#services for older adults living at home | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

artstennisracket · 2 months ago

Text

Take me to Church! ib: take me to church by hozier, this is a very loose interpretation i just couldn’t get this trope out of my head. also loosely based on a larry fic I read a million years ago. i’m also not catholic so im sorry if I got something wrong 😭

preacher’s son!art x patrick

cw: nsfw(18+), dacryphilia if you squint, religious imagery of sorts, patrick corruption kink

Art had always put his faith first. He had to, he didn’t want to go to hell. He went to church every Sunday to watch his dad deliver service. Even when he was younger he refused to go to children’s church, wanting to receive the real word of God with the adults.

Now he was old enough to lead youth service to the pre-teens. It was very rewarding. Getting to teach them about the different scriptures and relating them to parts of life they could relate too. It was awkward having to introduce the idea of purity rings and why they should all have one, saving their innocence. But he enjoyed the practice, hoping to become a preacher one day like his dad.

He was grateful that he didn’t have to teach the older teens who were sure to ask more questions about why pre marital sex was bad, and he didn’t even want to get into that conversation.

Art’s best friend was the complete opposite. Patrick was an atheist. Strayed very very far from the word of the Lord. Patrick was raised jewish and still wears his star of david to appease his parents, but he didn’t really care about religion.

Art has tried to save Patrick time and time again but it never worked. If anything the complete opposite happened.

Patrick slowly but surely started to corrupt Art. It started with kissing.

“C’mon Art it’s not a big deal, kissing isn’t a sin,” He says.

“Not technically but the bible talks about appropriate boundaries and…,” Art trails off, keeping eye contact with Patrick. The tension was so thick Art thought he was going to suffocate. Patrick would always give him that look. Like Patrick wants to eat him. Or worse.

It would make Art’s stomach feel funny.

They were sitting really close together in Art’s room. Patrick bites his own lip lightly causing Art’s gaze to flicker down to Patrick’s lips.

Art doesn’t stop Patrick when he leans in to kiss him. So he says ten hail marys that night in his room.

And it doesn’t stop there. It was never going to stop there, not with Patrick.

The next time they hang out Art says they have to be in the kitchen where Art’s parents could see them. He would not succumb to Patrick’s desires.

Art’s parents leave for date night and Art ends up getting a blowjob on his living room coach. The image of Patrick on his knees forever ingrained in his memory.

He can’t keep doing this. He always feels ridiculously guilty. He said 20 hail marys that night.

Now Patrick had invited Art to his house this time. Patrick promised Art he wouldn’t try anything and his sisters would be home.

Technically that was true.

Both of Patrick’s sisters were tucked away in the rooms, not to mention Patrick’s house was humongous. Even if more people were home, Art is sure he wouldn’t be able to tell.

They’re making out and Art is so confused on how they even got here again.

“I wanna try something,” Patrick whispers.

“No Patrick we can’t, I can’t, I wasn’t even supposed to be here—“

Patrick moves his hand to grab Art’s erection, “I think you want to,” he smirks. “C’mon it’ll be so quick.”

Art groans. He twists his purity around his finger, a nervous habit. Patrick plays with the cross dangling from Art’s neck, leaning in to kiss up the side of Art’s neck. Patrick is just so convincing.

That’s how Art ends up on his hands and knees and Patrick’s tongue in his ass. It was called rimming. Or he thinks that's what Patrick called it.

“Patrick,” Art gasped when Patrick first licked across his hole. It felt really good. Art didn’t know what to expect but the pleasure was taking over him.

He was moaning and whimpering like crazy, feeling the tears start to well up in his eyes. Gasping out things like, “Patrick we shouldn’t be ahhh doing this,” and “We have to stop,” while simultaneously pushing himself against Patrick’s tongue to get more relief.

Patrick pulled away causing Art to whine. “Okay if you feel so bad why don’t you say your act of contrition. If you stop, I stop.”

Art is stunned. He’s shocked Patrick even knows what that is. An Act of Contrition was a prayer usually said to express the sorrow of sins.

Art could hear the smirk in Patrick ‘s voice but his brain was scrambled, “W-which one?”

“Whichever one you want, pretty boy,” Patrick smiles before leaning back down to get to work.

Art decides to go with Confiteor because it’s the first one he ever learned and it was the first one that came to mind.

He starts off shaky, “I confess to God and to b-blessed Mary ever-Virgin.”

“To blessed ah—Michael the Archangel and blessed John the Baptist, mmm jesus Patrick,” Art gasps as Patrick pushes a finger past Art’s rim.

“Keep going,” Patrick says, muffled since his mouth is preoccupied.

“and—and to the holy apostles Peter and Paul ah-along with all the saints and you Father: Patrick,”

“You know I wouldn’t have minded if you called me Daddy, don’t think Father is my thing,” Patrick teases as he pulls away to add another finger.

“This was not—“ Art starts but stops once Patrick stills his fingers.

“That doesn’t sound like it’s part of your prayer,” Patrick warns.

Art sighs, letting his head hang down, “through my fault (thrice) I have sinned by pride in my abundant evil ah-iniquitous and heinous thought,” he rushes out.

“Nah ah ah, take your time. Wanna hear you fall apart for me,” Patrick calls out. He moves his free hand to start jerking Art off at the same time.

Art moans again, all of the feelings taking over, “speech, pollution, suggestion, delectation, consent, word and deed, in perjury, adultery, sacrilege, murder, theft, false witness, fuck Patrick I’m—can’t keep going much longer,”

Now Art cursing is new. He’s never heard Art curse ever. For some reason that just turns Patrick on so much more. He pulls his hand away from Art’s cock not wanting to end this experience early, “Keep going baby, doing so good for me.”

Art squeezed his eyes closed trying to remember where he left off, “I have sinned by sight, hearing, taste, smell and touch, and in my behaviour, my evil vices.” Now ain’t that the truth.

Knowing that Patrick is reason for all this sinning, for corrupting sweet innocent Art, makes him really fucking hard. He pulls his mouth off of Art’s hole to pull down his own shorts, jerking himself off. He grabs a nearby pillow to place under Art’s hips.

Even though Art started on his hands and knees, he was more on his knees and elbows now, gradually leaning down further. So Patrick putting the pillow under his hips allows Art to grind down. Getting some relief but not too much.

Patrick leans back down, continuing to lick at Art’s entrance, continuing to jerk himself off.

Art can hear all this happening behind him. His body starts to grind down on the pillow and pushes him further towards the finish line, even though he wishes it didn’t. The tears are falling, he can’t stop them. He feels so dirty, but he’s never felt this amount of pleasure before. This is so wrong. So wrong on so many levels. So why does it feel so right?

“I-I beg blessed Mary ever-Virgin and all the saints,” Art takes a deep breath hoping to finish out this out, “and these saints and you, Father—,” But Art can’t hold it anymore.

“to pray and intercede for me a sinner to our Lord Jesus Christ!” He yells out as he cums all over Patrick’s pillow.

Patrick sits up, cumming all over Art’s ass, “Holy fuck, Art.”

He grabs a washcloth from his closet to clean them both up.

Art still feels like he wants to cry. Or scream. Or both. How many hail marys should he do this time?

“Well at least you already repented or whatever. So now you don’t have to feel bad. Wanna play Super Mario Bros?” Patrick smiles, while pulling on new pajama pants he grabbed from his closet. Like nothing even happened. Like they didn’t just commit the biggest sin Art’s ever done.

Patrick really doesn’t get it, does he?

taglist: @tacobacoyeet @artdonaldsonbabygirl @newrochellechallenger2019 @antxnxlla

wanna be tagged when I post? click here :)

#mel writes✍🏾#challengers #patrick zweig #art donaldson #artrick #art donaldson x patrick zweig #artrick smut #preachers sons artrick #preachers son art

169 notes · View notes

katakaluptastrophy · 2 years ago

Text

Oh no now I'm thinking about the Fourth and the Fifth again and how Jod's awful colonial space feudalism poisons everything.

You are four or five years old. Maybe you're Isaac and you never knew your dad, only that he died at enemy hands in some far flung campaign and six years later you were made to ensure an heir for the baronetcy. Or you're Jeannemary and your mother defied orders, went beyond the rim, and jumped on a grenade. If either of you have surviving parents, they're not considered sufficiently important in this great process of ensuring a suitable heir with a suitable cavalier to keep you. There is no Baron until Isaac comes of age, and the leader of a House needs to be properly trained. You are four or five years old, and you are sent away.

You're five year old Jeannemary. You're not yet sworn to your necromancer, but you've been promised to him since birth and you've been sent away from your planet and your siblings to serve him. You are your generation's Chatur and this is your purpose. And when the cavalier primary of the House you have been sent to sees a little child struggling to see over the table at a reception and props you up with a cushion, you challenge him to a duel. You don't understand why all the adults are laughing. Your honour and your necromancer are all you have left of home. Far away, at the edge of the system, Harrowhark Nonagesimus decides that puppeting her parents' corpses as her House collapses around her is a better fate than yours. At night you are tucked into bed in a room that you don't have to share with any siblings and the man who is looking after you now reads to you from a book of adventure stories and strokes your hair until you fall asleep.

You're nine year old Isaac, swearing to be one flesh, one end with your cavalier in a foreign chapel on a foreign planet. You go to school. The woman who is not quite but almost your mother is helping you to discover spirit magic far beyond the thanergy fission you would have learned at home. She is teaching you to cook and to dance. She tells you that the parts of you which back home would have been considered flaws are your greatest strengths. You have friends and playmates who will never be on the front lines, whose parents write books or engrave stele or organise the bounty of empire from ledgers and transmitter boxes. You are loved and you love, but you are beginning to understand that love comes with a cost.

You are 13 year old Jeannemary. You are back on the Fourth and after last year's bombing you are now cavalier primary. As far as you are concerned, you are grown and ready to serve god and his empire. And you have been denied twice. You don't understand why the people who love you are going to such lengths to stop you from doing what you were born to do or why they have always looked so upset when glorious news comes from home about how someone you would have grown up with, had you not been sent away, has given the ultimate service to the empire. You are cavalier primary of the Fourth House and you fear you are still being propped up on cushions.

You are Isaac Tettares and you are Baron of a planet you spent most of your childhood away from. Everyone else your age long ago shipped out with the Junior Territorials. You are the Baron of a planet but you are not in charge and you have come to understand that your father wasn't in charge either. You love the closest thing you have to parents and they love you. You miss them terribly. You resent the fact that thanks to them you will never truly lead the Fourth. There is talk of a marriage alliance when you are older. You want to be family with them. You don't entirely believe you'll live long enough to marry him when you come of age. And if you do, your half Fifth children will be another crack in what's left of the Fourth House. You miss you dad's stupid jokes and your mum's earnest discussions. You're free of their meddling. You will never be free of their meddling.

You are Jeannemary and Isaac, properly off planet and on display as scion and cavalier for the first time, offered an unimaginable chance to serve god and his empire. You crave the security of your parents. You chafe at the idea that you might be perceived as children. But for a little while you are all together again. You are planning a party. You are making friends. You will all serve the empire together. Perhaps, when you are the fingers and gestures of god, none of these differences will matter any more.

They die horribly. And later so do you. God doesn't care.

#the locked tomb #tlt #isaac tettares #jeannemary chatur #abigail pent #magnus quinn #tlt meta

2K notes · View notes

itneverendshere · 1 year ago

Text

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18) - three

WARNINGS: smut!; guns; mentions of human trafficking

word count: 7.9k.

Growing up, you had to develop a thick skin.

With two deadbeat parents, it wasn't a choice—it was a necessity.

Unlike JJ, you never blamed your mother for leaving, she was a victim too, and despite your nightly wishes and prayers that she had taken you with her, you found solace in knowing that at least one of you had escaped the torment of the Maybank household.

You learned early on to rely only on yourself. While you had your younger brother, you never placed that burden on his shoulders.

As the older sister, it was your responsibility to take the blame for everything and to shield him from Luke's drunken or drug-fueled rages. You never resented JJ for it, you couldn’t—neither of you asked to be born into that situation.

You tried to take each day slowly, avoiding the house and staying at John B's as much as possible, but it was easier said than done. You felt like a burden to your friends, especially since you were the one who had to be the adult in the group. Kie, Pope, John B…weren’t supposed to take care of you. And yet, they did, they took you in, shared their homes, and gave you the semblance of family you craved but never had.

It was a weird balance, living with a foot in both worlds: the chaotic storm of the Maybank household and the calm haven of your friends' places.

At John B's, despite its share of brokenness, it provided a refuge where you could breathe without the fear of violence. You often found yourself on the porch, watching the sunset over the marsh, your mind wandering to dreams of freedom. Those moments were precious, tiny pockets of peace in your life.

But no matter how much you tried to distance yourself from the fucking chaos, it was always there, lurking in the background.

Luke Maybank’s shadow was long and dark, and it followed you everywhere.

Each time your phone buzzed with a message from JJ, your heart would race, fearing the worst. It was a responsibility you bore proudly, protecting your brother from a world that seemed determined to break you both.

It felt natural to ease into being the provider, to think, to act, to protect. It became second nature, an ingrained part of your identity forged from necessity. While others your age worried about stupid parties, hook ups, drinking, you were strategizing the best ways to keep your brother safe, figuring out how to stretch what little money you had, and ensuring that there was always something for JJ to eat, even if it meant you went without.

You learned how to calm Luke down when he was on the brink of a violent outburst, and how to read the signs of an impending beating in his eyes. You figured out which neighbors might turn a blind eye to your requests for help, and which ones might call social services if they saw too much.

There were moments, rare and fleeting when you allowed yourself to dream too. You imagined a future where you and JJ were free from the chains of your upbringing. But dreams were a luxury you could rarely afford.

So, when Rafe told you—no, demanded—that you stayed in the deadbeat motel room while he met up with his contacts, you lost it.

He'd gotten the text earlier in the morning and decided he was smart enough to lure you out of this. Except he wasn't.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not going.”

You didn’t take it lightly to people making choices for you.

Your mouth opened in indignant shock, "You think you can just order me around? I'm not staying here while you go off and do God knows what.”

You knew he wasn’t used to people standing up to him.

"It's for your own good," his tone was condescending, like you were a child, “You don't understand the kind of people I'm dealing with. It's dangerous."

"Dangerous?" You nearly smacked him across the head. "You think I don’t know what danger is? Look around!"

Rafe opened his mouth to retort, but you cut him off, stepping closer and jabbing a finger into his chest. You’d done a lot of that recently.

"It’s my life on the line too. I’m not going to sit here and wait for you to come back like some obedient little bitch.”

His face practically matched the color of the deep red curtains in your room, “You’re making this a lot harder than it needs to be, Maybank.”

"No, you are," you fired back. "I’m going with you.”

“No.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

He took a step away from you, fingers pointed at his temples, “What part of fucking dangerous do you not get?”

“If it’s dangerous for me, it’s dangerous for you.”

Rafe’s jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tensing visibly. His gaze bore into yours, but you’d be damned if you looked away first.

“This isn’t a game,” He was clearly growing frustrated with your stubbornness, “You have no idea what these people are capable of.”

“Maybe not,” You conceded, “But I’m not staying behind and you’re not going alone.”

He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand along his grown-out hair.

“They chew up people like you.”

“I’ve been chewed up by worse.”

He knew that. He saw the determination in you, that unyielding grit that drove him up the fucking walls, he understood that he wasn’t going to win the fight. Unless he played dirty.

“You’re too stubborn, y’know that, right?”

You chose to ignore him, grabbing the simple sweater he’d gotten for you the day before at a local market, “When do we leave?”

He almost sprinted to the door, “Now.”

You moved to follow him as he stepped outside into the hallway, but before you could follow, he grabbed your arm.

"Wait."

You almost pulled away, irritated enough. "What now?"

His grip tightened, "This might hurt.”

"What?" You tried to twist free, glaring at him.

"Change of plans."

Before you could react, he pushed you back inside the room, slamming the door shut. He didn’t do it hard enough to make you fall, but the treason came so suddenly that you nearly lost your balance as you heard the lock click, the sound echoing in the small space.

"Rafe! You piece of shit!” You pounded on the door, “Let me out! You can't do this!"

His voice was muffled but firm from the other side. "Stay here.”

"You motherfucker!" You screamed, kicking the door but there was no clipped answer from the other side, only the echo of your own frantic breathing.

He was gone, the stupid bastard.

You collapsed against the door, locked like some helpless child.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to cry over something so stupid. You were a Maybank, damn it, and Maybanks didn’t back down from a fight, even when their choices were taken from them.

