#so if youre shitting your brains out you can’t reach the door to stop anyone from coming in

[rip-headphones-users]

If you recognize the the venue this bathroom is from you get a gold star sticker, you deserve it for what you’ve been through just going in here.

[emilys-bangs]

could i request an Emily xfem!Reader fic where they end up sharing a room while out on a case? and maybe there’s a couch or something and somehow reader falls asleep with her head on Emily’s lap? i just can’t stop imagining Emily playing with reader’s hair to help her sleep 🥺 love how you write Emily 🩵

Tysm 🫶🏼 I write gn reader, hope that's ok <3

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fall right into me | e.p

Tags: room sharing, fluff, pining (so much pining), reader has enough hair for emily to run her fingers through—length not specified, no use of yn

Word count: 1.8k

It’s cold. You’re rubbing your skin through the wool of your sweater, stifling a yawn as Hotch walks into the motel lobby. Four keys are clutched in his hand.

“There’s only four rooms available, we’ll have to double up.” He says, and you bite your lip to keep a groan from escaping. The cold seeping in through the thin walls has made you cranky, and after a whole day spent on your feet, the thought of sharing your precious alone time with someone makes you want to slam your head into a wall.

Amongst the seven of you, three of the rooms would be occupied by pairs. That leaves one spare room.

Everyone reaches that conclusion the same time you do.

Immediately, they start squabbling over who gets the spare room, Morgan and Reid protesting sharing with each other. Emily ignores them and turns to you, gently bumping your shoulder with hers. 

“Roomies?” She whispers, her dark eyes wide.

Well, shit.

It’s not that you hadn’t shared a room with Emily before, but rather, you hadn’t ever since you’ve realized—quite inconveniently—that you’re in love with her. 

It’s hard not to be. Against your better judgment, you’d fallen for her. For the soft way she teases you, the sturdy way she has your back. The curve of her lip and the darkness of her eyes have enchanted you, swarms of butterflies turning your stomach when you get a glimpse of dimples, when you see her swoop her bangs over bottomless irises.

Her shoulder is still pressed against yours, a warm weight that seeps heat through your sweater. Sharing a room with anyone right now is an egregious thought. 

But Emily isn’t just anyone. 

You can’t help but give her a small smile, even as your heart jumps against your ribs. “Sure.”

Emily returns it, a dimple creasing in her cheek as she turns and snatches a key from Hotch, walking past him while the others continue their arguing over the spare room. You trail after her and catch up on the rickety stairs, the cold in your skin chased away at the thought of rooming with her again.

“Promise you won’t snore this time?” Emily turns to you, a teasing glint in her eyes as you walk up the steps together. They’re so narrow your shoulder has no choice but to knock into hers.

“Hey!” You complain as she lets out a low chuckle. “I was sick, I told you.” A frown drags your lips downward, but when you spot Emily’s smile, it’s all you can do to keep it in place.

You step onto the landing as she hums, twirling the key around her finger, “You did have a pretty cute sick voice.” She muses thoughtfully as her eyes skip over the few doors lining the hallway, looking for the number that matches the one etched onto the key.

Heat simmers in your cheeks. Your skin grows tight and itchy under your sweater, the sudden flush of warmth in your body making you pull your lip between your teeth.

“Ah, here it is,” Emily murmurs and approaches the door, casually fitting the key in the lock as if she didn’t just blow your whole world out of proportion with a few words.

You’re hardly looking as you follow her in, distantly taking in the two twin beds and couch while your brain replays her comment in the hallway. The thud of the door behind you doesn’t register, your blank gaze just barely taking in Emily as she claims the bed on the right.

Snap out of it, you firmly tell yourself. She’s just saying your voice was nasal. Hardly a compliment.

But your stomach is still in knots.

“I’m taking the bathroom.” Emily says. 

She’s going to take an eternity, you know, so you hum, drop your bag on the floor, and sag onto the bed next to hers. The bathroom door clicks shut and you sigh, kicking off your shoes and curling your legs into your chest as you turn sideways, your eyes catching the TV.

Exhaustion is heavy in your bones, mingling with the cold. A yawn escapes past your lips as you stare at the dark screen, distantly listening to the sound of the sink running as Emily gets ready for bed. Even as your body screams for sleep, your eyes are wide open, jumping from couch to desk to TV, restlessly taking in your surroundings as you run through the case in your head and allow the disquiet of your thoughts to run rampant.

It takes the better part of ten minutes before Emily finally walks back into the room and murmurs, “Bathroom’s free.” 

Rather sluggishly, you drag yourself off the bed and into the bathroom with another yawn. The first thing your eyes fall on is the sink, and Emily’s assorted skincare products littered around it.

The sight makes you smile. There’s glass bottles with droppers and smooth, expensive looking creams and glossy tubes with soft, pastel colored caps. You’re used to this display; serums and cleansers and moisturizers, each that she presses into her skin with a diligence that makes you wait for an upward of fifteen minutes outside the bathroom door. Your own routine is much simpler—washing your face and brushing your teeth and changing into another sweatshirt that serves as pajamas.

When you finish getting un-ready and walk back out into the bedroom, you find Emily on the couch. She’s in a worn t-shirt and sweatpants, channel surfing as she nibbles on her bottom lip. You sit next to her and try to conceal the hitch in your breath when her warm eyes slide to meet yours, the intense darkness of her gaze forcing you to look somewhere else. The freckles on her cheeks catch your attention; warm sprinkles of cinnamon that dust her skin, tiny spots nestled in the curve of her nose and the folds of her under-eyes, softly standing out against her pale complexion and bringing out the darkness of her irises.

“Any suggestions?” She murmurs as she turns back to the screen. The overhead lights are dimmed, the room blanketed in a low glow from the bedside lamps. Light from the TV washes over the two of you, throwing Emily’s features into sharp relief as she skips over channel after channel, not yet finding what she’s looking for.

“No.” You say. Forcing your gaze away from her, you turn to the TV and watch her restless browsing instead. She flips through the channels and a yawn leaves your lips, making your eyes water as you sag further into the couch. 

By some force of nature, your head falls against Emily’s shoulder.

She tenses for the briefest second before relaxing again, her shoulder collapsing beneath your head as she breathes in and out. Heart thudding wildly in your chest, you gnaw on your lip and steadfastly keep your eyes on the screen as Emily pauses on a showing of When Harry met Sally. You barely see the movie, too preoccupied with the places your body touches hers.

In the cold room, the air between you two buzzes with shared warmth. Your arm pressing against her arm, your sweatshirt rubbing against her skin; shoulder to shoulder, elbow to elbow. Emily exhales again, heavy enough that you feel it in your body.

Shit, you freeze. What if I’m making her uncomfortable? She probably wants me to get off—

Her hand finds its way into your hair. The muscles in your body turn into liquid as she scratches your scalp, gathers some strands of hair around her index finger.

