles on his back as you pull out of him, Rolan shudders from the empty feeling. Turning around his face is flushed and his lips parted but in a slight smile. You smile back before bringing your cum covered hand to your mouth for him to watch as you lick up his cum from your fingers.

Gods he loves you..."Can I...do you next?"

You think for a moment, "Can I ride your face?"

Rolan smiles as he grabs your waist, his body so hot and sweaty against your skin, "Tav, you can do whatever you want to me."

With that your leading him to his bed...

-Hope you enjoy Ziggy!

[whynotshaveme]

It's For Charity, Mia

By whynotshaveme

Mia's long, black hair trailed down her back as she arrived at school that morning. With determined strides, she scanned the notice board for any chance to bolster her grades, especially that D+ that she had in American History. Her eyes locked onto a flyer advertising a charity event that afternoon promising extra credit from the History Department to those brave enough to sign up. Not looking at the fine print, even though she really should have, she jotted her name on the sign-up sheet.

Excitement buzzed in the air as Mia entered the school's auditorium that afternoon. Students and teachers packed the seats. Everyone kept pointing at the barber's chair at the center of the stage. Mia nervously approached, dread gnawing at her insides. Oh god, she thought, what did I sign up for?

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to our annual charity shave-a-thon!" the host's voice boomed, drawing everyone's attention. "Let's give a big round of applause for our first participant and longest head of hair today —Mia!"

Mia's stomach churned as she stumbled onto the stage, unable to make a break for it now, her steps heavy with trepidation. She took her seat, her hands trembling as she gripped the armrests. Her eyes widened in horror as Mr. Richardson, her weirdo American History teacher, stepped forward, clippers in hand.

"No, please..." Mia's plea was a mere whisper, drowned out by the anticipation of the crowd.

Mr. Richardson's smirk only deepened as he revved up the clippers. Mia's breath caught in her throat as the buzzing sound filled the room, drowning out her protests. The first lock of her hair fell to the ground, soon to be joined by others.

"I always make my students earn their extra credit," said Mr. Richardson so softly that only Mia could hear it.

Tears welled in Mia's eyes as the clippers continued their relentless assault. Mr. Richardson, she would later learn, was a former Army barber. He didn't show her an ounce of mercy as the guards of those hungry clippers ripped through her beautiful head of hair. She wanted to scream, to beg for mercy, but all she could do was sit there, paralyzed by shame and helplessness.

Finally, the clippers fell silent, leaving Mia's head shorn of its crowning glory. But Mr. Richardson wasn't finished yet. With a cruel grin, he produced a pearl-handled straight razor and a can of Barbasol shaving cream, ready to strip away the remnants of Mia's dignity.

The cold touch of the razor against her scalp sent shivers down Mia's spine. Each stroke felt like a dagger, carving away at her self-esteem. She tried to still herself, including her unfortunately full bladder. And then, it happened—a warm trickle down her leg, followed by a spreading puddle at her feet.

Gasps rippled through the audience, quickly followed by jeers and laughter. Mia's cheeks burned with humiliation as she watched everyone in the audience pull out their phone to document her humiliation. She wanted nothing more than to disappear, to escape the mocking gazes of her peers. But Mr. Richardson, a professional, insisted on another pass of his razor and then a vigorous massage of oil into her now naked scalp.

"Gotta made that cueball of yours really shine," he said, laughing with everyone.

Once he was satisfied with how the bright, oily sheen of her bald head looked under the hot lights of the stage, he gave it a smack and then pulled off her cape. Mia then stumbled off stage and to the nearest bathroom to clean herself off and see how she looked. When she looked in the mirror, she cried.

[zhounauts]

౨ৎ₊˚⊹ ( KICK IT W/ YOU ) RICH BOY!PJS X FMR

0823 ── girl pardon me i don't mean to be rude but i got some paper, and i wanna spend it on you

XX ͏͏͏͏͏͏ ͏͏͏͏͏͏ ͏͏͏͏͏͏ ͏͏͏͏͏͏͏͏͏͏͏͏based on all i wanna do by jay park w/ 462 words

WRNGS ── N/A

before you even see park jongseong, you know he's there.

the oh-so-familiar revving of his ferrari 812 as you reach the exit of your university is a dead giveaway that he's outside waiting for you. it's like a unwelcome reminder that he seems to always be everywhere you are, despite your efforts to shake him off.

and then there he is, in all his glory, leaning against his car with a bouquet of ivory roses in hand. park jongseong is filthy rich and anyone can see it in his perfectly tailored polo shirt, cream slacks, perfectly gelled hair and shiny rolex.

your stomach does a flip despite yourself, but you force it down. you've been doing this little dance with him for weeks—ignoring him, pushing him away, and pretending you don’t care. you refuse to look at him as you walk out, trying to blend in with the crowd surrounding him.

the last time you had saw him, you were sure you'd made it clear that you didn't want him doing things like this anymore. no gifts, no surprise visits in super cars, and most importantly no toying around with your heart like it was a game he could win by pulling the right strings.

but then there he is, again—just like always.

you try your best to slip past him, hoping that the crowd is enough to shield you from his penetrating gaze. yet, it only takes him a second to spot you.

"you're not really gonna ignore me forever, are you?" he calls out. you try to keep walking, but he doesn't let that slide, "i'm talking to you yn,"

the crowd of students goes silent, whispers floating through the air. you feel your jaw tighten in annoyance. though you want to keep walking, the scene jay has caused is enough, and you're willing to do anything to get rid of him.

with a sigh, you storm towards him, and he grins at this; unlocking his car and sliding into the drivers seat.

"well? no hello?" he teases as soon as you slam the door shut. his voice is light a playful, and you can tell he's enjoying the fact that you've been forced to confront him.

you turn to him, annoyance written clearly on your face. he sighs, "you're really not gonna say anything? after you've just sat down in my car?"

you don't answer him.

"hey," he says softly, "yn. c'mon," he stares at you. and just as you think you've successfully ignored him, he reaches out towards a loose strand of your hair, fingers hovering close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off of him.

you react immediately, yelling as you whack his hand away, "i'm not talking to you dammit!" he smirks.

"just did,"

RAE'S NOTE(S) guys my brain has been throwing up so many ideas the amount of motivation i have is insane right now. it must be the christmas spirit filling me! newayz this has got to be one of my faves i've written ever so pls enjoy

(ZHOUNAUTS , 2024)