Any other day, you’d have jumped out the damn window without a second thought—done it plenty of times back home. But this was different. Your room was too high up. Sure, you could probably get away with a few scrapes, maybe a busted finger, but you couldn’t afford to be vulnerable. If shit hit the fan, you needed to be ready to run, two working legs were non-negotiable.

Your eyes flicked around the room, scanning for an out. Then they landed on the bed—sturdy frame, solid wood.

That’s it.

You moved fast, yanking the sheets off the mattress, fingers working on autopilot as you twisted and knotted them together. A makeshift rope. And people said Pogues weren’t fucking smart.

It wasn’t pretty, but it would do. You secured one end to the bed frame, giving it a few hard tugs to make sure it’d hold. Once satisfied, you tossed the other end out the window, watching as it unraveled down the side of the building.

No hesitation.

You grabbed hold and swung a leg over the sill, gripping tight as you started lowering yourself down. Not your first time, not your worst idea. Slow—one slip and you’d be eating pavement.

When your feet finally hit solid ground, you exhaled, only now realizing you’d been holding your breath.

Right. Focus.

Rafe mentioned something last night—meeting, bar, bartender named Miguel. Some dingy spot by the marina.

You rushed back inside the motel, ignoring the puzzled look from the front desk guy as you barked out questions about the bar. He hesitated, taken aback by your urgency, the way you blurted out the words, but you didn’t have time for explanations or politeness.

"Just tell me where it is," you pleaded, “It’s important.”

His hesitation grated on your nerves, but finally, he scrawled an address onto a scrap of paper and shoved it into your hand.

“It’s not far,” he muttered, eyeing you warily. “But be careful. That place ain’t safe for a lady on her own.”

So, nothing new.

Any place overrun with men—or worse, drunk men—was a trap in itself. But instead of saying that, you gave a curt nod and bolted out the door. You had bigger problems.

You gripped the paper as you tore through the streets, dodging bodies, moving fast. And then—before you could process what the hell was happening—a hand clamped down on your arm, fingers digging deep into your skin. You barely had time to react before you were yanked off-course, dragged straight into the dark alley you’d purposely avoided.

The situation felt all too familiar.

Your heart leaped into your throat, adrenaline pumping in and out of your veins. Instinctively, you struggled against the unknown grip, kicking and clawing in a desperate attempt to break free.

"Let go of me!" you shouted, your voice echoing off the narrow walls of the alley, “I got nothing on me, let me go you stupid fuck!”

You threw an elbow back hard, landing it somewhere solid. Your captor let out a grunt, grip slipping long enough for you to wrench yourself free. You spun, ready to swing—ready to take his teeth out—

"Rafe?!"

“What the fuck is wrong with you!”

"What the fuck is wrong with you, you mean?" You exploded, chest heaving.

“Me?” Rafe barked, all up in your personal space, “What the fuck is wrong with you? You jumped out a fucking window?!”

He knew you wouldn’t back down so easily, that's why he waited around the corner, hoping you were smart enough to keep still even though he knew you would never.

You blinked, the shock of seeing him in front of you momentarily overriding your anger. "You—you locked me in there!"

"Yeah, because you wouldn't listen!" he shot back, his frustration evident in his tone, “Fuck—Jesus fucking Christ.” He was shaking his head wildly, his hands balled into fists as he cursed away like a mantra.

"I'm not staying behind while you go off risking your life!"

"And I told you, it's too dangerous for you!" Rafe's voice rose with each word, his hands balling into fists at his sides. His pacing intensified, “What the hell were you thinking? What were you gonna do? Walk in and what, huh? You don't even have a gun on you!"

“So? Give me yours!”

Rafe’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Give you, my gun?! Did you hit your fucking head against the concrete?

“I’ll hit your head against the concrete if I have to.”

His left eye twitched. Oh, you had him now. “I have half a mind to bend you over my fucking knee, don’t push me.”

You ignored him. “So you’d rather I go in there unarmed? I can do it.”

“Clearly. Look at you,” Rafe’s voice was mocking, “You think I liked locking you in that room?”

“You didn't give me a choice! I wasn't going to sit around and wait for you."

Rafe sighed, palms pressing into his eyes “I’m trying to protect you, God fucking damn it. I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“Save it,” You hissed out, pressing a hand to your chest. “How am I supposed to trust you when you pull this—this shit!”

Rafe reached into the waistband of his trousers, his movements slow, and you nearly wheezed out a cough as he pulled out his gun, lifting his shirt in the process.

What the fuck.

He took your hand and dropped it into your palm. “Show me.”

“Huh?”

He nodded towards your hand. “Show me you know how to handle it.”

The sudden changes in his attitude always left you speechless.

You hesitated, staring at the weapon in your hand, because despite the place you grew up in, you never held a gun before, let alone fired one. With trembling fingers, you checked the safety and made sure the gun was loaded, trying to mimic what you had seen in movies.

Rafe watched silently for once, assessing.

You lifted your gaze to meet his.

“Alrigh'. Now, point it at me.”

“What?!”

“I said point it at me,” He repeated nonchalantly, “C’mon.”

"Are you crazy?"

Rafe only smirked, tilting his head like you’d just asked if the sky was blue. "What’s the matter? You wanted a gun. Now use it."

You gritted your teeth. Oh, he was enjoying this.

This was crazy.

With shaky hands, you raised the gun, aiming it high enough to have him flinch. He didn’t, of course.

“Good,” Rafe nodded in approval. “Now, pull the trigger.”

“What the hell?! Rafe?!”

“Trust me, Maybank, just once.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Pull the trigger. He wasn’t fucking serious, was he? You couldn’t actually shoot him, could you? Maybe months ago you would’ve done it without a second guess, but now?

“I’m not pulling the trigger.”

“Just do it. You’re not going to hurt me, okay?”

With a deep breath, you squeezed the trigger, half expecting the gun to recoil in your hand. But nothing happened.

You had forgotten to chamber a round, but he knew that already.

Rafe’s mouth twitched in a half-smile, as if the entire situation was normal, “You forgot to chamber a round.”

"God, you are so fucking—” You huffed out a breath, flipping the safety back on with a sharp click before shoving the gun into his chest. He caught it easily, but his smirk widened like you’d just done exactly what he wanted.

“What?” he drawled. “Didn’t feel so powerful anymore?"

You watched him carefully, his bottom lip stuck out and, embarrassingly, you found you wanted to kiss him.

“Try again.”

This time, when you reached for the gun, your fingers barely brushed against the cool metal before he yanked it back, holding it just out of reach.

“Oh, now you want it?” Rafe taunted.

You narrowed your eyes. “Give me the gun.”

He spun it lazily between his fingers, watching you like lion toying with its prey. “Why? So you can pretend you know what the fuck you’re doing?"

Your jaw clenched. “Maybe so I can shoot you.”

"You wouldn’t.”

You hated how certain he sounded.

This time, when he handed it back to you with a conceited smile, you aimed the gun at the wall and pulled the trigger, feeling the recoil jolt along your body as the bullet fired. The sound echoed off the walls of the alley, causing your heart to race even faster.

“Atta girl.”

“I’m still pissed."

“I know,” Rafe conceded as he reached up to brush your hair from your eye, fingers grazing the side of your neck. “I panicked, okay?”

You studied him for a moment, taking in the tired lines around his eyes, the way his shoulders sagged with exhaustion. He’d done so much for you over the past weeks, it shook you to the core. The countless times he had gone above and beyond, selflessly putting your needs before his own. Perhaps…you could let it go, just this once.

“Okay.”

"Let's go.”

“Wait, right now?”

"Before you get another bright idea and try to jump off a fucking roof next time."

You should punch him in the mouth.

"Next time, I’ll make sure to aim for your fucking head.”

Rafe shook his head as he holstered the gun back where it belonged.

“You’d miss. Now, c'mon, we're late."

✩.⋆⁺｡𖦹 ˚₊ ๋⭒★✩.⋆⁺｡𖦹 ˚₊ ๋⭒★✩.⋆⁺｡𖦹 ˚₊ ๋⭒★✩.⋆⁺｡𖦹 ˚₊ ๋⭒★✩.⋆⁺｡𖦹 ˚₊

Hours later, you collapsed onto the bed, wondering what the hell you’d gotten yourself into, again. The events of the meeting kept replaying in your mind like a broken record.

You’d never met such a group of people before, and you didn’t want to, ever again.

"Human traffickers," you muttered, the words feeling foreign on your tongue. "I can't believe we just met with human traffickers."

Rafe nodded solemnly, "Yeah.”

"I don't trust them. What if... What if they decide to snatch us up and... Oh my god, what if this is all just a ploy..."

“We’re in this together, okay? I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You wanted to believe him, but your brows were already furrowed, your mind racing with questions. “How do you know these people?”

He hesitated, “Barry. It’s... a long story. But right now, what’s important is that we got a way out, yeah?”

You nodded slowly, realizing that asking him for more information wouldn’t get you anywhere. There were more important things to worry about. You didn’t know what was worse anymore, running from Ward Cameron, finding yourself at the mercy of human traffickers, or potentially developing feelings for someone who’d ruined so many lives.

God, if your brother saw you now…you’d be the greatest disappointment of his life.

The mere idea consumed you entirely. The things you’d done.

You'd let Rafe into your bloodstream and you hated yourself for it.

Everything was spiraling out of your control, and you hated it. What would you even tell him? You didn’t even know if JJ made it to shore, but something told you that he did. He always did. And that meant that sooner or later you’d see him, and you’d have to watch him gradually despise you.

And then there was Rafe.

The very thought of him made you want to stop breathing altogether.

How could you even begin to reconcile the feelings you harbored for someone who had brought so much pain and destruction into your life? It felt like a betrayal to even consider half of it.

“You good, Maybank?”

You dragged your gaze away from the swirling fan on the ceiling to meet Rafe's concerned stare. He was studying you intently.

You shifted on the bed, turning to face him fully. "I don’t know,” you muttered, forcing a weak smile that didn't quite reach your eyes, “You?”

He reached out to gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. It always surprised you, how surprisingly light his touch felt compared to before.

“I don’t know.”

He had every reason to abandon you, to wash his hands clean of the entire situation, but he hadn’t.

You nodded, a lump forming in your throat.

It was hard to believe that someone like him could be capable of such tenderness, vulnerability. But there he was. “They’re about you.”

"Me?" you repeated quietly, confused, you knew speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile moment between you two.

Rafe nodded, scanning your face for any sign of understanding.

"Yeah. You."

Your brows pulled together, “What is?”

He visibly gulped, pressing his lips together, blinking several times before releasing a held breath “The nightmares.”

Oh.

You almost stopped breathing, "What about them?"

He moved uncomfortably, “They used to be just about my mom. Then dad. Now, it’s—uh, it’s just you. Ever since that night, it’s just you. Dying, because of—yeah.”

You hadn’t realized the extent of the impact that night, when you got shot, had on him, on both of you. It was a lot to process, you hadn't had the time to figure everything out yet.

His fingers brushed over the ugly scar on your arm, and memories flooded your mind. The gunshots, the crippling fear you felt when they got to you, how Rafe reacted, how he touched you.

“You should’ve told me before.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

For a moment, you let yourself lean into his touch, allowing the warmth of his hand to chase away the ghosts that haunted you both most night.

"Does it still hurt?" He asked, leaning in so his nose brushed against yours; it was warm against your skin.

You shook your head, "Not anymore."

His fingers continued their path up, eventually reaching your cheek as he cupped it tenderly, carefully, as if he’d break you if he rushed it.

You closed your eyes, savoring the closeness between you. And then, almost hesitantly, you felt him lean in, his mouth brushing against yours in a delicate caress. You hardly had to move to kiss him, only tilting your chin up.

It was tender, different from the ones you had before, just so quiet that it made you want to burst into tears, torn between giving yourself to him or run away and never look back.

You kissed him too, tentatively once his hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer. In that moment, little else mattered, not the dangers lurking in the shadows, not his past sins, not the uncertain future or your self hatred.

All that existed was that overwhelming pull you felt for him. But as the kiss deepened, a voice of reason, which weirdly sounded a lot like your younger brother, scolded you in the back of your mind, reminding you of the consequences of your actions.

You pulled away instantly, burned by the same, breathless and dizzy, your heart pounding in your chest.

“We shouldn’t…”

Rafe only stared, before he nodded, understanding dawning in him.

"Get some rest.”

You nodded in agreement, grateful for the distraction. With a guilty sigh, you lifted yourself off the bed, making your way to the bathroom to change into some booty shorts and a simple tee.

Once you emerged from the bathroom, Rafe was already settled on the bed, only in his boxers, his attention fixed on some point on the wall. You hesitated before joining him, knowing sleeping next to him again wasn't a good idea, the distance and closeness between you feeling suffocating.

You wanted to say something to break the tension, but the words stuck in your throat, so instead, you settled for a nod, and a quiet “Goodnight.”

You slipped under the covers, the warmth of the blankets cocooning you in a false sense of security.

“Night, pretty Maybank.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping it would somehow trick your brain into shutting up. But no—your thoughts kept spinning, bouncing around, a personal playlist stuck on shuffle. Sleep was simply out of reach, slipping away the second you get close. Every tiny noise—the creak of the floor, a car passing outside—made your heart jump, your body tense like you'd been waiting for something to happen. You move restlessly under the covers, but the new sheets felt all wrong, twisting around your legs, trying to trap you there.

You heard Rafe's voice beside you, breaking the silence.

“Can’t sleep if you keep moving.”

“Sorry.”

He reached out, his hand finding yours in the darkness, “What is it?”

“Can’t sleep.”

His hold tightened around yours, "I know, Maybank," he spoke in a ushed tone, "But you're safe here. Try to relax, okay?"

You squeezed your eyes shut, already feeling the upcoming headache, “I don’t know how to.”

It was quiet again for a minute and you feared you’d bored the man to sleep with your insecurities, but then he spoke again.

“Turn around.”

You opened your eyes, even though you could barely see him. Was he telling you to spoon him?

“What?”

Rafe's thumb gently brushed against the back of your hand in a soothing rhythm, “Turn round f’me, kay?”

With a sigh, you did as he asked, turning onto your side to face away from him. He moved closer, his body pulling against yours as he wrapped an arm around your waist, snuggling you against his chest.

His warmth enveloped you instantly as he pressed a light kiss to the back of your neck, his lips lingering against your skin.

“There,” he whispered, breath tickling your ear. “Better?”

Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

These were dangerous waters.

If you couldn’t sleep before, you sure as hell weren’t about to do it now. Your traitorous brain was re-living that night, how he felt, how he touched you, how he fit right.

An almost overwhelming, shameful feeling of arousal took over you, and with whatever courage or stupidity you had left from the day, you pressed yourself impossibly closer to him. His warmth seeped into your skin, your coiled muscles melting against him, feeling every ridge and turn of his body.

Your touch drew a low, guttural groan from Rafe, his breath hot against your skin as he pressed closer, his arousal unmistakable against your back. His breath fanned over your skin, the graze of his teeth on your shoulder sending a shiver curling down your entire body. Then came the flick of his tongue, soothing the sting, and you exhaled a breathy sigh just as his lips parted to bite down again—harder this time.

You weren’t stopping him.

His arm tightened around you as you traced the contours of his fingers, mapping out the familiar territory.

You exhaled hard, trying to get your heart to stop hammering, but then he shifted behind you, pressing in closer, and—fuck. Yeah, he knew exactly what he was doing. His hand slid lower, fingertips skimming under the hem of your shirt, trailing across your stomach.

With a boldness that surprised even yourself, you moved your hips, grinding back against him, seeking the friction that would ease the mess in your head. You just needed to forget for a while.

His mouth was at your ear now, “Relax,” he murmured, fingers dipping just a little lower, enough to make you tense in anticipation. “I’m right here.”

That was the problem.

You didn’t think—you just moved, testing him the way he was testing you. His breath stuttered out, and then his hands were everywhere—palming over your hip, skimming up your ribs, gripping like he wanted to leave marks. His fingers finally found their way to the hem of your shorts, teasing the sensitive skin with feather-light touches.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging enough to pull a pleased hum from his throat. His lips parted against your neck, “Tell me to stop, please,” Words coming out a slurred mess.

You couldn’t.

Your hand trailed down, fingertips skimming over the bare skin of his thigh where his boxers had ridden up. The warmth of him, the way his muscles twitched under your touch—it was driving you insane. If you moved your hand just an inch higher, you’d—his thumb dragged over your nipple, the thin fabric of your shirt doing nothing to dull the sensation.

You had to bite back a squeal. “I can’t.”