“You’re tired, aren’t you?” She asks softly. Her voice vibrates through her skin; you feel it in your bones.

When you turn your head to slot under her jaw, you smell honeysuckle. Your eyes flutter shut. “How’d ya know?”

Stupid question.

“Well,” Emily starts, and again the vibrations of her voice travel to your heart, “you’ve yawned like ten times in the car and since we’ve gotten out.” She scratches her short nails against your scalp, “Those pretty eyes of yours have started to grow distant, and you’re walking like a lifeless zombie.”

“Hmm.” You hum, latching on to the word pretty. The more she plays with your hair, twirling it gently around her finger, the more incoherent you grow, your eyes getting heavier by the second. Shit, that feels good.

“I think that’s a yes.” Her voice is amused. You can almost picture the smile on her face, gently tugging at her lips. You’re thinking you should move—by this rate you’ll definitely fall asleep on her shoulder, numbing it beyond belief—when Emily slides her fingers out of your hair.

A disappointed frown draws your brows together. The feeling doesn’t last long before she gently places her fingertips on the back of your neck, pushing carefully down until your head is in her lap.

In her lap. Your head is in her lap—

“I don’t think my shoulder’s the most comfortable place to sleep.” Emily says apologetically. Her nimble fingers slide back into your hair and she drags her nails against your scalp.

You sigh involuntarily, fog growing thicker in your brain when you feel the soft cotton of her sweatpants, the tangible warmth of her thighs beneath your cheek. You want to at least try to protest, but then her other hand lands gently on your shoulder, pinning you in place.

Well, you can’t really complain.

But you can’t fall asleep here; there’s a perfectly good bed two feet away. Forcing your heavy eyes open, you’re met with Harry and Sally at the karaoke. They’re blurry, splitting into two, but you persist.

“You a romcom kinda girl, Em?” You slur. You don’t have the energy to speak out her full name; lips growing heavy, you snap off the last two syllables and keep one sweet on your tongue.

The hitch in her breath gives her away. “No.” She says quietly. Combing over your scalp, she scratches against a spot over your ear. Goosebumps break out on your skin.

“This one’s special, though.” Her voice is hushed. Crushed velvet, you think deliriously, wrapping yourself up in the warm comfort of it, “I saw it in the theater the summer before I left for Yale.”

She starts saying something, something about popcorn and the heat and—weirdly—Hotch, but you can’t ask any questions, can’t get your eyes to open after they’ve fallen closed. Emily twirls another strand around her finger and you’re gone, sinking into the darkness of sleep faster than you can stop it.

The last thing you hear is her voice, a golden incandescence in the darkness as she lulls you to sleep.

taglist: @suckerforcate

Reblogs and comments mean the world! Lmk what you thought <3

[cameronsprincess]

@babygorewhore sent in this delicious ask, and this concept CONSUMED me. pls pls enjoy this hot ass shit!

CW: 18+ only!!! stepcest, stepbro!jj, obsessed!rafe, unprotected sex, male receiving oral, dirty talk, praise, degrading, threesome, rafe kinda blackmails reader n jj.

daydreams 𓆩♡𓆪 main masterlist 𓆩♡𓆪 taglist form

you’d been secretly sleeping with your stepbrother, jj, for a few months. neither one of you could help yourselves, it just sort of happened.

little did you know, kook prince, rafe cameron, was obsessed with you too. and one night plus a little blackmail on rafe’s end (because of course he’d blackmail y’all) was all it took to start a beautiful sexual relationship between you, rafe and your stepbrother.

jj was balls deep inside your sopping wet cunt, his harsh breaths and the sound of skin slapping against skin bounced off the small walls of your bedroom. “takin’ me so fuckin’ good, princess. my little step sis is a dirty fuckin’ whore for me, aren’t you?”

your brain was fuzzy. loud, pornographic moans slipped freely from you. jj continued his brutal assault on your overstimulated pussy, both of you none the wiser that rafe had managed to make his way into your house. rafe stood in the doorway of your bedroom, watching the scene in front of him in awe. he thought something was wrong with him, because he should be disgusted that you’re fucking your step brother, but instead, he was completely fucking aroused.

he’d clear his throat, loud enough to halt jj’s brutal thrusts, both of your heads whipping in the direction of your bedroom door. jj scrambles off of you, falling to the floor beside your bed. you quickly sit up, pulling your sheet up and over your body, covering yourself from rafe’s intense gaze.

“w-what’re you doing in here?” you’d ask, voice shaking as you watched rafe from across the room.

he’d smirk, pushing his shoulder off the doorway and stalking toward you. “i came to try and get a taste of the sweetest pussy in the obx, but i see you’ve already let your step brother have a hit,” he’d pause right in front of you, large hand reaching out and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before tsking, “don’t look at me like that, baby. i can keep a secret… if you let me join.”

your eyes would widen in shock, gaze flitting down and seeing the outline of rafe’s hard cock through his khakis.

“i-” you’d begin, but jj hops up and cuts you off.

“what’s to say we let you join but you still run your fuckin’ mouth? kooks can’t be trusted.”

your eyes dart between the two tall, muscular men. you’re not sure how this would end, but the way it does end, was at the very bottom of your list.

rafe assures you both that he wouldn’t tell a soul if the two of you let him join you tonight, and any other night he pleased. jj — being stubborn and hesitant at first — finally agrees.

you find yourself laid horizontally on your bed, jj’s cock mercilessly pounding in and out of your slick cunt, while rafe’s cock is shoved down your throat. tears fill your eyes at the immense amount of pleasure you feel.

“god damn, maybank, who knew your step sister was such a dirty fucking slut? takin’ my dick like a goddamn champ, baby.”

jj would smirk, his thumb finding your swollen clit and applying firm pressure as he rubbed harsh circles around it.

“she’s good at swallowing dick, but just wait til you feel this sweet fucking cunt wrapped around your cock, you’ll never find anyone like her.”

they’d both switch off, taking turns fucking your throat and pussy the entire night, only stopping when you’re a brainless, boneless heap in your bed. you’d smile contentedly when jj and rafe place soft kisses on your forehead and cheeks, whispering, “sleep tight princess, you’re in for another long night tomorrow.”

hehehehe oh lord this shit just flowed out of meeee. i’m obsessed with rafe x reader x jj <3

[princessbrunette]

stepbro!rafe is so….. 😵‍💫

pretty dark content ig !! tw: stepcest, some piss stuff if you squint but not rlly, some angry rafey, thas it 🤓

even with sarah standing between the two of you, you on one side of her, him on the other, he’ll still reach behind her back to tug at your hair— staring straight ahead, not even indulging in watching your head gently tip back— because he’s a big boy, he’d never tug too hard. he does let himself glance at you with a smirk when you pout and fix your heads position, sarah tsking at his actions, sending a non committal swat his way, none the wiser.