You still had your fingers buried in his hair, pulling like you wanted to hurt him, and Rafe just moaned into your skin, strained, he liked it.

An unrestrained, almost desperate plea escaped his mouth, "Are you sure?

This was so fucking wrong, but you wanted it, none of that mattered—not when you turned your head, lips grazing the edge of his cheek, and whispered, "Yes."

You gasped when Rafe raised his thigh, placing it between your own, his hands on your hips guiding you back and forth, grinding you down against his skin. You couldn’t remember a time you’d ever felt so out of control, so desperate for someone’s touch. The thin barrier of your shorts and panties felt like a small but significant obstruction to the numbness you needed to reach.

One of his hands slipped under the waistband of your panties, the other splaying across your stomach, holding you in place. His fingers found you slick and ready, a whimper vibrating across his chest at the discovery.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, his fingers starting a slow, torturous rhythm against your clit. You bucked against his hand, seeking more, needing more, your head already falling back against his broad shoulder, turning slightly to capture his lips. Once felt his tongue press against yours and you nearly came on the spot. He slowly circled your clit, sending your hips jerking into him, “Can’t stop touching you.”

You struggled to form words as breathy moans escaped your mouth.

“Please don’t,” you rasped, your thoughts turning to mush as he dipped the tips of his fingers inside you, gathering your slick and when you found your voice again, it was a mere screech, “Rafe...”

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, finally pushing two thick fingers inside you, at an agonizing pace, “I’ve got you.”

Your jaw went slack as he curled his fingers, a gasp escaping when he found that spot that made you see stars, wondering how the fuck he remembered that. The heel of his hand pressed against your clit, pulling another moan from you, while his other hand pushed you back, continuing to grind you against his fingers.

His breath was hot against your neck, his voice a growl as he removed his fingers, making you whine in protest. He glided one between your folds, the wetness easing up the process, “You’re so fucking perfect,” He clicked his tongue, annoyed at himself for admitting it out loud. “Can’t get enough f'you.”

“Ra—You’re gonna make me come,” you gasped as his arm left your waist, sliding underneath your ribcage and resting on your chest, kneading your tits through the fabric of your shirt, “Fuck.”

“Yeah, baby, that’s the point,” he purred into your ear, two fingers sliding inside you again, so suddenly you threw your head back, thighs clenching together tightly as he pumped his fingers in and out. At this point, you were lightheaded, fucking yourself back onto him, grinding down as you chased your orgasm.

“Don’t stop,” you begged, your voice trembling with desperation. “Please, Rafe...”

His fingers quickened their pace, “Not stoppin',” he promised,“Want t'feel you dripping around my fingers.”

Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body trembling with the intensity of your approaching climax. Rafe's touch was relentless, his fingers curling inside you, hitting that perfect spot over and over.

“Rafe—” you cried out, your voice breaking as your orgasm crashed over you, wave after wave of intense pleasure radiating from your pussy.

Your body convulsed, and you clung to him, nails digging into his arm as you rode out the ecstasy.

Rafe held you without a break, his fingers never slowing, drawing out every last tremor of your release. When you finally came down, breathless and spent, he withdrew his fingers, not giving you a break to breathe as he shuffled behind you, pulling his boxers down, just enough to release his aching cock, doing the same to you as he slid his length between your folds.

The sensation was…everything, his heaviness pressing against your sensitive, slick entrance, the heat of him making you shiver. You bit your lip, suppressing a scream as Rafe's hand gripped your hip, holding you steady.

“Shit shit”, you breathed out, barely able to form coherent thoughts. The anticipation coiled inside you again, your body already aching for him, “’M sensitive.”

“Shhhh,” he purred, his voice husky against your ear. “Just relax, pretty.”

He rocked his hips slowly, the head of his fat cock teasing your entrance, not pushing in but sliding between your folds, spreading your wetness over his length.

Holy fuck, you’d gone to heaven.

Rafe's breath hitched, his grip on your hip tightening as he tried to control himself.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, “So perfect.”

“Oh my god,” you sighed, biting your lip when his tip bumped against your clit, “I need you to—Shit, just fuck me.”

With a slow, deliberate motion, he angled his hips and began to push inside you, inch by tantalizing inch. The stretch was exquisite, slowly filling you in a way that left you gasping, your body accommodating him with a shuddering breath.

“Jesus,” Rafe hissed, his head dropping to rest against your shoulder as his cock twitched inside you. “So tight.”

Your fingers dug into the sheets, the thrill and the sensation of being filled to the hilt almost too much. You could feel every part of him, the way he throbbed inside you, the way his body fit perfectly against yours. You felt his breathing against your skin, coming out in uneven and ragged breaths.

He started a slow, steady rhythm, each thrust measured and deep, pulling out almost completely before pushing back in.

His other hand found your breasts, kneading the sensitive flesh through your shirt, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

You couldn’t hold back the mewls that escaped your lips, each movement driving you higher, the tension building again. Rafe’s breath was ragged against your ear, his lips brushing your skin in sloppy, open-mouthed kisses.

He gently bit your earlobe, withdrawing his hips until only the tip of him remained inside you, before slowly pushing back in with deliberate, languid movements. You reached back, tangling your fingers in his hair once again.

“Rafe... harder, please,” you begged, shame thrown out the window, “I need it harder.”

He moaned, the sound vibrating through his chest as he complied, his hips snapping against you with more force, the sound of skin against skin filling the room. His hand slid down from your chest to your clit, circling the sensitive nub in time with his thrusts.

You felt the familiar coil of pleasure tightening, your body tensing as you teetered on the brink.

“Can’t belie—fuck. Can’t believe I get to have you again.”

You curved your back again, meeting his thrusts with equal fervor, your body craving the release that was so so close.

“I c-can’t hold on much longer,” you gasped, your voice barely more than a breathless whimper.

“Then let go,” Rafe growled, his fingers pressing harder against your clit. “Come for me, baby. I want to feel you.”

You groaned, “I want to see you when I do.”

Before he could answer, you pulled away from him, making him groan, but you shut him up as you turned to face him, dragging your shorts and panties out of the way, not looking where you threw them as you quickly lifted your body and settled over his, hands pressed to his naked chest as you rubbed yourself against him.

Rafe's hands gripped your hips firmly as you positioned yourself above him, “You tryn’ to kill me, pretty Maybank?”

You smirked, leaning down to press a quick peck against his lips, “Yeah.”

Without any warning, you lowered yourself onto him, both gasping at the sensation of being joined once again. He filled you completely, stretching you in the most delicious way, his tip touching your cervix.

Your movements were slow at first, savoring all of him, every sensation that rippled from end to end of your body. But soon, the slow burn grew into a raging inferno, and you found yourself moving faster, chasing that peak of pleasure one more time.

“Get this fucking thing off,” He growled, pulling at your shirt. You would’ve found it funny if you weren’t so desperate to feel him.

You sat up, quickly tugging the shirt over your head and tossing it aside. Rafe's eyes darkened with lust as he took in your bare chest, his hands immediately finding your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples in a way that made you gasp and arch into his touch.

You started to move again, lifting yourself up before sinking back down onto him, each movement sending waves of desire through both of you.

A filthy kiss followed, all spit and tongues tangling messily as if trying to devour each other whole.

The taste of him filled your mouth, cigarettes and toothpaste, his moans mingling with yours.

The kiss was a brutal assault, his teeth nipping at your lips, drawing blood, which only seemed to fuel the frenzied rhythm of your body. Rafe's grip on your hips tightened, guiding your movements, and encouraging you to take him deeper, pounding into you, abs flexing.

You leaned forward, your hands bracing against his sturdy chest, the new angle allowing him to hit even deeper inside you. The room was filled with the sound of your heavy breathing, your cries, and the rhythmic, filthy, slap of skin against skin.

“Fuck, this pussy can’t be real,” Rafe groaned, his eyes locked onto yours, the intensity of his gaze making your heart race. “Ride me harder, baby. Wanna watch you.”

You increased your pace, the friction and fullness driving you closer to the edge with each thrust. His hands moved from your hips to your waist, holding you steady as you moved, his touch grounding you even as you felt like you were about to come apart at the seams. His thumb found your clit again, rubbing it in tight, precise circles that had you crying out his name.

“Oh god, Rafe, I’m s-so close,” you panted, your body trembling with the effort to hold back your release, wanting to savor every second of this moment.

“Come for me, pretty. Wanna to feel you drippin’ all over my cock.”

That was all it took.

With a loud moan, you came, your body convulsing around him, your nails digging into his chest as the phases of your pleasure crashed over you. Rafe watched you, his expression one of pure awe, jaw slack open as his hands never left your body.

As your climax subsided, your breathing ragged and your limbs trembling, he gently kissed your temple, his lips tender. He murmured soothing words and you swore you were on cloud nine.

You felt his heartbeat, steady and strong against your own. His fingers traced lazy circles on your back, calming you, bringing you back to earth.

But as the pleasure subsided, you became acutely aware of Rafe's cock still hard and throbbing inside you. His breath was ragged, his eyes void of any color, and you knew he was on the brink. You lifted yourself slightly, feeling him slip almost out of you before you sank back down, taking him deep again, despite the way your thighs burned, the way your hole ached.

"Rafe," you called, “Need to feel you come inside me."

His grip on you tightened, his eyes briefly closing as a guttural moan escaped his lips. He released you for a moment, only to bring his hand down sharply, delivering a stinging smack to your ass,

"Watch your fucking mouth.”

The sudden impact made you gasp, the pain amplifying your desire.

Rafe's eyes snapped open,"You like that, don't you?" he growled, "Look at you."

You could only nod, breathless and aching for more. His hands returned to your hips, guiding your movements with a renewed urgency. The sting from the slap lingered, a delicious reminder of his dominance, the only place you'd let him take the lead.

You started to move again, your pace slow and deliberate, your movements designed to drive him wild. Each time you sank onto him, you could feel him throbbing, his control slipping with every passing second. His fingers digging into the flesh of your ass as he tried to hold on.

"Please, baby," you whined, "I need to feel your cum."

The pet name did it.

With a growl, he shifted, flipping you onto your back and pinning you beneath him.

The sudden change made you gasp, your legs instinctively wrapping around his ass as he drove into you in a mean mating press. His pace was relentless, like he’d die if he stopped.

The sounds of your “oh’s” mixed with his grunts, only amplified the passion. You could feel the tension coiling inside him, the way his body strained against yours, every muscle taut with anticipation.

"Gonna fill you up,” he grounded out, his voice strained, "So fucking close."

You tightened your legs around him, pulling him deeper, your nails raking down his back, leaving red trails in their wake. "Come for me, baby," you urged, your desire reigniting at the thought of him finding his release, “Need you so bad.”

His eyes snapped open, locking onto yours with a feral intensity. "You want my cum?" he growled, thrusting harder, making you cry out in pleasure. "Beg for it."

"Please, Rafe," you gasped, feeling the pressure building inside you, "Fill me up. I need it. I need you."

With a final, powerful thrust, Rafe's body stiffened, his head dropping to rest against your shoulder as he let out a hoarse cry. You felt the hot rush of his release, the pulsing of his cock as he emptied himself inside you. His entire body trembled, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he rode out his orgasm. You could feel him pulsing, the warmth flooding you as he let out a primal growl, his grip on you almost bruising.

And right there, another orgasm ripped through you, your body tightening around him as you cried out his name.

He collapsed onto you, both of you panting and trembling. His weight was comforting, his breath hot against your neck as he pressed soft kisses to your skin, his earlier roughness giving way to a tender aftermath.

You held him close, your hands running soothingly over his back, feeling the ridges of the muscles you had just marked with your nails. Your own body still buzzed with the aftermath of your pleasure.

When he finally lifted his head, his eyes met yours, a look of pure adoration in his gaze that left you speechless. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a tender, lingering kiss.

He cradled your face in his hands. "We’re gonna be okay," his breath felt warm against your lips.

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten with emotion.

Tears welled up in your eyes as his lips touched yours again, the faint tender kiss so different to the man you used to know. You tried to hold back, to keep the overwhelming tide at bay, but you broke, and a sob escaped your lips.

He pulled back slightly, concern etched across his pretty features. "Hey," he murmured, his thumb brushing away the tears that spilled down your cheeks. "What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?"

You shook your head, "No, it’s not that," your voice trembled, “I’m scared.”

Rafe's expression softened, thumbs gently caressing your cheeks. "Shh, it's okay," he soothed, "Let it out, baby. I’m right here."

You buried your face in his chest, your tears soaking into his skin. The warmth of his embrace, the rhythm of his heartbeat, and his hold were the only thing keeping you together at this point and if you weren’t feeling so much, you’d feel pathetic for relying so much on someone else.

He held you tightly, his hand stroking your hair as you cried, releasing the pent-up anxiety.

"We—I, I don’t know what I’m doing," you admitted through your tears, your voice muffled against his chest. "I’m really, really scared.”

Rafe kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering, "I know, Maybank," he whispered,"I’m scared too.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him through tear-filled eyes. "You are?"

He nodded, his attention never wavering from features.

"Yeah, I am. This...And—don’t know what I’m doing either. But I want it. I want you."

“But it’s wrong.”

“I know, pretty.”

He pulled out slowly, both of you hissing at the sensitivity. Rolling onto his side, he gathered you into his arms, holding you close. You nestled against his chest.

“I’m sorry for jumping out the window,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his skin, “You just...make me so angry.”

He chuckled softly, his fingers running through your hair in soothing strokes. "I shouldn’t have locked you in.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the last of your tears dry against his skin. You knew things wouldn’t be easy, but his reassurance gave you a little strength.

After a while, Rafe shifted slightly, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze.

"We’ll figure this out, Maybank.”

“Promise?”

He hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly.

Promises weren’t something he was used to making, you knew that. But then he nodded.

“Promise.”

#rafe x maybank!reader #rafe x pogue!reader #rafe x female!mc #rafe x you #rafe x reader #rafe fanfiction #rafe x y/n #rafe imagine #outer banks #kinda canon #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x maybank!reader #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #angst #rafe angst #rafe cameron smut

987 notes · View notes

skay-ali · 27 days ago

Text

Older sister program

a bit of fluff and eventually yandere from other characters It is just a protogo or attempted draft

"It was a bit childish."

"And you're a... a child..."

"Wow, you've got no answer," he sounded arrogant.

Ahhh, it's only a few months, just a few months, and you'll be punished.

Let's start with your story and how you ended up being a sisterly figure and guide to a troubled child.

Since you were 12, you began your independent and rebellious life against adults, rules, and society. You considered yourself an anarchist.

You didn't let anyone walk all over you; you were always on the defensive, snapping at anyone who messed with you.

Your beloved family isn't spared... it's not like they had a great relationship; your father and brothers were always busy with their own lives.

But friction was common, between dad's favorites and his only disappointment, namely you.

"You're nothing but a disappointment to the family."

"Well, at least I'm not dad's little robot, with no life or thoughts of my own."

"You're very childish."

"Thank you. They'd rather enjoy themselves than grow old and bitter."

"You're only bringing shame on the family with your behavior."

"Oh, Dad, I think you're doing well enough."

Seriously, sometimes you thought about stopping, about being a good girl, but you couldn't help but open your mouth and protest.

But in your defense, that might not have mattered in your family. Now that you were hated, they remembered you... that's better than being forgotten.

Besides, it's not as if society deserved your respect.

You hated everyone in your city. There were the wretched, the victims, the innocent, the scavengers who took advantage of any opportunity to kill someone; those who operated in the shadows; those who scrounged for leftovers, pretending to have power; and finally, the kings, who were at the top and had the right to kill whoever they wanted, just for fun.

Oh, and not to mention the heroes.

"That's why I think you should create a comic about corrupted heroes."

"Yeah, I don't think that would be well received."

"Boo, chicken, it's a wasted idea and it would be a hit."

"Sorry, but I don't think it is."

"I'm giving you an idea to take you to the top, friend, but I see that... maybe it's not your thing." With your arms crossed, you began to check your nails. It was more interesting than seeing the man a few years older than you sitting at a booth at the convention.

That was your belief, one that was often frowned upon and judged.

After all, who wants to see another version of their beloved heroes?

And about the comic book artist, the one who had a certain charm, disappeared for a while and didn't produce many works anymore, so you assume his career is over.

Well, it turns out that during your time as a university student, away from home, away from your city, with a new kind of pretentious people with their own principles, one must be careful, even if it's just to defend oneself.

You hit an idiot you shouldn't have, even if it was just to try to defend yourself.

Jail was an option, but apparently the lawyer who got you Alfred didn't like it; according to him, he'd been paid to get you off without a stain on your record. The plump, elderly man, a realistic version of Porky Pig, defended you until he got you community service.

Fawcett City, a big city, with little crime unlike other places.

You thought it was a great place.

Well, now you were on your weekend, a perfect Saturday morning for doing nothing, trapped in a boring building, receiving training for your new unpaid job.

Taking care of a homeless child and making him forget and guiding him from a potentially bad life to a decent one.

Wow, if that had existed in your city, maybe you wouldn't have ended up so badly, you recognized it.

"So you were my new... ah sister," the boy said doubtfully.

"Yeah, I guess I am," you said, feigning encouragement. Ahh, it would be a very long year.

You started with a boy with a surly personality, most of the time, and he was very serious and quiet.

Oh, he was a mini-you, like when you were little.

So you tried, of course, when you weren't tired of life, with your old woman's body.

You took him to many fun places, you talked to him, although many times it was just you.

You gave him many life lessons and advice, which he probably never paid attention to.

But his few words and occasional smiles were enough for you.

"Yeah, well, I have to be with you until it's 6." You looked at him and his friends.

"But it's enough for me to watch you have fun and make sure you don't die," you said disdainfully before looking back at your phone.

"Oh, here, you're going to have fun with your friends." You threw him some bills.

The boy gladly took them and smiled before showing his friends and running off.

"Take care, Billy, and don't get into trouble," you greeted encouragingly as he walked away.

"Kids grow up so fast," you commented to the women standing next to you; they were probably babysitters.

It was all calm; babysitting wasn't so bad after all.

You walked through the park with a soda bottle, looking for the boy. Damn, they're easy to lose, you should have put a tracker on him.

But voices and screams alerted you.

You approached the source, finding a group of older children bothering your son and his friends.

You leaned against a tree, waiting to see what would happen. They would surely defend themselves; it was normal; all the children in your city did that.

But this wasn't the same city where you formed your defensive, rebellious, and strong character. No, this was a peaceful city, full of light and happy people.

You approached carefully and grabbed the boy who seemed to be the leader of everyone.

"Am I interrupting something?" you smiled friendly.

"Yes, you are, idiot, so go away," the teenager replied, trying to escape your grasp.

"This isn't your business," his companions followed.

You looked over at your new "brother."

You saw him a little beaten up and sitting on the floor. His friend was in worse shape.

"You're wrong, brat," you shook him harshly.

"If it's any of my business, you're messing with my brother and his friend." You left your friendly voice behind and changed it to a more threatening one, still maintaining a smile.

"Hey, leave me alone or you'll regret it," the boy threatened.

"Oh, I don't think so. You were hoping you'd get what you deserved." You pushed him to the floor with moderate force. His friends tried to help him, but with both of your free hands, you grabbed the back of his clothes.

"Go ahead, kids, hit him back."

You had all eyes on you because of your words.

"What? I firmly believe in an eye for an eye."

The two children, barely recovering from their bullies' ambush, just stood up and stared at you.

You were a tall figure in their eyes; now with your new actions, not one full of brilliance, but rather dark and fearsome.

"It's not right," Billy decided to speak out, despite his fear of confronting you and not following your orders.

"Ahhh, but he hurt you," you said, bewildered.

"Yes, but it's not right. We'll only make things worse."

You looked at him calmly.

You sighed tiredly. Children are sometimes wild, sometimes compassionate.

You forcefully threw the other teenagers to the wind.

"Okay, you guys are the ones who're in charge." You raised your hands in surrender.

"You better remember that. Next time I won't hold back," you threatened the young people lying on the floor.

"Let's get out of here before we get into trouble," you called to the children, taking another sip of your soda that was resting on the floor.

The children hurried to follow you.

"That was great." "Is that so?" you asked without interest as you devoured your plate of chips.

Billy's friend nodded enthusiastically as he repeated your actions.

"They were strong, how could you stand up to those three?" Billy commented, still watching you, analyzing you.

"Well, my appearance isn't for nothing, you know..."

"Besides, where I come from, if you don't know how to defend yourself, you're doomed."

What a distrustful kid you have! They'd known each other for a few days, and he was still on the defensive. You threw a chip at his serious face, which earned you an angry reaction from the boy.

"Just eat and stop overthinking. It takes away your age, believe me, I speak from experience."

Seeing your father, with his beloved cases and his double life, showed you what seriousness can do to you in life.

Ahgg, old age was an inevitable monster.

"I thought you weren't coming," the boy commented, sitting on a swing in the park.

"Ahhh, why wouldn't I? I'm not supposed to miss it. Besides, I told you I'd come."

"Yes, but... this is a day people spend with family," he whispered in a weak voice, hiding his gaze.

You walked carefully to another of the swings and sat down. It was freezing, because the boy showed no signs of freezing and acted as if nothing had happened.

"Well, I'm supposed to be your sister," you smiled at the boy.

"It's just a job." The boy didn't look at you.

"I guess it is," you decided not to lie, to be honest.

You moved carefully onto the swing, pushing your feet off the ground as you moved.

"I don't have a good relationship with my family. I've been practically alone since my mother died."

"The little time I spent with you was the closest thing I'd ever had to a sibling relationship. It was a new family relationship since I lost my mother." You looked up at the sky. It was sure to start snowing. The low temperature was a sign

The sky was so calm, peaceful, just like the celebrations taking place.

"I came because I wanted to, not because I had to."

"Is that right?" he asked doubtfully.

You stood up. The swing made a squeaking noise, the wind blowing sent a chill down your body, and you spun around in front of where the boy was sitting.

"Look at me, I'm outside my warm and cozy apartment, on a cold, almost dark afternoon, freezing."

"Just for you." Your hand gently stroked his head, his small black locks.

It was unexpected, but the boy pushed himself forward, freeing his hands from the chains of the swing, taking a few small steps and hugging you. His small strength made you step back a little, but you recovered and continued stroking the boy's head.

That day, you took him to a 24-hour cafe. A misfit's paradise without company, perfect for the big day it was.

"Go ahead, order whatever you want, this will be our celebration," you smiled and pushed the boy into a seat, placing a paper menu in his hands.

It was a great night, with delicious and unhealthy food, a movie on the restaurant TV, small board games from your favorite manager and business owner.

And long conversations, jokes, and pointless ramblings.

Your phone received a few texts and a call. It was your family's butler, asking about your attendance.

A big party, being thrown by your father and your siblings, for their acquaintances and friends... you didn't fit in. Before, you had to attend, but now with your little brother, you have a perfect excuse.

You watched the boy smile and devour a plate of sweets.

Oh, it was like those days with your mother.

"Hey, ___, I have news for you." The boy appeared at your apartment. It became a habit for him to always visit you, in his free time, even after your time in the big brother program.

Even when the boy grew up, even when he found loving parents and siblings who appreciate him, he still visits you, even introducing you to his parents, who were kind to you, even inviting you to some of their get-togethers or parties.

You have a sneaky suspicion that if they could, they'd adopt you too. It's not that you were complaining; you loved that loving, large family, and your brother too.

You looked up from your computer and drew paper designs.

"What's up, sweetheart?" you called him by his nickname.

"Hey, stop calling me that, it sounds weird," he complained.

"Hahaha, sorry, I can't help it, it's funny to see you angry."

"You know what? Forget it," he pretended to back down and ignored you.

"Hey, come on... don't leave me with any doubts."

"Hmm, I'll do it, but you need to stop joking."

"Okay, okay, I'll stop." You shuffled your feet across the floor, moving your stroller to where the boy was sitting on the couch watching you.

"Well... my school is going on a field trip to the Metropolis Museum, and they've also organized some friendly soccer games with some schools from other cities." You could tell he was excited.

"Is that so? Well, it'll be a lot of fun, but make sure you don't get into trouble."

"..." You saw the boy squirm nervously in his seat, avoiding your gaze.

"What's up, what's that reaction?"

"Well, maybe I put your name down as a volunteer for the trip, and I'll assure my parents."

"Yeah, well, I hope you enjoy it... wait, did you put my name in it?" You were distracted, but after absorbing his words, you became alarmed.

"Yeah... well, I wanted to take a trip with you and my other siblings. They're coming too."

"I thought it would be fun," he said with a little hesitation.

You rubbed your fingers against your forehead, trying to relax and not explode.

Well, it wasn't a big sacrifice. You had your work at home. You could get ahead a bit, make deliveries quickly and finish some client orders, reschedule your schedule, make some calls, postpone, and stop accepting jobs.

Ah, just thinking about it exhausted you.

You looked angrily at the boy who smiled innocently.

"Ahhh, I'll go." That earned you a cheer. You even heard voices in the hallway; it was probably the other kids.

"But I need everyone's help to finish my work, or else I won't be able to go."

There were no protests, just hugs first from your favorite brother and then from the other children you grew attached to.

Damn, your time with children was spent talking to you. You even stopped picking verbal fights, the only ones you had left after leaving physical ones behind when Billy told you it was better to talk than to fight and settle things with blows.

Even when they drove you crazy, you promised to behave yourself with people.

"I heard your academy is going to Metropolis," Dick said curiously.

"Yeah, now they've decided they'll do programs to integrate different schools, to share bonds... and all that ridiculous stuff," Damian said without interest.

"Oh, come on, it'll be fun," Dick defended the idea.

"No, it won't be, even the games."

"Maybe they included you in that," Jason mocked the demon child's fate.

They only received a frown in response.

"Oh, haha, so it's true." Tim also took the new information with grace.

"Well, how about we all take advantage and go watch the games?" the oldest brother of the family suggested.

"What?"

"You're joking, right?" It wasn't surprising that everyone reacted badly.

"Yeah, let's do it," the father of all the children, who had been listening silently, confirmed the idea. which ended in many complaints, but none of them managed to prevent the trip.

#yandere dc #yandere platonic #x reader #dc billy batson

72 notes · View notes

richarlotte · 5 months ago

Note

how to get ahead in college?

How to get AHEAD.

Set up your social media accounts and then put them on private. People you don’t know don’t need to have access to too much information or photos of you. If you decide to put them on public, keep yourself very safe.

Know the look, but know that it’s up to you whether to emulate it or not. Sometimes your best bet is creating and doing your own thing. Knowing the look does work, but having your own essence is also important.

Get an idea of the popular venues, events, and groups around campus. You should know where to be, what to try, how to get yourself in, and when to show up there.

Keep at least a 3.3 GPA throughout your first semester. Realistically, 3.5 is a much better bet, and shoot for a 3.75 or a 4 if you have it in you; your academic success should always come first when you’re away at school.

Start connecting with people before you get to campus. Use social media as a tool to do this, and don’t be afraid to reach out; you don’t need to be focusing on making best friends, but you should get to know the people you’ll be around when you’re at uni.

Learn how to do your own maintenance and how to fix yourself up. I’ve saved so much money, and it’s so convenient to be able to do what I want when I want. If there are any services you love, learn how to do them and then perfect the skills you’re teaching yourself.

Learn who to avoid and why they’re notorious. YikYak, GreekRank, and the GCs can be toxic, but there can be some truth to the rumors. Also, listen to the older girls.

Save!! Living alone at school for the first time can be expensive. Save up, get a part-time job or on-campus job, and make sure you’re being smart with your funds. Don’t go crazy spending, don’t live outside your means, and don’t lose your mind trying to keep up.

Men are not the center of the world, and a college-aged guy’s opinion of you isn’t going to make or break you. Don’t ever take them too seriously, make sure to have fun, and play the game if that’s your thing. Things will happen once you’ve settled into the dating scene.

Once you make good friends, put effort into keeping them. It can be incredibly isolating to be on campus, and it can be hard to thrive if you’re alone. Put effort into keeping your friendships, do the hard work, and build relationships with the people you get to know.

Network your ass off and get used to using your resources. Take advantage of career fairs, get involved with on-campus opportunities, and take your future seriously. Graduation and a good job are the end goals, and networking to get to where you want to be is an essential part of navigating adult life and your career.

Don’t be ashamed if you’re struggling. If you need help, then you should be going to study and office hours, and if you feel overwhelmed, then you should be reaching out to people who can help you. Every person needs and deserves support, and support and success go hand in hand. You need support to succeed at uni.

Take care of yourself and your health. The amount of Freshman 15, Frat Flu, Mono, Strep, and exhaustion I’ve seen is insane, and a new environment will run you down like nothing else. Take care of your mind, your body, and your soul, and rest before you’re forced to.

Learn your limits. If you party, then you need to know how much you can drink, and if you party party, you need to be a responsible adult and test your stuff. If you feel like you’re developing a problem, stop and get help before you spiral and can’t come back from it.

Keep your environment clean. You should have a weekly home and clothes cleaning session, and you should take pride in having a tidy space. One of my greatest joys is how nice I’ve been able to keep my space, and I love how I have my little room arranged.

Skipping class is a very slippery slope; make sure you are attending. Same with getting work done: if you plan on going out, then do your work early on in the day, and if you want to spend your weekends going out or relaxing, get it done earlier in the week and do it right.

Sometimes working out, a good meal, and sleep are the cure. Make sure you’re not running on empty before you respond and take the time to cool down if necessary. Most campuses are smaller than you’d think, and totally crashing out is never the answer.

Meet people, meet everyone, and take the time to get to know people who come from different backgrounds and cultures. It can be so fun to get to know new people and new things. Make an effort to interact with people you normally wouldn’t and get to know them.

Richarlotte x

#richarlotte x

83 notes · View notes

lushrue · 1 year ago

Text

cold beer on a friday night

heard "a little bit of chicken fried" in a white people anthems compilation the other day and i immediately started thinking of everyone’s favorite southern boy, phillip graves! so have some good ol’ cowboy smut for your weekend! (also did not expect this to be almost 4k words, but here we are)

afab!reader (she/her pronouns used), nsfw, minors dni!!

cw: drinking, unprotected p-in-v sex (wrap it before you tap it), fingering, creampie, heavy praise kink

the bar was pretty packed, but you expected that it would be.

living in a military town, you’d learned when the busy times were. weekends, most evenings after 8 PM, and holidays. this one was the biggest one of all in your community, fourth of july looming around the corner and bringing star-spangled festivity with it. the bar itself was adorned with an american flag banner that people would occasionally toast to before taking a shot. the string lights above the patio had been changed from their pale yellow to shine red, white, and blue. occasionally, as you sat there drinking your cheap beer, someone would break out in a drunken rendition of the star-spangled banner, causing everyone to either sing along or raise their glass in solidarity.

it was entertaining for you, if nothing else. watching men who’d made their country their whole lives celebrate it was its own brand of inspiring. the town felt the same around memorial day and veteran’s day too. you’d been pretty staunchly anti-military for most of your adult life, holding the belief in world peace that only someone who hadn’t experienced war could. but seeing these men who wouldn’t have known each other if not for their brotherhood of service expressing their love for their country, it almost made you want to believe in their cause. still, despite the atmosphere, patriotism wasn’t the foremost thing in your mind tonight.

you weren’t expecting to find the love of your life, not in a place like this. it was hardly the fairytale castle you’d envisioned as a little girl and the men here were certainly no prince charming. all you could ask for was someone to treat you right for a night. focus on you a little bit, take his time. if you got real lucky, maybe he’d even make you cum. the proverbial bar wasn’t in hell, but it was close enough to feel the flames. it’d been months since your deadbeat of an ex-boyfriend dumped you, and despite how bad of an idea your friends had told you it was, you were looking for a rebound. nothing serious or long-term, just a good fuck to set you right and then you could be on your way. it was hard to get anywhere in the dating scene with this insatiable ache between your legs.

you nursed your budweiser, the condensation leaking between your fingertips as you took a drink from the bottle. it tasted like piss, but like everyone always says, you don’t drink for the taste. weary eyes scan the bar and its patrons, looking for anyone who isn’t already fall-on-their-face drunk. it was slim pickins; almost everyone here had started their evening of debauchery hours ago with no signs of stopping. the sober ones were mostly grizzled veterans, watching the younger soldiers with a glint of something akin to nostalgia. you supposed that must have been them once, disregarding their livers for a night of fun with buddies that they could lose in an instant. they certainly wouldn’t be scratching your itch for you anytime soon, so your gaze moved on.

finally, your eyes settled on a blond man sitting by himself at a high top. you’d seen him here before a couple of times. he was always alone, on the fringes of whatever drunken activity was going on. you’d never seen him so much as stumble while he was here, downing his couple of whiskeys in peace before closing out and heading home. he was handsome, you supposed. older than you, but not enough to make anyone clutch their pearls. muscular, scar on his cheek. still clearly military, but a bit more weathered than the twenty-somethings throwing back jaegerbombs.

little did you know, he’d seen you too. he’d seen how you came every weekend, like clockwork, looking like you were begging for company. it was sweet, he thought, how desperate you were for attention. you were like a puppy with those doe eyes of yours. just begging to be noticed, to be taken into someone’s arms and loved proper. he was sure you tasted as sweet as you looked. just as your eyes met his, you looked away with a blush. had he caught you staring? you couldn’t be sure. you cursed yourself for your bashfulness, clutching the neck of your beer bottle a little tighter. how were you ever going to get laid if you didn’t go for it?

luckily, your military man wasn’t one to wait around. he got up from his table, sauntering towards you with a confidence that was completely innate. this wasn’t born of liquid courage. no, he knew he had something you wanted. you clear your throat and look up as he lays his hand on the chair across from you. “this seat taken?” he asked, his voice slow and easy like he wasn’t in a hurry. nobody was around here, you supposed. you shake your head no and he takes it as an invitation. the chair pulled out with a squeaking noise drowned out by someone breaking out into “my country 'tis of thee.”

you take another swig of beer to loosen your tongue and give you some charisma that you wouldn’t have sober. the man held his hand out to you, his tumbler full of amber in the other. “i’m phillip. you can call me phil.” you take his hand without a second thought, shaking politely. god, how bad off were you if touching a man’s hand made you practically feral? you give your name in reply, withdrawing your hand before your mind runs off with unsavory images. the last thing you needed was to scare off the one eligible bachelor in the bar who’d seen fit to approach you. a cursory glance at his left hand revealed no wedding ring. you weren’t looking to add “homewrecker” to your long list of accomplishments.