he’ll embarrass you at your sleepovers with your girl friends, barging into your room when you’re all sat chatting in a circle on your carpet, messing up your dresser and shelves as he looks for something he apparently left there. your friends don’t complain, either too intimidated by his mean presence or thinking he’s sexy enough to get away with it, hair being twirled in his direction which makes your tummy twitch in irritation and you don’t know why. if you tell him to hurry up, or that you don’t have whatever he’s looking for, or god forbid you tell him to get out, he doesn’t care who’s around— he’ll slowly stride over and squat down by your side, squishing your cheeks with his hand making you look at him. “s’that any way to talk to your big brother?” he hums, a threat of course. your friends, wiser than you, suspect something weird is going on but never would say anything. an accusation like that would be crazy, right?

he glares at you when you’re sauntering around in your bikini, tugging at the strings holding it to your body whenever he passes you making you let out a displeased moan that makes his cock bloat, even if you pair it with an attempted smack. “don’t wear that shit around then?” he shrugs like it’s simple logic as he walks away.

he would die before he lets anyone call him “rafey”, but when little old you says it — he has to admit it’s kind of cute. he does think you’re sweet, he really does — when you haven’t seen him all day and despite him treating you all mean, or acting like a total perv you’re still excited to see him and talk his ear off about your girly drama he doesn’t care for. “oh— and then rafey, i forgot to tell you, she got all up in her face and was like ‘you’re not even a real kook!’ and everyone was like ohhhh—” you ramble, following him through the kitchen as he walks through the house, getting on with his daily life just trusting you’ll follow.

“oh yeah?” he hums, so evidently disinterested but you’re too stupid to notice. he heads towards the bathroom as you continue telling your story and you stop at the door, trailing off with a little furrowed brow when he walks inside.

“rafey m’not done with the story!” you whine, and he’s just casually yanking you inside by the forearm, eyes rolling back into his head as he nudges the door shut behind him.

“yeah yeah, keep talkin’ i just gotta take a leak.” he works his belt open expertly with his hand, looking at you boredly waiting for you to continue. however your interest has totally shifted, happy to get all close and personal with your favourite step-sibling, your innocent brain curious to how his anatomy worked. he’s happy to teach you, he even lets you hold his cock whilst he pee’s, smushing your cheek to his arm and giggling as you aim it into the bowl, giggling more when rafe winces and says “shit, stop squeezin it so hard would you?” irritably.

he is always there for you in other ways of course, like when it’s storming or you’ve had a nightmare and you show up at his bedroom door at 4AM. he looks all cute standing there squinting half awake in just his sweatpants, rubbing at his eyes with messy hair. he lets you in reluctantly when you whine about how you can’t get back to sleep without him, watching you clamber onto his bed, happy as a clam in your fluffy socks, one of them pulled up your calf and the other barely hanging on to your foot. he shakes his head and shuts the door behind him of course, his dad definitely wouldn’t approve of rafe taking advantage of his new step-sister like this, and hell, sarah would surely kill him in his sleep.

he leaves rough kisses on your temple when you snuggle into him, and when you get all restless and try to wake him up properly to entertain you because you just can’t get back to sleep, he really has no choice but to sling your thigh open over his bent leg and stuff a hand down your pink panties, being sure to keep a hand free to cover your mouth whilst he strokes the audible stickiness with a roughness that was totally trademark to rafe. he had to, okay? you wouldn’t go to sleep and leave him alone otherwise! he was only trying to calm you down.

when he gets into his explosive arguments with ward, which was inevitable and horrifyingly often — you’d be surprised at his softness directed towards you if you ever happened to walk in, or be witness to the aggression he displayed. even when mad, he’d sigh and storm over to you, clasping a hand on your shoulder and turning you around toward the door. “go back upstairs, kid alright? this doesn’t — doesn’t concern you. big kid stuff.” he tries to usher you out.

“hell— maybe she should hear this rafe! she’s family after all, and you’re screwing all of us!” ward stands, lifting his arms in resignation. your stepbrother is quick to let go of you to close the distance between him and his father, grabbing his collar roughly and pointing a finger in his face, panting roughly through his nose.

“you leave her out of this. do not fucking play with me dad, a’ight?” he shakes like a feral dog, but still manages to turn his head to you who’s lingering in the doorway nervously. “go, sweetheart.” sweetheart, ward stares at him— the shock from his sons aggression melting into one of disgust, suspicion. surely rafe isn’t doing what he thinks he’s doing.

oh but he is, and then some.

[lipglossanon]

Day 6

Kink: Biting/Marking

Pairing: Real bro!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, incest, bro x sis incest, jealous reader, arguing, dirty talk, slightly mean Leon, biting, unprotected sex, creampie

not proofread

You’re not even sure how it started but by the time midnight rolls around, your apartment is packed to the brim with random people—an impromptu Halloween party that you had no hand in creating. Leon had a few buddies over for drinks and now a few hours later, you’re elbowing costumed people out of your way to get to the kitchen. You want to pull your hair out, disliking so many strangers in your personal space. 

And the fucking cherry on top, you think sourily, is some girl hanging all over Leon. She showed up with Chris, maybe Krauser, you can’t really remember, but she’s been all over your brother ever since she stepped through the door. She’s dressed like a slutty nurse cause she’s so original. You glare over at Chris and Krauser just for good measure, but neither of them notice you in favor of arguing with each other over…

You frown and see an empty beer bottle between them. Are they..?

You fight your way back through the crowd to get closer to them. 

“What? Scared you’ll like it, Redfield?”

“No,” you see Chris roll his eyes, “I just don’t wanna make anyone uncomfortable.”

“If they agree to play then they know what they’re getting into,” the blonde grabs the bottle, “and if they don’t like it, they can fuck off.”

Krauser turns and you catch his smirk before he raises his voice to call out, “We’re playing spin the bottle!”

The girl next to Leon cheers and tugs him over to the two burly men on the sofa. A few more people join their group and you hang back, wanting to join but feeling disgust at kissing anyone not Leon (which would disgust everyone else). He glances around and finds you, hovering on the other side of the room. 

You narrow your eyes at him and he shrugs, tilting his head to the group with a look that says ‘what am I supposed to do?’.

The circle moves through people pretty quick, but when it gets to the girl making eyes at Leon, she spins the bottle with a weird little wobble that you’re 100% is on purpose to slowly rotate back to her and stop on Leon who’s seated to her left. 

“Seven minutes in heaven for the lucky couple!” Chris calls out with a wink to the two, confirming he must’ve brought the girl and is now number one on your shit list. 

The girl grabs Leon’s bicep and tugs him over to his closed bedroom door. He doesn’t even look back at you and your chest feels hollow. Tears sting your eyes, but you blink quickly to stop them from falling. You slip on your shoes and grab your keys, leaving the apartment. If he wants to make you feel stupid well he can just go fuck himself. 

You head outside, and find a nearby bench to wallow. The chilly October night seeps into your skin as you breathe in deep. You understand the position you’re both in, Leon can’t exactly come out and say he’s fucking his sister. Well, he could, but it wouldn’t end well for either of you. Sighing, you lean back and gaze unseeing at the light polluted sky. 

Tears slip from the corners of your eyes and drip down your temples into your hairline. You bring your legs up onto the bench and wrap your arms around your knees, burying your face against them so you can cry quietly. You know you have to go back, but it makes you sick to your stomach to go back and see either of them mussed from their make out. Or worse, they’re still locked up in his room. 

You press the heels of your palms against your eyes, wishing to scrub that thought from your brain. 

“You good?”

You jump, hands dropping from your face to look up at the person who spoke. Leon stands there, a frown pinching his brows together. 

“Have you been crying? Who the fuck made you cry?” He reaches forward to brush his hand across your cheek but you yank your head away. 

“How was your little make out?” You snipe back, rubbing the tears away with the sleeve of your jacket. 

“Ahh,” he sighs and sits down next to you, too close but not close enough. “Well, you’ll be happy to know, Chloe was extremely disappointed.”

“I don’t give a fuck about Chloe,” you say her name higher, laced with condescension. 

He bumps your shoulder, “I didn’t do anything with her. Said I had a girlfriend. She stormed out and found someone else.”

You squint at him, eyes roving over his face, “Hmm.”

“I tell you I didn’t cheat and all you do is make a noise? You’re such a bitch,” he scoffs, pinching your thigh. 

“Fuck you,” you hiss slapping his arm, “I don’t fucking hang all over some slag all night and then get offended when assumptions are made.”

“Fuck you for not trusting me,” he growls back, catching your hands before you can slap at him again, “think I want some fucking easy hole when I have your hot little cunt waiting and willing for me anytime I want? Use your fucking brain.”

You try to pull out from his grip but he tightens his hold on your wrists, pinching the skin, “Let go you asshole.”

“I don’t think I will,” he curls his lip, “seems you need a lesson in gratitude.”

“Gratitude?” You sputter out a laugh, “you’re so fucking full of yourself. God, you get on my nerves.”

“Feelings mutual, little sis,” he murmurs against your ear and the dough of your thighs press together. 

“Now, we’re going up to the apartment and kicking everyone out,” he makes eye contact with you, “and then I’m going to fuck you so good you won’t be able to walk.”

Your clit throbs at the heated words. He grins and tugs you up off the bench, pulling you back inside and all the way back to the apartment. Dropping your wrists, he opens the door and pushes you inside. There’s still a handful of people milling around, drinking and talking over the music. 

Leon walks over to the stereo and shuts it off. He loudly claps his hands twice. 

“It’s been fun, but it’s over. Get your shit and get the fuck out,” he calls out to everyone. 

You roll your eyes and shake your head, but a smile still spreads across your face as everyone packs up and makes their way out. No one ever said Leon wasn’t blunt. As soon as the last person leaves, he walks through the apartment to double check. Once the coast is clear, he’s crowding your personal space. 

“Now, little sis, how should you show me how grateful you are,” he dips forward and kisses your neck. 

He grabs your arm and drags you to his room, leaving the door open now that the apartment’s empty. Shoving you down onto his bed, he wastes no time in yanking your clothes off until you’re completely naked. 

“You’re wet,” he laughs. “Fucking slut.”

“Shut up,” you shoot back, body hot as he smirks at you.  

Kneeling on the edge of the bed, he runs his hands up your legs to your hips.  

“Let me lick that clit, baby sis,” he murmurs, dropping kisses across your thighs, “let me lick that swollen little bud til you're creaming my tongue.”

“Fuck,” you whine, high and throaty, “please, Leon, want your mouth on my pussy.”

He groans and sloppily kisses your slit, lips pulling away with a sheen of slick coating them like gloss. 

“So messy, baby,” he presses your thighs open wide, palms hot against your skin.

“Such a slippery,” he kisses your pussy lips, “fat,” another kiss, “slutty,” he gently nips your pudgy clit, “cunt.”

He slaps his palm down over your mound, making your hips jump, “And it’s all mine. Isn’t that right? This pussy is for big brother to use when he wants.”

“Yes, yes,” you gasp, thighs trembling under his hands. “S’all yours, I promise. Please, lick me, big brother. I need it.”

“Aw, you need it?” He mocks, blowing cool air across your soaked cunt. “My sis and her pretty pussy need me to lick her all up?”

Huffing in frustration, you dig your toes into his side, “Eat me out or fuck me, I’m not laying here all night being teased.”

He narrows his eyes, tossing his hair to move his fringe out of his line of vision, “Are you getting bratty with me?”

Matching his tone, you smile sweetly, “It’s not bratty when you’re being an asshole, big brother.”

He growls and yanks your hips down as he drops to his knees next to the mattress. 

“I’m gonna eat this bratty pussy until you’re screaming my name,” he slaps your mound and you whine. “Gonna stay here all night, tongue buried in your tight hole til you squirt all over me.”

“Fuck,” you moan, hands reaching down to tangle in his sandy blonde hair, “please.”

“That what you need, sis? Need me to show her who’s in charge?”

“Yes, yes,” you arch your hips up, trying to entice him more, “wanna cum all over your face.” 

“God, gonna teach this bratty pussy a lesson,” he promises before burying his face in your cunt. 

You lose complete track of time as Leon makes you cum on his tongue over and over and over; pushing him away does nothing; whining about being sensitive gets you nowhere. You just lay there and take it as your brother licks your cunt until you’re gushing. 

“Thatta girl,” he coos mockingly, face soaked in your slick and cum. “Knew I could get you to do it.”

“Fuck off,” your voice cracks, tear tracks decorating your cheeks. “I-I can’t keep going.”

“Yes you can,” he finally pulls away from your swollen and sensitive cunt. He sheds the rest of his clothes until he’s fully nude. 

Climbing over your body, he drags his cock across your pussy lips making your hips jolt at the too much sensation. 

“Leon,” you whimper. “Please.”

“Nuh uh,” he clicks his tongue. “This bratty pussy needs to learn her place, little sis.”

Shivering, you don’t stop him as Leon lines up and presses his leaking cock into your sensitive hole. Both of you moan as he bottoms out, pelvis pressing down on your pudgy clit. 

“Best fucking pussy,” he groans, pulling out to slam back in, dick bullying into your swollen fluttering walls. “Goddamn, so fucking tight. My little sister’s hole just loves big brother’s dick so much.”

You choke out a whine, nails scoring a hot trail down his back. Leon retaliates by sinking his teeth into your neck, too high to hide with anything except a turtleneck. 

“Your g’nna leave a mark,” you slur out, fingers digging into his shoulder blades.

“Oh, too bad,” he simpers. “Maybe you’ll think twice about being a fucking baby.”