“what’s a lovely lady like you doin’ all by herself?” he asked in a charming southern drawl that made your blood pump a little faster. it reminded you of those cheap cowboy romance novels that you sometimes indulged in. everyone had their guilty pleasures, after all. “enjoyin’ the atmosphere,” you quip back, sarcasm dripping from your words. you take another drink of beer. phil leans forward, his weight shifting to his muscular forearms. your eyes drop down, struggling not to salivate at the sight. it really had been too long. he tips a finger under your chin, guiding your gaze back up to him. “i think the atmosphere’d be better someplace else,” he said, his voice low so as not to be overheard. maybe it was just how pent up you were, but you could swear there was desire undercutting his words. “whaddya say, darlin’? how ‘bout you and me get on outta here?”

you have to stop yourself from replying too quickly. you didn’t want to show your hand and reveal your desperation just yet. he smirked when you nodded slowly, your muscles tense with the effort of holding back your excitement. didn’t you know he could smell it on you from across the bar? ever the gentleman, phil closed out both your tabs. there wasn’t much on yours anyways, just a couple of budweisers and one vodka cranberry that you’d stopped drinking halfway through. as you stood beside him at the bar, watching the bartender run his card, he wrapped his arm around your waist. his fingers dug into the plush of your hip with a subtle possessiveness meant to ward off any other interested parties. it sent a thrill through you, your panties getting more uncomfortable the longer you stood there.

thankfully, the cool night air outside the bar leveled your head a bit. not enough to make you think deeply about your decision to get into a strange man’s truck, but enough to keep you from jumping his bones the moment the door shut. you climbed up into the passenger seat, feeling for your pepper spray in your purse. just in case, you told yourself. handsome men could be creeps too. you barely noticed him getting into the driver’s seat, turning the engine over and pulling out of the gravel parking lot.

you two make it maybe five miles down the road before you have to stop. you keep throwing glances at phil, watching his concentration while he drives. you’ve never been able to explain it, but there’s something so sexy about a man with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on your thigh. he keeps kneading into the fat, fingertips brushing the muscle underneath with how hard he’s squeezing. you’re soft, he thinks. plush, pliant, perfect. the air is charged, the silence comfortable but tinged with the anticipation of what’s to come. it’s when he feels your thighs clench together that he pulls off onto a little dirt road, the tires kicking up dust. on some level, you’re grateful for his lack of restraint. you weren’t sure you were going to last much longer either.

you clamber into his backseat, careful not to mar the leather with your stiletto heels. he climbs back there with you, settling into the seat and patting his thigh. “c’mere, pretty girl,” he says sweetly, and you maneuver yourself to straddle his lap. the heat of your cunt is right against him now and his hands clench around your hips. he can practically smell how needy you are. you bite your lip to stifle a whine, the firmness of him through his jeans providing delicious pressure on your clit. suddenly, you’re thanking god for little red dresses. phillip’s eyes flutter shut as he bucks his hips, pressing his erection against you a little harder. that elicits the sound he wanted and he chuckles, his laugh like rolling thunder.

“it’s been too long since that pretty pussy’s had any attention, huh, sweetheart?” he asks. you can hear a tone of condescension, but you don’t care. not when there is a warm body beneath you about to soothe the ache that’s been there since your ex moved out. you nod in response and he hums, tugging the straps of your dress down. “in a minute, darlin’. i’ll get to her later. there’s other parts of you i’d like to get acquainted with first.” you’re putty in his hands, mindlessly nodding along with everything he says. he could tell you he’s taking you out in the woods to kill you and you’d be fine with it as long as he fucked you first. the top half of your dress falls away as he tugs at the zipper, pulling it down just enough to reveal your chest. you’d made a good choice of bra that night at least: your favorite black push-up with lace all over and a pretty bow in the center. he sucks air in through his teeth as he stares at you. he likes it too.

“as pretty as this little number is, i don’t wanna ruin it,” he says, his fingers ghosting down your spine to the clasp of your bra. your back arches, pushing your breasts forward. he smiles and unhooks it with practiced ease, sliding the straps all the way down your arms and easing them over your hands. fire blazes a trail down your skin behind his touch, your face flushing a pretty shade of pink. the bra hits the leather seat to the left of you, but you don’t have time to see where it went. phillip’s hands are on your chest, kneading into your tits the same way he did your thigh. you moan, your head falling back as you lose yourself in the euphoria of being touched. “that’s it, baby. god, these tits are so perfect. fit in my hands so nicely.” he brushes his thumb over one of your nipples, making it stiffen. your nose scrunches, the thrill from the contact going straight between your legs.

before you can say anything in reply, the warmth of his mouth is latched around your breast, his tongue teasing at the hardened bud in the center. you swear you could cry as relief washes over you. you’d found what you were looking for, finally. god was real, and he came in the form of phillip graves. while he sucked at one nipple, he teased the other with his fingers, rolling it and giving it the occasional flick. already you could feel the pleasure tightening in your core, threatening to push you over the edge if you thought too hard about everything he was doing. your hips start to rock of their own accord, chasing friction against his lap. one of his large hands moves down to hold you in place, his mouth releasing your breast with a pop. “all in due time, sweetness. you’re not in a rush, now, are ya?” you shake your head, eyes wide as you stare back at him.

“good. ‘cause i intend to take my time and enjoy ya.” thankfully, he moves on from your breasts to other, more neglected areas of your body. he unzips your dress like he’s unwrapping god’s gift to earth, reverent as his eyes rake across every inch of exposed flesh. the glint in his eyes is primal, animalistic. he’d devour you if given the chance. despite the awkwardness, you shimmy your dress off, your heels falling off your feet with it. it all falls to the floor in a heap, leaving you in nothing but your panties. always one for fairness, phillip unbuttons his shirt, tossing it to the side before catching your lips. his hand snakes up your back to hold your head in place, the other winding around your waist to pull you impossibly closer. your chest presses against his and he moans into your mouth at the feeling.

slowly, that hand around your waist starts to sneak down, edging closer to the waistband of your underwear. you don’t notice, too enraptured by the taste of whiskey on his tongue. you feel it when his hand slides against you, though. the kiss is broken by your gasp, the simple proximity of his fingers enough to make your hips roll down in search of pleasure. the thunder in his chest rumbles again, the hand on the back of your head tightening. “that’s what you really wanted tonight, isn’t it? someone to give this pretty cunt what it’s been achin’ for.” words don’t come. your mind is too preoccupied with the warmth of his skin to string together syntax. phillip’s fingers wind around your hair, tugging at it roughly. your head jerks back and you whine. that shouldn’t have felt as good as it did. “gotta use your words, baby girl. gotta tell me what you want or i’m gonna stop.” no, you didn’t want that. “t-touch me,” you manage to stutter out, your neck bent at an awkward angle by the force of his hand. he lets go, rubbing his thumb over the scalp he’d irritated. “good girl. you follow orders well.”

his fingers run along your slit, gathering your wetness on his digits. he smiles, his voice dropping a register as he leans in closer to you. “so desperate, baby. i can feel how needy you are. just a bitch in heat, ain’tcha?” you keen, your head nodding of its own accord. deep in your subconscious, you knew he was right. some part of you wanted to be ashamed, but it wasn’t strong enough to fight to the forefront. all you felt was burning need coursing through your veins and leaking out between your legs. he pulled his hand away, bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking your juices off of them. the sight of his face made you moan. he looked like a man enjoying his last meal, eyes shut and a content smile on his face. “delicious,” he said softly, bringing that same hand up to your face. he cups your cheek and runs his thumb over your bottom lip, feeling the softness of your skin under his calloused hand.

phillip guides your mouth towards his, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. it’s all tongues and teeth, desperate, messy. you can taste yourself on him, the salty remnants of you left behind on his tongue. while he has you distracted with his mouth, he lowers his hand between your legs, tugging your panties to the side. black and lacy, just like the bra. he liked a girl with a sense of style. without warning, two of his fingers thrust into you, making you see stars. you moan into his mouth as he scissors you open, preparing you for him. his mouth leaves yours, leaning to the side to whisper in your ear. “gonna take my cock so well, aren’t you, baby? gonna take it like the whore you are. so fuckin’ needy.”

his words made you blush, heat rushing to your core. he starts pumping his fingers in and out, holding you in place by the scruff of your neck. you writhe as much as you’re able, your body overwhelmed by all the sensations he was providing you. he chuckles lowly in your ear, the sound sending a chill down your spine. “i know you will, darlin’. i know you will. that pretty cunt is just swallowin’ my fingers. she’s a greedy little thing, ain’t she?” you couldn’t respond. it was hard enough for your brain to convert the sounds into meaningful words, let alone formulate a response. you were practically mute, save for the whimpers and mewls that flowed unbidden. he picks up the pace and your eyes screw shut, pressure building in your belly. “phil! ‘m gonna-” he cuts you off with another brutal kiss, his tongue bullying its way into your mouth.

all the while, you’re rocking your hips, letting the pleasure build. he pulls away, tilting your head down so that you’re looking into his eyes. “i’m gonna make you come on my fingers, then you’re gonna come on my cock like a good girl. understand?” his tone was forceful enough that you registered the command and you nodded along. you’d do anything he wanted if it meant he didn’t stop. he nodded back and focused in on you, his fingers curling right against that spongy spot deep inside you. “c’mon, baby. give it to me,” he said, his voice ragged as he watched your face. he knew you’d look so pretty falling apart on his lap. and you really did. the pressure released, setting your whole body trembling. you cried out, back arching. your mouth fell open, moaning as you rode out the wave of pleasure. as soon as you’d caught your breath, he yanked his fingers away, leaving you empty and dripping all over the seat. you whined at the loss, but you weren’t empty long.

he freed himself from his jeans and underwear, giving himself a couple pumps before guiding his leaking cockhead to your warmth. you whine as he taps it against your clit, his ragged breathing the only reply. when you open your eyes and look at him, he looks just as debauched as you feel. feeling you clench around his fingers, watching your face, it had done something to him. without another word, he pushes himself inside. just a little bit at first, and you’re thankful for it. the tip of him is already stretching you wider than your biggest toy. he holds your chin in his thumb and forefinger, guiding your eyes down to his. “you’re doing so good, you pretty thing. need ya to give me one more. think you can do that for me?” you nod, letting gravity sink you a little further down on his cock. he hisses through clenched teeth, cheeks burning red.

phillip’s hands on your hips are steadying, easing you down until he’s bottomed out inside you. the moan you let out is a sound you’re wholly unfamiliar with. wanton, crass, loud to boot. he groans alongside you, his fingers digging into the plush of your ass. you give yourself a moment to adjust to the fullness. he’s not longer than you can handle, but he’s thick, stretching your walls as much as they can take. the burn fades into something warmer, something softer, and that’s when you know you can give him another. you start to bounce up and down, slowly at first before picking up the pace. his head leans back against the seat, reveling in the feeling of your warmth wrapped around him. “fuck, baby! you take me so well, knew you would. this pussy’s so good, so wet. all for me, all fuckin’ mine.”

his words are slurred, his tongue heavy in his mouth as he lets himself get drunk on the pleasure. you’re not far behind, the tip of his cock brushing against your g-spot every time you sink down onto his lap. he presses his hips into yours, thrusting into you to shove himself deeper. you moan into his ear, bracing yourself as your shaking thighs try desperately to keep up. that’s when he starts helping, lifting you up and spearing you on his cock over and over. your eyes roll back in your head and the pressure builds again before you even know what’s happening. all of a sudden, you’re hovering right over the edge, breath heavy and head fuzzy. you must have tightened around him because phil makes an absolutely unholy noise, his head falling back against the seat.

“god damn,” he breathes out, a hand leaving your hip to tug at your hair. it was so attractive, the way he lifted you on his lap like you weighed nothing. your head falls back as he yanks at the roots of your hair, the jolt of pain threatening to push you over the edge. he’s moaning right alongside you, watching the way your tits bounce and your body jiggles as you bounce on his cock. “need you to come again, sweetness,” he says, tilting your head so you’re looking at him. “look me in the eye, don’t you stop lookin’ at me.” you obey, letting the pleasure build in you as he pushes himself impossibly deeper. his gaze is intense, unwavering. the pressure, the fullness is all too much and you tip over, your walls gripping him in a vice as you come.

that turns him into an animal, rutting into you with abandon as you ride out your orgasm. just when it gets to be too much, when you’re about to tap out, the warmth of his spend floods into you. you whine at the sensation, too lost in your own head to relish in the sounds he made. some men liked to talk through it, mumble out some incoherent praise or compliments. not phil. no, he moaned. the sounds fell from his lips as his hips stuttered, his fingers digging painfully into your skin. the hand in your hair tightens as well, causing you to hiss in pain. he doesn’t even register the sound, too lost in his own pleasure.

when his eyes finally meet yours again, they look much like your own. blissed out blues meet your cumdrunk gaze. his chest heaves as he slides himself out of you, pulling you down to lay against him. his spend drips out of you and you begin to protest, but he shushes you. “‘s alright, darlin’. i’m gettin’ the truck detailed tomorrow.” you settle, catching your breath as your ear presses against his chest. you can hear his heart thundering in his chest, threatening to beat right out of his skin. “you did so good for me,” he says, raking his fingers through your hair. “such a good, obedient girl.”

you smile at the praise, his words warming something deep within you. “same time next week?” he asks, and you nod. finally, you’d found what you were looking for.

#this is so self indulgent oh my god #i think if he called me “darlin” i would melt #call of duty #call of duty smut #cod #cod mw2 #cod smut #cod fic #reader insert #phillip graves #commander graves #phillip graves x reader #phillip graves smut

230 notes · View notes

sol-lar-bink · 6 months ago

Text

Halaro New Ref!!! Halaro New Ref!!!

A revised, finalized look, and a lil deeper look at his electric magic (: ... I prooobably should have designed another outfit for when he's on Venostar, but the Casual look will work for now.

More info under the cut!

Name- Halaro

Age- 25

Gender- Male (He/Him)

Species- Floralian Spider

Sexuality- Bisexual

Occupation/ Job-

During Sectonia's reign= Royal Cleaner/ Butler

After the events of Triple Deluxe = Works at Castle Dedede & also works with Puffe as part of Haltmann Works Company, Galactic delivery services.

Future - Works with Medea in her bakery 💙🧡

Bio- Halaro is a Floralian spider who grew up in Wild World with his parents. He worked for Sectonia for a few years before her demise in Triple Deluxe. Afterwards, he remains at Castle Dedede, only for adventure to drag him away from Planet Popstar and explore the galaxy!

Halaro himself is a pretty standard spider that you'd expect from Floralia. Black horns with cool ivory tips, a band of orange separating the segments. He has 6 orange diamond shaped spider eyes, two pure white eyes and orange fangs. His hair is a warm grey color, and is rather spiky, pointing downwards. The top of his hair is smooth. Six floating hands in white gloves, with a dark orange cuff and triangle pattern on the back of the gloves- and the thumb too.

As a kid he was happy and bouncy, always making friends, happy to help others... but once he got older, his personality shifted (Mostly due to his first jobs boss being such a terrible person). He keeps to himself, he gets easily irritated, he can get loud if pushed over the edge, but deep down he's still trying to be nice. The people he does care for help bring him out of that secluded shell.

Story: He grew up with his mother and father in Wild World, living in an jungle beside one of the many golden pyramids. His father was a chief leader, while his mother came from Royal Road. Halaro was a wild kid, but as he grew, he became more interested in his mothers live in Royal Road. They would go to yearly festivals, and he loved them. This was the spark that made Halaro want to live and work there.

Fast forward to him as an adult, he worked at a blacksmith with a Bonkers boss who abused and overworked him. Despite living through this nightmare, he would eventually meet Taranza, who offered him a job in the castle as Halaro had unknowingly been tending to some of the castles pieces, including some of Sectonia's jewelry.

After two long years of waiting to get in... by the time he arrived at the castle, the Queen was no longer recognizable to him.

His time in the castle was tough, but leagues better than the prior job. He started out as a simple polish boy, but would quickly become one of the main butlers.

He'd befriend Taranza and Medea, one of the maids- as well as meeting his mirror counter-part, Halara, whom he pretends is a long- lost cousin or step sister... they could never agree on an idea.

After Sectonia's fall, and Dedede destroying the Dimensional Mirror, Halaro and most of the others end up living in Castle Dedede, after he so generously offers a place to stay while Sectonia's castle is in need of repair.

Life seems chill for once, until they realize Halara can't get home with the mirror being shattered. Its pieces cleverly scattered across Dreamland by Dedede, so that it won't harm anyone again.

Halaro, Halara, Medea and a People of the Sky (PotS) named Petalia go in search of the mirror shards. Halaro teams up with Marx at one point, which leads him to sneaking into a Haltmann Works. Delivery Ship, where he would be whisked away with one of the mirror shards in his pocket.

Puffe, the delivery driver immediately punishes them and takes them to headquarters, where Susie decides the two boys must repay their actions through work. Halaro gets paired with Puffe, while Marx gets paired with Pierce.

It would be this decision that leads Halaro and Puffe on a strange quest across the galaxy, finding mirrors of similar power scattered around the various planets.

One of such is Venostar, where Puffe's ship is attacked by a strange creature, crash landing on the planet and separating the two. It is on Venostar that Halaro meets Toxecia, Sylvette, Galene and the Mage Sisters; Zan Partizanne later teaching him electric magic, sensing a potential in him.

There's more to the stories to come, but I'll save that for later!

#binkart #halaro #floralian #kirby #kirby oc #kirbyocs #ocs

69 notes · View notes

qnomnstrs · 6 months ago

Text

College Student! Yuji x Older! Female Reader

Yuji is 20 while reader is in 30s. No curse AU

Now that I'm on break I'm hoping to get all my drafts pushed out. Sorry if this feels rushed, im lazy.

Warnings: 18+ Smut, oral M! recieving, oral F! recieving, coercion, friends to lovers, 69 position, angst, minimal plot with porn, mentions of Uncle Sukuna, mentions of parental loss

Yuji talks in Pink

Reader talks in Blue

Word Count 2.8K

You lived close to a university, in a cul-de-sac. You purchased your own home! You lived here for 2 years now and loved it. You had a nice backyard, garage, and a two story home. It was a small two-story house but it was just for you, it worked. All the extra space let you have an office and Studio. You were living the dream. It was easy since you didn’t have any kids. During this self growth era, you have tried dating here and there, but found you work best single. You still have plenty of friends and visit often with your elderly neighbor.

The cul-de-sac was peaceful. You took up morning walks, to take in views and get out of the house. The campus was only a few blocks down, so you would even walk past all the people and scenery. You often stopped at the Café on campus or sat by the water fountain.

The one thing that wasn’t your favorite: the boarding house across the street from your home. They had parties occasionally. They would toilet paper the cul-de-sac homes, including yours. It was young adults having fun, being independent. It’s not like they had huge parties in the movies. The noise was often controlled. Still, it wasn’t your favorite thing. Next time you bought a house you would be sure to look out for any boarding houses.

Today you found yourself cleaning up said toilet paper off your front lawn. It was officially summer and there was a big party for the graduates. You continued to pick up the toilet paper, searching over your lawn. You sighed thinking your grass was getting long again. It was such a chore to mow every week and weed wack. You looked around for any remaining pieces of toilet paper. There was some behind your shrubbery. You bent over the shrub in an attempt to clean it.

“OH! Um excuse me miss?”

You swiftly turned. A man stood directly behind you. He must have come to ask you something, right as you bent down in front of him. You didn’t even hear him approach. He was younger than you. He wore a tank top and was quite muscular. He had pink hair, which you thought was cute. We love a guy who isn’t afraid to wear pink. He had a school lanyard on his keychain, presenting him as a college student.

“Sorry didn’t see you there! Yes do you need something?”

“I was wondering if you needed any lawn services for the summer. I can mow, trim shrubs and take care of weeds.”

“Hmm well I normally do it myself because I don’t want to pay a lot for lawn care. So how much is it?”

“For your yard… its not quite half and acre, so 20 a week . 30 for shrubs and weeds”

“Wow that’s actually not bad. Are you not going home for the summer?”

“I live in the boarding house right across from you. I stay there year-round. I have lived with my uncle since I was young. He’s great but I’d like to have my own space now. I can’t quite afford an apartment yet. That’s why I’m going around the Cul-de-sac trying to mow lawns for money.”

“Well, if you want money, I suggest raising your prices”

He laughed “well it takes an hour or two per house, so I make 20 an hour on regular houses.”

“that is very true I might have to start my own lawn care business.”

“Hey! This is my block! Don’t you dare try stealing my customers now.”

You both laughed. It was really easy talking to him. The social anxiety seemed to dissipate. He has such a warm bright energy that was just so comforting.

“oh I’m sorry I forgot to ask your name. I’m y/n the owner of this house.”

“Im yuji. You seem a little young to own your own house miss” yuji said so effortlessly flirty. You rolled your eyes at his compliment. You still smiled at his charm .

“Well I definitely own it and I’m definitely like at least 10 years older than you so I’m not that young.”

Yuji scratched the back of his head and chuckled in embarrassment. “well anyways if be happy to start this week if you’re interested.”

“sure thanks Yuji.” He waved and walked off to the next house.

It wasn’t long before Yuji came back that week. He would bring his own mower and other supplies. You looked out the window, to confirm that it was Yuji, in your yard. You went to go grab cash and have it ready.

The summer heat kicked on early this year. The sun was beating down hard. Yuji was dripping in sweat. He took off his shirt and wiped his face. His muscular frame now exposed. You lingered at the window a bit longer than intended. He spotted you, smiled and waved. You blushed and waved, quickly moving. You didn’t want to look like you were staring, because you definitely weren’t. You decided to prepare some ice tea for him. That’s why your eyes lingered too long, was because he seemed so hot, you told yourself.

Yuji came to the door once done. You invited him inside for a drink. He happily accepted. It was a nice break for him. Your house was in his route during the middle of the day. This was a perfect time to relax and get to chat with you. You figured others would offer him a drink as well, especially your elderly neighbor. They absolutely did but Yuji only ever accepted your offer.

A few weeks went by, Yuji came over every week and you invited him inside every week. You enjoyed the company. You’ve gotten to know him a bit better. He was such a gentleman. He was caring and sweet. His personality was so refreshing. You often looked forward to seeing him. This time though, Yuji seemed a little fidgety. He was not acting normal.

“Hey yuji are you okay? I hope the heat didn’t get to you.”

“N-no im fine I just- listen y/n, I’ve been wanting to tell you that I really like you. I enjoy spending time with you and was wondering if I could take you out sometime.” Yuji looked at you right in the eyes when he confessed. He was nervous but he wanted to show his determination. You flinched not expecting that.

“Yuji…. I appreciate the offer, but I think I will decline. You’re very nice and I like our talks but I’m a little old for you. I’ve dated quite a bit and one of my biggest things was I always said yes. Even if I wasn’t attracted to someone I said yes. I figured those feelings developed later. I realized I should be interested before I say yes. I learned to have more expectations and our age gap bothers me, I don’t think I’d feel like I’m in an adult relationship. You’re still in college too. I hope this doesn’t make you to upset. I just don’t want to lead you on. Its better to talk about it up front. You’re a very nice person, you should look for someone closer to your age.”

Yuji sighed and rubbed his face.

“honestly…..I think that made me like you even more. Thank you for being so honest. I just really like getting to know you. I admire you a lot you know? Your very mature and so well put together. That’s the type of person id want to be with. Don’t worry I’ll still clean your yard well.” He tried laughing it off. You smiled and felt a little ache in your heart. Yuji probably wasn’t feeling too well, you basically said you don’t think he is man enough to date you. He left shortly after with a smile still on his face.

After that Yuji still continued to come every week. You still invited him inside and he still accepted. It was almost as if nothing happened, almost.

It was Saturday, your day off. It was around 10am and you still slept. Yuji wasn’t coming until 1pm. You heard a knock at the door. You went downstairs and answered.

“hey y/n sorry if I woke you up. I just finished your yard. I had a few cancelations today, so I finished a little quicker.”

“OH! no that’s okay- sorry I slept in a bit today. You still can come in, I need to grab my wallet.”

“are y-you sure? I can come back later if you want?”

You walked away to your end table by the couch. The door was still open with yuji in the doorway. You bent over not realizing you were still in your oversized shirt and no pants. Your panties were exposed for Yuji to see. His eyes widened and he stared right at your ass. You wore a plain pink thong. So, your whole ass was showing. He tried to look away, to give you some decency but he couldn’t. His eyes traveled lower to your clothed pussy. He could see the outline of your labia. The thong left little to the imagination. His cock twitched in his pants, slowly coming to life.

“yuji you’re fine come inside. I made some muffins yesterday help yourself.”

With your back still turned, Yuji rushed inside, to the kitchen. He tried getting away from you, as fast as possible. You blinked, confused why he was so rushed. Maybe he really likes muffins? You walked into the kitchen, to see Yuji stuffing his face with muffins.

“wow they must be good huh?” You chuckled and placed the money on the table. Yuji looked up and your nipples were hard. He could see the color of them too, through your sheer white shirt. He tapped his foot restlessly. His cock was now fully erect.

“Um yuji are you-“

“y/n! Please! I’m a man still you know!”

You looked at him puzzled. What did that have to do with anything? You looked down and realized you were in your night outfit. You blushed profusely.

“oh my God! I’m sorry I didn’t-“

You stopped rambling as you saw Yujis erection in his pants. He was huge. Damn thing was resting on his thigh. You gulped. Of course this damn guy had to have a thick cock. He spoke pulling you out of your thoughts. He definitely noticed you staring. He made a desperate plea in the midst of the situation.

y/n please can I-… eat you out?” He once again looked into your eyes with a fierce determination.

“what!?”

Yuji clasped his hands together, “please y/n we don’t have to date or anything just please let me eat your pussy please. God it’s all I want”

You clamped your thighs together and bit your lip. You didn’t mean to tease him like this. You forgot Yuji is still a guy with needs to. It turned you on to be wanted like this. It still felt wrong. You were sure what to do. But then again, what is exactly stopping you? Yuji is a handsome guy, killer personality, and huge cock.

“..o-okay”

“Really!?”

“yes really”

He smiled. You both got comfortable in the living room. Your heart was beating out of your chest. You went to sit on the couch.

“No I want you to sit on my face.”

“what? That wasn’t apart of the deal!”

“Please y/n just-”

“Okay fine”

Yuji laid on the couch, you carefully moved your legs around his head. You haven’t lowered yourself yet. Yuji gulped and grabbed your hips. He gently pulled you lower and slipped your thong to the side. You were now fully exposed and he got to see all of you. He groaned starting to plant kisses to your pussy. You moved your hands into his hair. You squeaked at his eagerness. He flattened his tongue and took a big lick. He lapped at your folds roughly pushing his tongue against you.

He removed his hands from your hips to unzip his pants. You couldn’t see him behind you, pulling out his cock. One of his hands went back to your hips while the other jerked himself. He wasn’t ashamed to loudly rub himself and groan into your pussy.

He nibbled at your clit sending a wave of pleasure down your legs. Your thighs twitched as he continued. You were getting distracted by the noises behind you. You could hear the dry rubbing of his hand. He was moving up and down very fast. You started to hear squelched noises from him roughly rubbing the precum on his slit. You bit your lip, you wanted to see his cock.

“Yuji I want to turn around it feels better that way.” You lied just wanting to watch him pleasure himself. He almost didn’t let you get up. You moved and looked into his wide eyes. You shouldn’t have. He looked so desperate. His lips were shiny coated with your fluids. You switched and planted yourself back on him. Now facing his cock.

He shoved his tongue into your hole moving it in circles. You squirmed and squeezed his head with your thighs. You gasped out and whined at his aggressive movements. Yuji was acting like he was starving.

You watched as he continued the assault on his cock. It was flushed red, especially his tip. The way he was mistreating it, dry rubbing, must have been a little painful. He was practically rubbing his cock raw. It seemed he was getting off at you watching him. He put on a little show, he was desperate for your attention.

You licked your lips. You really shouldn’t be doing this. Your brain is clouded with lust. It felt so good to be ate out. And the thick veiny cock in front of you was calling your name. Without warning you bent down, pushing his hand out the way and deep throated his cock. You groaned at the stretch in the back of your throat. You felt yuji yell into your pussy. His cock was raw and sensitive , being in your mouth was sending him over the edge. He began rapidly kissing your entrance. It was like he was thanking you. He continued sloppily kissing your pussy, fantasizing his cock was entering you pussy. Both of his hands gripped your hips pushing you harder into his face. He started lightly thrusting his cock into your mouth. You began sucking him off like it was the last cock you’d have. You went up and down. As you came up you kissed his tip and licked around the head. Yuji whined.

“Please y/n be gentle my head is really sensitive right now.”

He spoke into your pussy. You didn’t listen, however. You continued to assault his tip loving the taste of his cock. You felt this was payback for this predicament. Yuji became whiny licking your clit.

“Y/n please I can’t last long if you-“

You deepthroated him again sucking hard. As you went back up you sucked his slit. You were giving the tip of his dick a hickey. Yuji tried moving his hips, pushing you off. It was too late he came, hard. He groaned into your pussy a few times. Yuji came in your mouth, and you spit it back out all over his lap.

You were about to speak when yuji buried two fingers in your cunt.

“Wait Yuji!” You moaned, forgetting all about your pleasure for a moment.

“Y/N I wanna show you I can take care of you. I wasn’t supposed to cum first. Let me pleasure you, please”

Yuji’s fingers pumped in roughly rubbing against your walls. He hit all those sensitive spots. His fingers curled and prodded. You whined. He added his tongue back to the mix. He licked around your opening, where his fingers connected to you. He then focused on your clit, with gentle nibbles. Then he shook his hand back and forth. The sensation was something you’ve never experienced. Your pussy fluttered and you came. You squirted on his hand and face. You moaned as he continued the sensations while you rode your high. Your body tensed. No one has ever made you squirt from just fingers before. You got off of his face, catching your breath.

“What the hell was that?”

“You like that trick?” Yuji sheepishly laughed “Sorry it was payback for making me cum quick.

For a moment everyone was silent. Many emotions and thoughts surfaced. Yuji looked at you. He wanted to say something but waited for you to make the move.

“Yuji is that date still on the table?”

#rin writes #jjk smut #jjk x reader #anime #jjk yuji #yuji x reader #yuji itadori #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen

62 notes · View notes

alienwerewolfvampiremagicalgirl · 2 months ago

Text

i keep procrastinating writing anything at all so i'm not getting any practice pls help me choose where to start I have no discipline

i need people to nag at me

Option 1:

A short story about a young child who visits a mysterious flower in the forest every day, not knowing it's the vessel of a flower spirit who's not very pleased by the child's disturbance. Over time the flower spirit grows to like the child and starts looking forward to their visits, after all, a mortal life only lasts a few seconds in the eyes of an immortal spirit. But one day they disappear without a trace. As a spirit, the only thing keeping him in the mortal world is his anchor, the flower he bound his soul to. To search for the child, he would have to leave his anchor behind and risk simply vanishing if he can't gather the strength to hold his soul in this world.