He bites and sucks a collar around your neck, worrying the skin until it stings. In a couple of spots, he bites too hard and blood drips down your throat. Groaning, he laps it up, hips rabbiting against yours as he roughly fucks you into the mattress. With every thrust, he grinds against your fat slippery clit until he’s pulling another orgasm from your exhausted body. 

“Fuck, that’s—god, you’re gonna make me bust a nut, too fucking tight,” he growls, raising up to piston his cock in and out of your throbbing pussy. “Take it, take it, take it, slutty fucking—“

His mutterings cut off as he groans, hips pumping his cock into your drooling cunt as he cums, walls milking him to shoot hot rope after rope of cum until it drips from your stuffed hole. 

After a minute or two, he finally pulls out with a sigh, flopping down onto the bed next to you. Too tired to move, you raise your hand up to touch his shoulder. 

“We’re a mess,” you hum. 

“I’ll clean us up once I can feel my legs,” comes his muffled voice near your head.

You laugh before cringing, feeling his cum leak from your pussy. 

“Yuck, sooner the better, please.”

He shifts and raises up over you, blue eyes searching your face, “We good?”

You smile and lift your neck up to kiss his nose, “We’re good.”

[chleem]

Flashing lights #1

Series; actor Drew x actress reader

Summary: Drew gets involved in the worst scandal of his career. One way to solve it? Proving to the whole world that he’s the sweetest lover to exist. Who better to help than the one person he can’t stand? You, an A class actress with an alcohol addiction. So, will Drew clear up his reputation, or leave with a bigger mess to clean up?

Genre: fake dating, enemies to lovers(?, slow burn, angst, smut,

Warning: mentions of alcohol, swearing, mentions of k!lling oneself, mentions of rape & sa, mentions of drug usage, smoking & vaping,

⋆.˚ please dont copy my work, if inspired please tag me

⋆.˚ this is entirely fictional, if uncomfortable then don't read

♡⸝⸝ chapter 2 out now! index

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Late February 2024

Is that five, or six bottles in front of you? 

Your vision is burry, head feeling twisted, and your limbs feel as if they weight a hundred kilograms each. “Shit,” you curse, your hands reaching over to your bag. 

In attempt to reach it without standing up, you fall, and you laugh. Alcohol was able to make that fall feel painless. Getting up however, felt like the hardest task ever, but you manage, and you rummage through your bag for your pack of cigarettes. 

You find it; but no cigarettes to be found in it. 

“Fuck!” You yell, throwing your empty pack across the trailer. Good thing your makeup staffs gone, and no one to see your about-to-erupt tantrum. Reaching for your phone, you call your manager, Laura, only for it to go straight to voicemail. Wow. What are managers even for? 

Gotta do everything by yourself. You throw your phone onto the couch, and walk out of your trailer. You didn’t care whether anyone saw you; you just cared about getting a smoke. 

The afternoon sun is blinding to you, the effects of alcohol making it even more unbearable. Is there a convenience store around? Fuck, maybe you should just ask the staff for a smoke. 

You keep walking along the other trailers, feeling some eyes on you. Well, usually at a filming set everyone is busy with their own business, but you’re Y/n. You grab attention by simply breathing. Others might love it, but growing up in showbiz, you just wish to get away from it. Even if just for a second, you would love to be an invisible person. 

You keep walking, hoping to spot anyone with a cigarette in their hands. But your legs beg to stop, and you feel extra dizzy when you bump into a hard…wall? Well, it was hard, but soft at the same time. 

Warm hands wrap around your waist just as you’re ready to fall onto the ground. Even your drunken state knows that you should be clinging onto something if you’re about to fall, and in this case, you were holding onto the person’s biceps. 

You look up, feeling as if this person was 200 centimeters. Shit. He’s tall. 

His hat is low, but you could see blue circles staring down at you, and although his face was attractive, his expression was mean. As if wanting to murder you. Well, he probably does, since a stranger fell into him. 

“You-“

His cologne hits you, and the urge to throw up hits. 

Vomit splatters on his entire shirt, and just like that, you pass out, still in his arms. 

——

Woah. Even getting up slowly triggers the muscles in your brain. 

You blink a few times, adjusting to the lights in your trailer. What time was it? Did you already finish filming? A million questions enter your head as you look around you, and you notice the five large empty liquor bottles on the table. 

Right. No memory whatsoever. 

A wet towel is on your forehead. Weird, you think, as you throw it to the side. 

But then you hear the trailer’s bathroom door open, and you immediately feel uneasy. Who the fuck could be in here other than you? 

The stranger walks out, and he’s half naked. 

And attractive. 

But he’s half naked! 

You quickly check yourself, and yes, you’re still in your clothes. 

“Who… who the fuck are you?” You say, feeling really unsafe right now. You had no gun, no weapon of any kind, and you were terrified. This stranger was extremely fit and tall, and he was standing just a few feet away from you. 

He’s staring at you with his blue eyes, and honestly, you can’t tell what he’s thinking. Is he gonna kill you? Rape you? 

“You have no idea who I am?”

“Yes, you fucking creep. Get out of my trailer before I yell,” you threaten. 

His eyebrows furrow as if you were in the wrong, and he crosses his arms, leaning against your vanity across from you. Woah. His arms. It looks very delicious-

What. “Seriously. Get the fuck out,” you point over to your trailer door. 

He throws his head back, an annoyed groan escaping him. 

What’s his problem? You think, eyebrows furrowed. Okay. That uneasiness, has transformed into anger. “Fuck- get the fuck out, your weirdo. I’m…you know what, I’m calling the fucking cops.”

You look around for your phone, but see it charging on the vanity beside him. 

“Drew Starkey,” he finally says, and you look at him, confusingly. Never in your life have you ever heard that name. Were you even suppose to remember or know this person? He groans again, not even hiding his annoyance at you. “Wow. You’re such a bitch, you know that?”

The audacity- “you’re in my fucking trailer right now. You’re in the faults here. You can’t come in half naked, and act annoyed at me. You fucking cunt-“

The door to your trailer opens, and you squint at the light coming in. 

It was your manager Laura, and she’s holding a bottle of water, a pack of cigarettes, and a folded t-shirt. 

“Laura! A fucking pervert in my trailer-“

“Here you go, Drew. Again, so sorry,” Laura ignores you, handing the man, who apparently, is called Drew, the clean t-shirt. The name he just told you, it was his name? Why did he act so offended earlier, when he said it? Is he like some kind of, celebrity? Impossible; you've met almost all the top actors in showbiz, you would've known him.

“What the fuck,” you voice out, chuckling to get the anger and confusion out of you. You watch as the stranger puts the shirt on, enjoying the way his muscles flex and relaxes is… kind of arousing. But you pull away, feeling embarrassed and egoistic to admit you’re attracted to this rude stranger. 

Laura comes near you, placing the cigarettes and water on the table and sniffs you. “Yeah, you’re still a bit tipsy,” she comments, before grabbing perfume and mints from your bag and sitting down. “Can you still film?”

“What time is it?” You ask, while grabbing the pack and lighting a cigarette up. You breathe it in, and smoke out, immediately feeling more relaxed and in your element. 

“4:20.”

“What time was I suppose to be there?” You giggle, breathing in your cigarette. Oh, it felt so good to smoke. All the energy booster you needed. 

“2:30,” Laura says, sighing. 

“Oh shit,” you laugh, putting the cigarette between your lips. You forcefully spray the perfume on you, knowing the cigarette is probably going to cover the smell anyways. You take another blow of the cigarette, before putting it into Laura’s mouth. She groans angrily at you, and you just chuckle, looking over to the stranger now. He’s not shirtless anymore, and has a hat on. He’s staring at you, with a mean expression now. “What are you still doing here?” You rudely state. 

“Y/n, he’s gonna be here for a long time,” Laura replies instead, and you turn around to her. You look at her with furrowed eyebrows, confused by what she meant. Laura also stares at you with an amused expression. “What, you guys didn't talk?”

You frustratedly throw your arms around and stomp your foot. “What am I supposed to talk about to a half naked guy in my trailer? Laura, use your fucking brain.” 

You turn around and the stranger is now sitting on the couch. You ignore him, turning back to Laura. “Is he my new manager or something? Laura, who the fuck is this?”

“Drew Starkey. You honestly don’t remember him?”

“Am I suppose to?” You reply, reaching for the pack of cigarettes, hoping to bring it with you to set. But ‘Drew’ stops you, his hand, which is surprisingly very warm, wraps around your wrist to stop you. You glare at him, telling him with your eyes to get his hands off you. But he doesn’t. So you verbally express it to him. “Get your fucking hand off me or I’ll chop it off for you.”

“You can’t even walk in a straight line, Y/n.”

Annoyed, you yell, “Get your fucking hand off me."

He does, but he quickly grabs the pack out of your reach, stuffing it into his pocket. Wow. What a jackass. And who is he to care? To take away your stuff? You pray that he gets explosive diarrhea the whole day tomorrow. This asshole deserves it. 

“Whatever,” you say, walking over to the door of your trailer. And he’s right, because you trip over yourself on the way there. You laugh under your breath out of frustration and embarrassment, and turn back around, pointing at ‘Drew’ and looking at Laura. “Get this jackass out my trailer. I don’t care what he is, he better be out of my sight.”

You don’t even bother hearing what her response is, and you leave towards your set. Now, you’re in a worse mood than before. All thanks to the stranger named Drew.

——

Everyone knew you were a good actor. You’re one of the best. And to make it even more astonishing, you’re only 25 years old. Meaning, your acting could get better. But it’s already the best of the best. Maybe its your pure gift, or maybe because you’ve been doing this since you were 13. Either way, you were a fucking good actor. 

The director specifically appointed you to star in his film, which is about the world coming to an end. Director Ravens was quite famous in showbiz, so who were you to decline? Besides, your co-star was Hugh Jackman, a brilliant actor, who you've also grown to admire while filming. 

Your character was a girl in her twenties, who had fallen in love with a stranger despite knowing that the world was getting destroyed within a week. A tragic love story, yet it was beautiful. 

This scene, is your solo one. Your character finds out her brother is dead, and cries with feelings of sadness, regret, and happiness. It’s a scene that would be hard to portray, but you do it well. 

Although you were almost three hours late to set, you make up for it with your acting. One take and the director informs you that it's perfect. And no one disagrees, and the complaints about your tardiness disappears, once they rewatch the scene. You must still be tipsy, because you swear you saw some of the staff shed a tear. 

You don’t offer to watch or reshot the scene, since you wanted to be out of here as soon as possible. But director Ravens insists on another one, hoping to get it from another angle. And you do as he pleases, since, well, he’s the director. 

Wow. One of the most important scenes in the movie only took you twenty minutes to film. 

Director Ravens gives you a break before the next scene, and you walk off before he wants to give you compliments. You didn’t need to hear what you already knew. 

But as you walk over to your seat, someone already occupies it. Drew. 

“You’re still here?” You scoff, crossing your arms. 

You want to rip his blue eyes out to get him to stop staring at you. Why does he like to stare at you so much? 

He pulls a random chair close to him, perhaps wanting you to sit. “Wow. So you can remember faces.”

“Yeah, if they’re as ugly as you,” you lie, because, his face is so damn attractive, that you can’t forget it even if you wanted to. You sit down on the chair, looking ahead of you. “I thought I said I want you out of my sight?”

“You can’t decide that,” he replies. “Who are you to order me around?”

“And who are you to sit in my chair? If anything, you should be kissing my ass right now.”

“Why should I?”

“You’re seriously asking me that?” You scoff. “Look around; that’s what everyone else is doing.”

On cue, a staff member hands you a bottle of water, and you take it without saying thanks. 

“And they’re fucking idiots,” Drew says, and you turn to look at him. He’s still staring at you! Crazy. 

“Shut up. As if you didn’t enjoy the show,” you say, referring to your acting just then.

“I did.”

You scrunch your nose in disgust, “good thing you’re not an actor. You’re horrible at lying.”

“I am.”

‘’What? A liar?”

“No; I’m an actor.”

The fuck? Suddenly, a different staff member interrupts the conversation, a girl holding her phone out to the both of you.

“Can I take a selfie with you?” She shyly asks. 

Of course it’s directed to you, so you simply reject her. “Sorry, but-“

“Yeah, sure.”

Your jaw is probably on the floor right now. The girl wasn’t asking you; she was asking Drew. He stands up and takes a selfie with her, and then hugs her goodbye. 

So… he’s famous? No way, because you’ve never heard of him you entire life. Probably a newbie that got famous by luck. 

You look away from him once he sits down, embarrassed to even face him. You just thought he was some staff member that the company had assigned to serve you. But he’s actually an actor? 

“You were saying?” His deep voice interrupts your thoughts, and you feel your ears go red. Holy shit. You need a smoke real bad right now. Fuck that, you need some liquor in you right this instant. 

Director Ravens saves you, yelling that its time for the next scene. So, you hurry and throw the water bottle at Drew, who catches it as though he’s not surprised at all. 

And he smirks, lifting his hat a bit as if to get a better look up at you. “What’s this for?”

Flustered, you walk off without another look back, partly embarrassed and angry. And you busy yourself with getting into the emotions of the character, and soon, Drew is forgotten as if he never existed. 

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word count: 2.3k

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: so...what's your impression of y/n so far?

hope you enjoyed chapter one, i had a blast writing this...although, chapter four was the funniest one yet. btw, i am not joking when i wrote slow burn in the warnings, so pls be patient! and i setted this story to start in february, to match the time of real life events. other than that, rest are fictional!