Option 2:

A young, noble lady, wakes up walking in a strange forest, her body moving all on its own as if it knew where to go. She doesn't know where she is or how she got there; strange creatures appear between the leaves all around her. She tries to find a way out of the forest for hours, ignoring where her body tries to take her, without success. Eventually, she stops resisting it and finds a small shop built right inside a gigantic hollowed tree. Inside she meets a young boy claiming to be a ghost, a woman who seems to think she is the dryad of the tree, and a man who introduces himself as the nameless shop owner. Of course, she has no interest in any of the strange goods and services he offers her and asks them to simply help her find her way back home when she notices... she has no memory of her home or anything before the forest, she can't even remember her own name. The nameless shop owner invites her to stay until she regains her memories, under the condition that she helps him run his business of... helping ghosts to reach the afterlife? The four of them grow close as they help one undead customer after the other, but no matter how close they get, the young lady just can't shake the feeling that all three of them know something about her and are trying to keep it a secret...

Option 3:

Arthur's life would be perfect, he's a ducal prince and prodigy knight known as a hero who protects the weak from demons called "mirages", just like his father, "the hero of Dalrway", if only it weren't for his failure of an older twin brother Baine. But besides that headache that calls itself a brother he of course has nothing to complain about, until one day, Arthur wakes up and finds himself back as his 5-year-old self. All his hard work, all his training, all the battles he fought against the mirages, all gone! He somehow traveled back in time and has to do it all over again! After collecting himself and coming to terms with his situation, he realizes he has the opportunity to make his brother into a proper noble this time around and finally have the perfect life he deserves. But when he meets the young Baine he is the complete opposite of his rude, aggressive, anti-social, adult self. At first, he is convinced he must have landed in an alternative timeline. That shy, fearful child just can't be the Baine he knows. But the more time passes, the more buried memories bubble up in Arthur's mind. Not only about Baine but about the "suicide" of their deceased mother and the true nature of the "hero of Dalrway" too. Preoccupied with the mysteries of the past, Arthur completely fails to notice that since his regression, everyone and everything feels almost like....a dream. Everything except Baine.

Option 4:

no art here yet sorry

Frankenstein's Monster except Frankenstein is not a scientist but a random kid who learned a bit too much about monsters and revival techniques from around the world because his parents drag him along while they travel a lot for "Work" and now that he's old enough to live on his own he tries EVERYTHING he learned using ALL THE MONSTER PARTS his parents collected at once to create himself a friend. A zombie base, a Siren's vocal cords for karaoke, Nurarihyon... something? Stuffed in somewhere for high-level hide and seek and many, many more. Shenanigans ensue.

36 notes · View notes

anittmyer · 9 months ago

Text

The Feanorian Colony

. While scouting for a place to build Imladris. Elrond amd Erestor come across a Colony of elves living in the valley.

. Elrond quickly concludes that most of these elves are Noldor. Hushed whispers of Quenya, Feanorian Quenya to be exact, and old dirty banners of a eight pointed star could be seen in the windows of some homes.

. This Colony usually has many children, despite that most elves knew they'd be leaving these shores and the final wars with Sauron are still brewing.

. Ereestor and Elrons agree that this is a Colony of Feanorian loyalists, or at least the descendants of the original loyalists. Elrond and Erestor calmly introduce themselves to the Colony, but many are skittish and quickly hide their children inside.

. To gain trust, Erestor introduces himself as Erestor, son of Caranthir, and Elrond as the foster son of Maglor and Maedhros. This seems to calm some of the Elves but they remain on guard.

. The two further learn that this Colony is in fact comprised of older Feanorian loyalists and their descendants. Elrond asks them why they still remain and not sailed to Aman. The Colony collectively agree it's because they were doomed as their king and princes were.

. Erestor winces at the Feanorian elves calling Feanor and his sons "king and princes". They explain that it goes deeper than a simple dislike of Fingolfin or they believe Feanor and his sons that rightful succession. It comes to years of loyalty and service, the elder elves of the Colony remember being personal guards or escorts for Feanor when he was still a young crown prince, and many had watched his sons grow up.

. How could you hate someone you watched grow and up and protected their entire life.

. Elrond takes in their surroundings, wet and muddy ground, most of them covered in dirt and the adults half starved, no doubt to feed the elders and children first. Elrind then decides this valley will their home, all their home.

. The Feanorian Colony become the firsts residents of Imladris. Gil Galad is a bit huffy but can't stop Elrond even if he tried.

. Elrond promises to bring the Feanorians home to Aman when his role in Middle Earth is complete, and he holds to that promise.

. . .

Here we go! The Feanorian Colony AU that I want to expand! In this AU, Erestor is the son of Caranthir and was also the first friend Elrond made in Lindon as Erestor was a refugee! Reblog or comment if you want more on THAT as well!

#lotr #lord of the rings #silmarillion #tolkien #headcanon #sons of feanor #elrond #erestor #feanorians #feanorian colony #au

101 notes · View notes

knivestothroats · 5 months ago

Text

The Professionals - Visitation Rights

The Professionals is a crossover of In The Woods Somewhere and Professional//Victim, co-written with @victimeyez CW: long term captivity, (seemingly) conditioned whumpee, references to past torture, mild physical violence, and worst of all, socially awkward situations

Buck’s visits were a highlight of Tommy’s time at the lodge. He tried to make it out every couple weeks. Fletcher was omnipresent, always supervising them, but the three of them would play cards and watch movies. Once, Buck brought his gaming console from home so they could play Super Smash Bros.

Every time, Tommy’s heart lifted from having someone around who cared to just spend time with him, just to make him happy.

And every time Buck left, Tommy would slip into a cold darkness in his mind; the stark absence of Buck’s sunshine.

Buck knew what Fletcher put Tommy through. He knew that Fletcher was on their best behavior when he was around. And yet Buck left after only a few hours, not to return again for two or three weeks at a time. Just leaving Tommy alone to his fate.

Buck was allowed to leave. Tommy was not.

That bastard. With his car and his job and his apartment and his boyfriend.

Tommy felt his stomach drop when Buck had mentioned that. “My boyfriend…”

It was stupid, but it hurt to know that Buck had other relationships, outside in the real world, that he would leave Tommy for and go home to.

And yet Tommy counted down the days until Buck returned. When he walked through that door, all was forgiven.

Buck felt like he was driving to court mandated community service, except the court was himself and the community was one person.

His crime, then, was being the one who got out. His punishment was having to go back.

It wasn’t that bad, really, it was just… supremely uncomfortable. Fletcher didn’t do anything to him besides act like a smug asshole sometimes. The new class of trainees barely gave him a second glance. And Tommy was nice and all, and Buck could tell that he really appreciated the visits, it was just…

Tommy fawned hard for Fletcher. It was normal to expect him to be scared of them, to heed their will, but Tommy acted trained. He acted broken in.

It was gross to watch, frankly. Part of Buck judged him. He himself had learned that it was better to obey and not talk back, but he had never pretended to like it. He had never pretended to like Fletcher.

Part of Buck hated it because it showed what would have happened to him if he hadn’t gotten out.

When he tried to tell himself he wasn’t like that, it brought to mind all the times he had thanked Fletcher for mercy or small kindnesses. All the times he had begged and bent and told Fetcher what they wanted to hear.

Tommy had been living this life for five years. Both he and Fletcher had said whoever had kept him captive before was even worse. Buck really couldn’t blame Tommy for becoming whatever he needed to be to stay alive.

It was still hard to witness.

But Tommy seemed genuinely happy when Buck came over, not just a performance to keep himself out of trouble. He smiled so wide it made the scar around his eye crinkle.

Is that how Buck’s looks when he smiles?

Tommy’s nervous, eager to please attitude paired with giddy excitement of having a friend did give him the vibe of a kid who wanted to hang out with the cool, older kids. It inspired an older brother type of feeling in Buck that he’d never really experienced. He had to remind himself sometimes that Tommy was a grown adult.

Which made the gift bag riding shotgun feel like the wrong choice, now that he was on his way with it.

Fletcher was waiting for him outside as per usual, whittling a piece of wood. They slipped it and the carving knife into their pocket as Buck got out of the car.

Buck kept halting and hesitating as he picked up a gift bag off the passenger seat. He clutched it nervously in both hands.

Fletcher nodded at it, not having to ask aloud.

“I got him a stuffed animal,” Buck admitted, cringing slightly. “Is that, like, really infantilizing? I mean, he’s like, how old?”

“He’s thirty.”

“He’s thirty?” Buck repeated incredulously.

“I know; they kept him baby-faced and twinky,” Fletcher agreed.

“Okay, this is stupid,” Buck shook his head and began to put the bag back in the car.

“No, no,” Fletcher waved their hand at him. “He’ll like it.”

Buck hesitated again, bag frozen halfway. “You sure? Like, honestly?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Come on.”

Tommy was resolved to keep it together this time. No pinning all his hopes and happiness on Buck. Buck was just a guy who came around sometimes. Maybe he counts as a friend, or maybe just an acquaintance. A friend of a friend. Something like that.

Tommy was sitting in bed reading when the knock came. He had tried reading outside first, but the weather was turning and the cold wind was too biting to be comfortable.

Fletcher led the way into the room and stepped aside for Buck. He was fiddling with a colorful gift bag held between both hands.

“Hey, um…” Buck toyed with the bag before holding it out to Tommy, shoulders drawn up in embarrassment. “This is for you.”

Tommy glanced at Fletcher for approval, who gave him a nod. He reached out and took the bag, heart fluttering with nervous excitement. Pulling aside the tissue paper he revealed a teddy bear.

Tommy pulled the bear from the bag and held it with both hands, staring at it. It had soft brown fur, arms and legs out, semi-stiff, somewhat curved.

“It’s designed to, like, hug,” Buck explained. “Sorry, I know it’s kinda… I know you’re an adult…”

Tommy pulled his gaze away from the bear to look at Buck, eyes shining with tears.

“This is really for me?” he asked in a small voice.

“Yeah,” Buck said gently. “Of course.”

Tommy clutched the bear tight to his chest, burying his face in the fur. Its limbs were perfectly shaped to embrace him back. Fuck “keeping it together.” Buck was the best thing that ever happened to him.

“I love it,” Tommy said, voice muffled. “Thank you.”

Fletcher smiled and nudged Buck. It wasn’t a cruel smirk, just a genuine, See? I told you he’d like it.

Buck inherited a small friend group when he and Nico started dating. They had recently introduced him to a board game called The Settlers of Catan. It had been a good time, and he wasn’t sure exactly how that might translate with these two, but he had decided to give it a go.

Tommy was eager, as always. He always seemed hungry for anything new - new things to learn about the world outside, new things to try. It would be endearing if it wasn’t so pitiful. Fletcher always kept their look of detached amusement, but they would forget to keep it up as the visit moved along. Buck might have been here for Tommy, but in an odd way, this was therapy for Fletcher, too.

Fletcher snatched the orange pieces up while Buck started setting up the board.

“What color would you like to play as?” He asked Tommy, while he finished linking together the border pieces.

“You pick first, I’m not picky,” Tommy offered easily.

Buck had noticed Tommy avoided making choices for himself even when he could. It felt like he should be eager to have some control where he could, but he never took the opportunity. Buck had never lost his will, not till the very end, but Tommy seemed nearly mindless on his own.

“I’m still setting up the game, how about you pick a color in the meantime?” Buck tried gently.

“That’s okay, I can wait,” Tommy responded. “Can I help set up the board?”

Buck looked up at him finally, and Tommy was smiling sweetly at him, an adoring look in his eyes. Did he think of as Buck another master? Tommy pandering to him gave him a sudden jolt of revulsion.

“Don’t you want to make choices when you can?”

Buck meant it to come out kinder than it sounded. It was a little too sharp, almost accusatory. It shouldn’t have mattered, but Tommy was very tuned in to tone and body language. His face fell and he slouched in his seat, ducking his head.

“Uh, I guess I’ll take…” Tommy’s hand hesitated in the air; he didn’t seem to know how to make a choice for himself anymore.

“Pick a color, boy.” Fletcher’s voice was flat.

Tommy grabbed the nearest baggie of pieces without even looking at the color, just worriedly trying to read Fletcher’s face to gauge how much he’d annoyed them. When he looked back down at his hand and saw he’d chosen yellow, there was a tug down at the edges of his mouth. Buck almost asked him if he’d like to pick again, but there’d already been too much fuss over picking a color. Fletcher was less patient than Buck, and looked vaguely annoyed. Tommy had pulled his arms in, looking disproportionally upset, but with a grim look of determination. To play the game? To keep from crying? To associate like a normal person? Buck couldn’t tell.

Buck explained the rules, while Fletcher flicked through the rulebook, looking up at him and then back to the book like they were checking him. They stroked their chin thoughtfully.

“Fletcher? Have you played this before?” He realized he hadn’t even considered it, though according to his friends this had been a popular game for a while. Who would Fletcher be playing board games with? The trainees?

“No, I’m just hilarious.”

Fletcher’s voice was entirely calm, nonchalant enough that it took Buck a moment to process. The laugh that erupted from him was mostly incredulous. Tommy had broken first, giggling, and there was a look of genuine happiness back in his features. Fletcher chuckled to themselves and started to collect the resource cards in a row in front of them.

“I’ll play banker,” they announced.

Buck snatched them back. “Absolutely not, you’ll be stealing from the bank every second we aren’t looking!”

“Labor is entitled to all it creates, Buck.”

“Not here!”

When Tommy had to choose where to locate his settlements among the different paths, Fletcher would start to count down from 5. Buck ignored them and helped Tommy pick, explaining some strategy. Fletcher was more interested in maximizing the amount of sheep they could get over a real strategy, or at least, as far as Buck could tell. But they also picked places near forest sections.

“I belong in the trees.”

Trading and bargaining was one of the best parts with his friends at home. He hadn’t thought about how uncomfortable it would be when Fletcher wanted to make alliances. Both boys had quickly gotten possessive of their imaginary settlements, and neither was eager to help Fletcher in-game for entirely out-of-game reasons. Fletcher stared at Buck.

“Nope. No chance.”

Fletcher’s eye twitched. They leveled their gaze at Tommy.

“I don’t have any wheat, sorry.” He carefully kept his hand out of Fletcher’s vision.

Fletcher flicked their proposed trade, one of the many sheep cards they now held, onto the table in front of Tommy.

“Yep, yeah, sure,” Tommy chirped, intimidated easily into handing over a wheat card.

“Dishonesty is unbecoming of you.”

“Yes Fletcher, I’m sorry Fletcher.”

“Uh-huh.”

It was still playful enough, goofy enough, that Buck almost felt like he was still playing with normal people. If anyone else had intimidated so seriously over Settlers of Catan, it would have been really funny. With Fletcher, it was still pretty funny. Or Buck was as fucked as both of them - a likely possibility.

Fletcher beat Buck by a narrow margin, mostly because he and Tommy were much less aggressive players. They ended up doing a few rounds, and Buck won twice. Tommy got the last game by stealing from Fletcher. Buck was 97% sure Fletcher wouldn’t punish him for that. After that, they had dinner, and wound up talking a while longer over an evening pot of coffee.

When it came time for Buck to schedule his next visit, Fletcher pulled out their phone to look at a calendar.

“You have a smartphone?” Buck asked incredulously.

Fletcher raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Well, you play music off of like a 2005 ipod nano,” Buck said. “I guess I expected you to have a flip phone. Or a jitterbug.”

Fletcher scoffed, chuckling lightly as they said, “First of all, it’s not from 2005.”

Tommy was having a great evening, after his blunder. It really felt like he was just hanging out with friends, a feeling he hadn’t experienced in five years. Tommy wanted to play along. He wanted to be part of the group, be able to joke and rib with the others. He wanted to belong.

“Yeah, I thought I was the one who was cut off from the world for five years,” Tommy laughed.

Buck grimaced and tried to hide it by forcing a smile and a nervous chuckle. He watched Fletcher warily.

Fletcher’s attention had locked onto Tommy. They didn’t laugh. There was a ghost of a smirk on their face, a hint of amusement in their eyes. But it wasn’t because they liked Tommy’s joke. It was more of an, “Ohhh, you fucked up, bud,” kind of look.

Tommy felt his cheeks flush. He knew he was in trouble. Buck knew he was in trouble. He had absolutely killed the vibe.

Buck hesitated, coat and boots already on.

“You know, it’s still early…” Buck began.

“It will be late by the time you get home,” Fletcher responded without taking their eyes off of Tommy.

“Well… I don’t work tomorrow.”

“Nico will wonder where you are.”

Buck stammered, trying to think of an excuse to guard Tommy with his presence. Tommy knew it too, eyes flickering nervously between the two of them.

Eventually he just said, “Fletcher, would you like to walk me out to my car?”

“Sure, Buck,” Fletcher said easily, finally tearing their gaze off of Tommy.

As soon as they had both stepped out of the house and Fletcher had pulled the door shut, Buck turned to them.

“It was nothing,” he said immediately.

“What was?” Fletcher asked lightly, playing dumb.

“Come on,” Buck said. “It wasn’t even an insult.”

“I don’t feel insulted.”

“Fletcher, I saw your face. Just… you don’t have to do anything.”

“Buck, there’s a delicate balance here.”

“You know he’s not gonna… what, rebel, or whatever you’re worried about. He just wanted to act like we were all friends for a moment. He was having fun.”

“We’re not friends, though, are we?”

Buck shifted from one foot to another.

“Please take it easy on him. I remember how you strangled me when you thought I rolled my eyes at you.”

“You did roll your eyes. And you didn’t do it again, did you?”

Buck dragged his fingers through his hair, cupping his hands behind his head.

“I’m… I’m begging.”

Fletcher laughed. “We both know this isn’t you begging.”

There was a tense silence.

“How can I convince you?”

Fletcher shrugged.

“I’m asking a favor as a friend.”

Fletcher scoffed. “That is a very consequential sentence in my line of work, but you wouldn’t know that. Look, I’m not going to kill him, alright? I’ll probably just like… smack him and give him a lecture or whatever.”

Buck rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re not gonna like… suspend him from his wrists in the basement or something?”

Fletcher gave Buck a look. “Buck, I did that to you when you tried to kill me, not made a joke at my expense, Jesus.”

“Okay, alright.” Buck did a rotation, looking at his car and looking back. “I just feel bad leaving him…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Fletcher made a gesture of pushing him towards his car. “Go home.”

Buck reluctantly did as he was told, not knowing what else to do. No matter how many days or months or miles apart, no matter how much he owned for himself or how much life he lived on his own, Fletcher still controlled him. And he hated himself for it, but he drove away.

When Fletcher walked back inside, Tommy had disappeared. They went to his room first, expecting to see him sitting on the bed with his knees tucked to his chest waiting for them, but it was empty.

Fletcher ducked down to check under the bed before stepping back out into the hallway. They weren’t about to play hide and seek with this guy, so they put their fingers to their tongue and whistled loudly.

Tommy slinked out of the dark bathroom, smart enough not to ignore the call.

“You hiding out in there?” Fletcher asked.

“I was just… sittin’ in the tub.”

Fletcher raised an eyebrow and gestured Tommy over. He kept his head bowed and sank to his knees in front of them.

Fletcher’s scowl twisted. They were going to order him to do that, and Tommy doing it himself kind of took the wind out of their sails.

“Hey, look at me,” Fletcher said.

Tommy raised his head, and Fletcher slapped him hard across the cheek. They grabbed his face and aimed it back toward themself. He earned another slap when he tried to look away, instead forced to make eye contact. His eyes were wide and scared.

“Your playtime with Buck is a privilege I can take away, just like anything else. Don’t go getting fucking bold. We can play house and you can enjoy your room with a view and three meals a day and all the other bullshit I allow you as long as you know your place. You stay well behaved and things can be good. Understand?”

“Yes, Fletcher,” Tommy bleated remorsefully, his voice somewhat muffled by their grip.

“Don’t try to fucking mock me again or I won’t be so lenient,” Fletcher added, give his head a shake for emphasis. Tommy clenched his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut against the jarring wrenching.

“I really didn’t mean to, I’m sorry,” Tommy gritted out.

Fletcher released his face so he could speak clearly. Tommy flexed his jaw.

“I just got… a little caught up in the moment. It won’t happen again. I am sorry, Fletcher, I wasn’t trying to be insulting,” he repented, clasping his hands together.

“Hmph. You’re dismissed.”

Tommy rose to his feet. He was dewy eyed, but looked surprised to be getting off so easily.

“Thank you, Fletcher.”

He bowed his head and hurried off to his room.

@suspicious-whumping-egg @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome--hunter

@whumplr-reader @theelvishcowgirl @sunshiline-writes @dont-be-gentle-please @galesgallery

@2in1whump @sparrowsage @apokolyps @whumpinggrounds

@morning-star-whump @leviiio @alexmundaythrufriday

@defire @jumpywhumpywriter @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@light-me-on-pyre @slightlydisturbedbeans @dislexiher @paperprinxe @desert-dyke

@just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @whatwasmyprevioususername @cursedandtired

@whump-only @misspelledwitch @redstainedsocks @thehopelessopus @im-just-here-for-the-whump

@thatsthewhump @utopian819 @pretty-face-breaker @thesuffererrrr

#the professionals #original #writings

49 notes · View notes

noxturnalmoth · 6 months ago

Text

Literary Service

Summary: Life is a cruel mother but a great teacher. In Noxus, where life is but an afterthought, war raises its people with an iron fist. Whether they like it or not. So when one is courageous enough to escape, they learn to take all that life has to offer, even if it has to be by the skin of their teeth. What would happen if the scholarship that provided you with an escape made you encounter a man as great with his words as he is with hiding the festering wounds in his heart? And what if he was your teacher?

Warnings: Canon violence

Word Count: 2, 674

Masterlist: here

Prologue - A Parting Gift

There is peace in water, like it's holding you. The waters of your life had been calm, a peaceful tranquility cradling you as the sun warmed your soft body to keep it from getting cold. A peaceful commune, children and adults living in a casual, repetitive, yet gentle dance as days, seasons and years passed. There was something beautiful about the smiles on their faces as the older ones were hard to work, as the babes played, as the elders counted their stories full of wisdom…The beauty in the simplicity. You knew that perfection didn't exist, that it was a myth just like so many of the stories you heard whispered before bedtime in the dim lights. But even if it didn't exist, you knew that this small piece of the world you called home was as close to it as you could get.

Green hills in the spring, speckled with flowers of all colors and sizes. Turning golden from the wheat in the summer, a soft breeze rustling the maturing spikes. Sienna in the autumn as they were covered with burnt orange leaves, crumbling to petrichor when the rain came and feeding the earth. Barren dirt covered in a thick blanket of white snow in the winter, like a child tucked into bed lovingly by its parents. It was as if all of those stories of Heaven told by grandparents had taken form here, like Kindred had blessed you with a taste of the kingdom in the sky without ushering you into the afterlife.

But smiles and soft voices turned into horrified faces and haunting wails. The soft golden light of the sunset had been usurped by an angry, burning orange destroying all in its wake, leaving soot black, grey ash and blood red after its passage. The playful breeze was crumbling houses, marching, blades cutting through flesh. Family, friends, reduced to either a bloodbath, or a chained submissive mess. Soaked in the smell of burning corpses and in the sweat, tinted red from holding those who were stolen from you.

You had heard about Noxus. A nation of unyielding strength, ever growing from wrestling children out of their parents' arms, indoctrinating them into their cult of blood and violence. Adults were given a choice, albeit only in name. A refusal could only hasten one's death, the bells carried by the monsters invading peaceful homes. That day, you learned just how ruthless mother war was; for it was the day you became a cog in her machine. Chained and dragged forward, feet bloodied, knuckles raw, voice ripped from your throat by wails of pain and sorrow. A walk that went on for weeks, seldom were you given food nor water, and rest was but a fleeting moment that you could only stretch for so long until your decaying spirit was forced back on its morbid march to hell.

The second the great spiked walls of The Immortal Bastion came into view it was as if all the kindness Kindred had spared you all your life was ripped from you. The vision of home, your personal heaven, finally corrupted even in your fantasies. Long gone was the lamb, and as you passed the grand gates you knew you had just entered the wolf's maw. Filled with rows of sharp pointed teeth that grazed you teasingly, the stench of death permeating your senses, darkness eating away at your vision as the unbearable heat of the mouth had you squirming, the screams of the others before you resonating from within the wolf's stomach as the beast took its time chewing you alive. Painfully and agonizingly slow.

To Noxus you were unrefined metal. You were stripped of everything but your name; your dignity, your grief, your memories, your humanity and the feelings you clung onto. They melted you, body burning in the boiling showers, muscles straining from the excruciating training, strategies and politics burnt incessantly into your young mind , eyes forced to look at images one could only describe as war crimes if they needed to understate their gravity. They beat out your impurities, breaking your body down and forcing it back up time and time again until what was a hellish training became an easy routine. Until your mind had closed to love, to compassion, to sympathy. Although rifles were better to keep human losses to a minimum, Noxus had a different idea than the rest of the world and built their warfare around melee weapons. Spears, fists, blades of all types, all forged of the strongest alloy in Runeterra; held within the hands of the deadliest forces in the lands, forged as expertly as the weapons they mastered.

Your new masters had one rule: complete and total obedience. And while Noxian born soldiers were allowed to be treated as humans, people like you who were stolen from their homes and stuffed into their new mold were expected to be loyal to a fault. Mindless and bloodthirsty canon fodder that was at the front of all conflicts, shredding flesh before getting annihilated themselves. Of all of those of your hometown, only you were left. Nothing left to hang on to. But even if all you had was the body you were born with, your soul still dared deep down to hope for something better. So silently and dimly that sometimes you didn't even believe you still felt that spark, that weak flickering flame suffocating at the same time you did. But you were lucky you mastered the art of controlling yourself, keeping all the gentle kindness you still had protected and cradled in your heart, hiding the disgust you held for your captors, but most importantly you kept your rage under lock and key deep within the dark recesses of your mind.

What began as an all consuming, bubbling and violent rage, akin to a rumbling volcano; became something sinister, mixed with self hatred spurred on my the blood and guts you were forced to spill, that rage that used to be sputtering magma froze over. Obsidian planes a dark black while snow fluttered and covered it in a monochromatic hellish landscape. It was biting, it was burning, the wind felt like blades slicing through skin, flesh and bones; the burning hands and faces reaching from the lava now immortalized into morbidly groaning statues, their faces, pleas and wails forever ingrained in your mind, beneath your eyelids. And it was all hidden inside you while you tried desperately to keep the last sliver of your humanity alive, hoping to whatever God may listen that this hatred will never corrupt it.

Being a tool never just was about war in the nation of Noxus though. Sometimes you simply had to act as a bodyguard to a member of one of the most notorious families around, or stand guard at the gate. You had to listen to and transcribe the ramblings of blood crazed war chiefs and manipulative, elegant intellectuals that couldn't be bothered to write their notes so they could listen to their own voices. And albeit militia like you was prohibited from accessing knowledge other than warfare and politics, as you climbed the ranks and were allowed to listen to such ramblings you could learn more about the outside world. The technological advancements, the social events, the latest frivolous gossip…and specific informations about academics whether in specific subjects or about certain happenings like school fairs, new schools and scholarships.

No matter what it was you were forced to listen to and transcribe you always drunk the information in. You were no idiot, you were no genius either, but if there was one thing you could be proud of was your ability to retain information and to fill in the gaps, to create pertinent and coherent theories. So all that was uttered and written always ended up copied in your notebook with your latest thoughts and ideas, hidden in a cut made in your mattress as you feigned total obedience, hanging on, although barely by a thread, to the last shred of yourself you had. That day you heard about the Zaun Technical College, which had opened a handful of years prior, after the nation had finally gained sovereignty and separated itself from its gilded, more beloved sister Piltover. With Zaun's rise as a nation of its own it had changed for the better, the air quality was improved, the sun could finally shine down on it without the gigantic plants and buildings Piltover had placed there simply to hinder it, jobs were flowing, houses were built and rebuilt, fields and farms were popping up to produce locally, economics were booming and education was slowly democratized as were the arts. All due to a group of special operations soldiers that gave their lives for the cause of the nation, for their people. And in the center of all of this the ZCT was extending scholarships to students from near and afar, coaxing young curious minds into getting their education in the newly formed "Land of the Zealous".

So, with a heavy heart and waning hopes, you took a sheet of paper and wrote, wrote as if your life depended on it, because it did. You used the poise and poetry you learned from the pompous nobles, the determination that had you hanging onto your humanity by the skin of your teeth, the will that was forged into you by years spent as a weapon in the deadly hand of Noxus. You spoke of your ideas of seeing the world beyond the walls, of reading all the books in their grand library, of writing stories and poetry to inspire hope and determination into the hearts of the downtrodden, to express your desires and your emotions. You spoke about writing your soul into a frenzy, about learning to be but also finally living as a human and about how you would spend all your life studying literature if you had to, so you could soak up all of what could create the meaning of what "human" really means. Signing your name was the last and, if you must admit, hardest part. It was something of which the meaning had been trampled, corrupted and bloodied, but it was the name you were born with and you'll be damned if you don't reclaim it back, even if it's silently within the flickering flame of your soul.

You heard of some of the militia trying to escape, but they were always few and far between. If they succeeded it was always at a price, a steep price, because none could escape without getting found out. The walls had eyes and ears, and even as you discreetly placed the letter addressed to the Zaun Technical College board into the letterbox, you knew deep down that you could not let your guard down because something could and would go wrong and you had to be prepared. You put in your address as one of the scholars' you wrote notes for, knowing the self-centered man would never open the mail himself and have you do it instead. So weeks pass, another campaign is fought and new scars litter your body, but as you arrived at the gilded home and opened the letterbox you saw it, a letter addressed to you with a neat handwriting showcasing the sender as the ZTC. So, controlling your breath and body language you sneakily slipped that letter in your clothes under your skirt where the belt cinched above your plump stomach warm with softness and underlying hard built muscle, the extra padding serving to protect from harm and warm the body when temperatures fall; a warrior's body.

The day passes as you wrote down the ramblings of the extravagant man, and once you were settled back home you scribbled down in your journal all that you have absorbed before softly yet shakily opening up the letter.

Dear visionary,

the board was positively surprised to see a well read and poised person such as yourself hailing all the way from Noxus, a land that favors the strong of body yet seems to forgo the intricacies of the mind. You have intrigued us with your passion and deep emotional connection to the world that surrounds you, the humanity and energy that imbibed every word spoken by ink on paper. We felt sucked into your world, into your mind, as we read what could be one of the most beautiful letters we have been written. You are formerly extended the invitation to attend the Zaun Technical College as a literature major. Once you have arrived to Zaun and get to the administration of our college, present this invitation to be given the keys to your dorm and your schedule.

We welcome you into this new chapter of your life,

ZTC board.

Simple and concise, and as you read a small smile stretches on your face, growing bigger as you skim your eyes over the paper again and again. Folding the letter properly back into the envelope then enclosing this one within your handful of notebooks you pick a satchel, stuffing those in it as well as a few clothes and all of the money you've been saving up. You slip away, as silent as an owl's flight, making one with the shadows as you crack a guard's neck, sneaking past him into the passage. Shadows lunging at you, discarding your bag and muffling all your noises as hands hold you in place, comrades you've fought with mindlessly beating your body as they rant about how betrayal meant death in Noxus, about how you turned away from your own people. And as they kept on talking, attention waning as they thought they undermined you, you lunged forward and rolled carefully making sure you broke my captor's nape before you got up. A group of nine against one was surely not respectable, but you had to fight, you had to survive, because a new future awaited you.

So you dodged and took hits, bruises and cuts littering your body as you dished what you were dealt. Number could only do so much against a veteran, and they learned that the hard way, arms and legs broken in grips that were carved into your mind. Punches were dealt with the precision and lethality of a blood starved beast. Bodies were thrown, spines cracking by a strength honed over the years of carrying the mental and physical weight of hundreds of dead bodies. Even after a rock was smashed in your upper back, you fought, dropping to the ground and sweeping your legs before you smashed the man's head with the stone he used to break you. Someone using the distraction to wind around your left leg, breaking your tibia, and holding it out for another to smash with a brass knuckle at the ankle shattering the bone there. But no matter the pain, you turned yourself and the assailant holding your leg, sweeping under his comrade with your right leg, punching his face until their teeth were swallowed and their chest caved in one last shaking breath. Crawling towards the last militiaman, they crawl backwards. No matter how indoctrinated, you weren't in the wolf's maw anymore, it wasn't chewing you until nothing was left; no, at that moment you were the wolf, and as you enclosed a hand around their shuddering throat adrenaline helping you stand up on a shattered leg and lift the man in the air, he knew it. There was no stopping you, even half dead. He whispers an apology as his windpipe is crushed. You limp, heart rushing you forward as you grab your satchel and leave, as quickly and as far as you can afford.

Pained but lighter, you walk forward, no scream or complaint leaving your cracked lips. Your body burning, leg howling in pain, back screeching in discomfort, and cheeks stinging as a smile makes its way to your face. No matter if Noxus left you with a parting gift.

You were going to make it, and you were not going to falter.

m.list || next

Silco Masterlist: here

Arcane Masterlist: here

Navigation: here

39 notes · View notes