[blondeboyfriend]

𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRING ] Vash the Stampede x f!reader [ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] Couldn't stop thinking about Vash having a whiny, desperate jerk off session so I wrote this. [ SYNOPSIS ] A sleepless night gets interesting. [ WORD COUNT ] 1.3k [ CONTENT ] Canon AU, porn without plot, friends to lovers, voyeurism, masturbation, oral sex (m receiving), deepthroating, facefucking.

You had fully intended on sleeping through the night. After a long day of traveling you assumed your exhaustion would overtake you, lulling you into a deep slumber. It sounded so appealing, sinking into the soft mattress, a comfort you had been denied for months, and letting your mind rest. Sure, it was a hotel, but it was a nice one, one that radiated a certain hominess you craved.

But nope. You found yourself wide awake, skulking through the hallway for a glass of crystal clear water, another comfort you were deprived of. You felt possessed by this sudden need, this urge.

You tried to be as quiet as possible, but you were frequently betrayed by the soft squeaks of aged hardwood floors. Every audible step was punctuated with a muted utterance of “shit.”

As you made your way down the hall you noticed Vash’s door was ajar. You were even more determined to quiet your steps. You carefully passed by, walking on your toes. The silence you were attempting to conjure was superseded by the sound of someone panting. Immediately you felt concerned, a flurry of thoughts bombarding your brain.

Is he dying? Are his lungs giving out? Maybe he inhaled too much sand when he tripped over his own legs walking up that steep dune. Is that even possible? It could be a nightmare. Is he gonna be okay?

You decided to gently push the door open to check up on him. Instead of seeing him snuggled under the blankets you saw him fully nude and straddling a pillow. You quickly turned away and choked on your own spit.

“I can’t,” you muttered, trying to find the wherewithal to walk away.

Watching him would be so invasive, a complete breach of trust. It was hard to reconcile this fact with the compulsion to take another peek. After a minute of mentally arguing with yourself, you convinced yourself you were looking through the crack in the doorway to simply make sure what you had seen was in fact happening. Your eyes could have been playing a crude trick on you.

You turned and looked into his room. As it turned out your eyes had not deceived you. There he was, grinding up against a pillow, his body bathed in moonlight. You couldn’t help but admire it. You would have been stupid not to. He was beauty personified, an opinion that would make him blush. He so rarely thought he was desirable, convinced his brutalized body would deter anyone that showed interest in him. He couldn’t have been more wrong. You wanted to drag your tongue down his chest, lovingly lapping at the scars.

Your clit throbbed as you watched him as he rutted away. Every desperate whine that fell from his lips made you dizzy. He was so vocal, so needy.

“Fuck, fuck, oh fuck,” he whined, his eyes clenched shut.

You felt gutsy so you slowly pushed the door open. Nothing too crazy, just a little more so you’d have a better view. Your hand wandered under your pajamas, your fingers sweeping across your slick cunt. The sensation made you shiver.

He began panting harder, his whimpers growing louder. He hung his head and continued driving his cock into the pillow. He leaned over it, holding himself up with his arms. His palms dug into the bed. You wanted to be underneath him, gazing up at his face as it fluctuated between elation and agony.

You rubbed your clit, slow and steady circles, as you watched Vash thrust away. He briefly stopped and reached for something on the side of the bed. It looked familiar.

“Is that my shirt?” you whispered.

He held it up to his face, taking a deep inhale, and resumed fucking his pillow. His muffled whines were sending you over the edge. You never realized he thought of you like that. You were friends, buddies of the first degree… Granted there were nights, usually drunken ones, where he looked so appealing, so fuckable. The humiliation of rejection was the only thing holding you back.

It was over for you once he started moaning your name. Your legs felt like the bones had melted away. You braced yourself against the door, pushing it much more open than you ever intended.

“Oh shit!” he exclaimed, startled by your presence.

You covered your eyes and hoped he didn’t notice that one of your hands was tucked away under your pajamas.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” you cried out.

You heard the rustling of blankets before the sound of him falling out of the bed. You winced. It sounded like he hit the floor hard.

“A—are you okay?” you asked timidly.

He groaned. “I’ll be fine. But could… Could you shut the door?”

“Wi—with me like outside it?”

“I don’t care,” he sighed.

You quickly slammed the door shut. The hallway was much colder than Vash’s room. You took a deep breath and tried to ignore the fluids pooling in your underwear. You leaned against the door and shut your eyes. You thought of tranquil things: the night sky, a hot cup of tea, sleeping in. Just as you felt relaxed enough to head back to your room, the door opened, sending you straight into Vash’s arms. Your back pressed up against his chest.

You wanted to die. “I wasn’t being creepy. I promise.”

“You were,” he laughed. “But it’s alright.”

You freed yourself from his grasp and cleared your throat. He had haphazardly wrapped a sheet around his waist. It hung low enough that you could see a hint of pubic hair.

“Well! I’ll be going now,” you said robotically. It was what you felt like you should say considering the circumstance.

“You, uh… You could stay.”

“Do you want me to?”

“I mean…”

You were hanging on his every word.

“You can say no.” He paused. “But I wouldn’t mind if you—”

“If I what?” you blurted out.

He smiled. “You know… Helped me out.”

You were more than happy to jump at the opportunity. You followed him to the bed, but stood next to it awkwardly as he laid back down on it. Your nerves were getting the best of you. You almost keeled over when he kicked away the sheet that had been hiding his aching cock. Precum dribbled from his slit. You gripped his shaft and gave it a gentle squeeze. It was so thick, you knew you weren’t prepared to have something that girthy inside your cunt.

You let go and crawled onto the bed, positioning yourself on top of him. You slowly took his cock in your mouth, watching as a blush overtook his tanned skin. You rolled your tongue against the tip, savoring the sweet fluid leaking out.

He groaned and placed his hand on the base of your skull. He ever so slightly pushed down, sending his cock deeper in. You breathed through your nose as it filled your mouth.

“Go—good girl,” he stammered.

He began to rut against your face, thrusting his cock in and out of your mouth. His pubes brushed up against the tip of your nose. His moans grew louder, more urgent. He whimpered your name as his body tensed up. He was close. You could feel it. His cock twitched as a trickle of his cum dripped down your throat. He dropped his hand and gripped the sheets. You bobbed your head and your mouth filled with his cum. It dripped down, collecting at the base of his shaft. You lapped it all up, leaving no trace. It lacked the typical piquant taste you were used to; it was sweet and oddly refreshing.

You rested your head on his thigh. “Do you mind if I stay—if I sleep here?”

He patted your head and stifled a laugh. You looked up expectantly.

“I was kinda hoping we’d do more than sleep.”

[delusionsofgrandeur13]

CASUAL

he said, you’re “not together,”

so now when you kiss, you have anger issues.”

chapter two

NSFW. MINORS DNI.

tim drake x reader

series inspired by Casual by Chappell Roan

readers can expect: an argument due to miscommunication, mentions of sexual acts such as..well, sex and a blowjob, mentions of drugs and scandal, an internal monologue (not reader's) that's a bit self-deprecating. happy reading!

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“phi kappa epsilon is throwing a party later.” you say, looking up from your phone. tim’s got the gotham globe open to the local news section, his eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration. 

“mmm,” he replies, flipping the page. 

your legs are sprawled across his; your shorts still unbuttoned due to the hasty sex you’d finished up around ten minutes ago. you didn’t really like fucking him at his frat house, but tim had called you an hour ago sounding the most needy you’ve ever heard him. it’s a bit embarrassing to think about how fast you dropped what you were doing. 

your hair is pulled back from when your mouth was around his cock, his fingers gripping at your ponytail. tim’s lips are pink from the way he kissed you, and yours chapped and a little swollen. you purse them, hesitant. but you ask anyways. 

“would you want to go together?” 

“together? we’re not together.” 

“..what?” your heart drops into your stomach as he looks at you over the newspaper.

“you said we’re together?”

“..do you even listen to me, drake?” 

he blinks at you. it’s infuriating.

“no. didn’t think so.” 

you barely hear his protests as you untangle your legs from his. grabbing your things from the floor, you quickly shove your shoes on. he gets up, but doesn’t follow you past the door of his bedroom. refusing to be seen chasing after someone by his frat brothers. 

you fight hot, angry tears that blur your vision as you rush out of the house. 

one day later...

BREAKING: AFFLUENT FRATERNITY INVOLVED WITH DRUG RING

 Beta Alpha Tau, Gotham University’s most well known frat, has seen several of its members arrested in the past week with connections to the drug known as ‘drops.’ There is still not much known about this substance, only that it’s ingested through the eye and highly, highly disorienting. This is not the first time Beta Alpha Tau has been involved in the distribution of illicit substances, either. The fraternity itself is sponsored by well known players in Gotham such as Bruce Wayne and Lucius Fox—so what does a repeat scandal like this mean for those families’ reputations? More on page 3. 

tim growls in frustration, throwing the newspaper across the room. the pages disperse, fluttering in the air and falling to the ground.

he scrubs his hands over his face, groaning. his stupid, stupid frat brothers. and it's almost entirely on him, as their president and as a drake, as a wayne. he could've seen it, could've stopped it. could've kicked them out. but he can’t do shit about it now. bruce already wants him over for ‘dinner’ later. tim has half a mind to skip, knowing, just knowing, the way it’s gonna go. his brain kicks into overdrive, looking for a distraction. he could hit the gym, he could go drive over the speed limit, he could—

an image flashes in his mind, so vivid and sharp he can almost hear your moaning again. suddenly all he can think about is the way you look up at him during missionary, your big, blissed-out eyes staring deep into his, into places he didn’t think anyone could reach. the way you giggle when he teases you. how blown out your pupil get as he fucks you nice and hard, but you’re the one pulling sounds and emotions out of him no one ever has before. your satisfied smile after, a smile he never sees anywhere else. the way you play with his hair and kiss his cheek, feather-light. 

he barely even registers the fact he’s called you until he hears it ringing, ringing, ringing…

and your voicemail picks up. 

right. you’re mad at him. 

he laughs to himself, bitter. of course you are. right now, who isn’t?

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tim drake's fan club:

(taglist)

@dfgcbgdc @benditlikegumby93 @agent-nobody-knows @jaybunsblog @astermos-74 @ravenna-reid @borutoistrash1-blog @slut4animedilfs @nuggget-consumer-9000 @turtleturtleturtleturtleneck @hellishattempt @trashhighwaybird @sergeant-angels-trashcan @lilithskywalker @timdrakeisasugardaddy

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[jjsbaby]

you could feel his eyes for the thirtieth time in the past hour. you look down at where he’s sitting on the van floor next to your leg, shooting him another warning glare. all jj could do is look at you with that shit eating grin that makes your stomach flutter. “are you sure you’re not lost bro? i feel like we’ve gone down this road about fifty times.” pope asks john b, who’s driving in the front. kiara is distracted, trying to find the directions sarah had sent them. “why are we going to some kook assholes party anyways?” jj asks the car, right before sneaking another glance at your tits.

“sarah asked us to, plus free beer.” john b shrugs as you feel jj’s head tilt onto your leg. he presses chaste kisses along your knee, obviously bored and upset about their destination. the car stops and you realize you’ve arrived. you move to grab your phone and realize it’s gone? you look around for a second before looking up. “i can’t find my phone. i’m gonna look for it and meet you guys inside.” you sigh, not even excited for the night. you look around for a little while, when you feel a hand on your shoulder. you jump before looking back.

“fuck jj!” you cry out, trying to keep your voice down when you realize it’s him. he laughs at you while crawling into the twinkie, closing the door behind him. “you ever find your phone?” he asks, settling on the floor next to you. “nope! don’t even wanna be here and now i probably left my phone all the way back at the chateau.” you whine, leaning your head on his shoulder. “you poor thing.” he chuckles, leaning forward and pulling a joint out of his pocket. “smoke your troubles away?” he takes a lighter from the cup holder up front and sparks the end, taking a hit before passing it over to you.

you take a small hit, letting yourself relax. jj moves around for a moment before pulling your phone out of his pocket. you gasp and jokingly hit his chest. “asshole! i was freaking the fuck out!” you glare at him, taking your phone and taking another hit. “wanted to get you alone and it felt like the best way to do that.” he grins at you, sliding a hand up your knee. “get me alone to do what?” you question, handing the joint back over to him. “make you feel better.” he mumbles, completely focusing on running his hands along the inside of your legs. you open them further, letting him run his hands higher, ducking underneath your skirt. he leans forward as you feed him a hit, moving so he’s in front of you. “you still in a mood princess?” he asks, moving his thumb to apply light pressure on your clit. you close your eyes for a moment, savoring the feeling. “maybe i can feel the grumpiness leaving.” you say, leaning your hips into his touch.

jj grins, hooking his fingers on the edge of your panties before pulling them down. he adjusts your hips so you’re sitting with your pussy facing him. “all for me? always forget how wet you are when you’re high.” he says, leaning down and kissing your inner thighs. he starts to kiss everywhere except for where you need him before leaning up to look at you. “perfect tits too, goddamn.” he leans up to kiss the tops of them, unable to reach more because of the shirt you’re wearing. he takes them in his hands, massaging them for a moment before reaching into your shirt. he pulls them out, adjusting your clothes so you’re still comfortable. you bite your lip, brain going fuzzy while you watch him getting ready to touch you. “jay, please. i need you.” you whine, pulling his attention away from where he was leaving a mark on your chest.

“need me yeah? where do you need me baby?” he teases, already leaning down and placing open mouthed kisses on your thighs. you lean into his touch, whining impatiently. “need you to eat me out. please jay.” you look at him, a begging tone to your voice. you barely get the words out before you feel his mouth connect to your clit. the force of the suction makes you throw your head back, moaning loud enough that anyone passing by could hear. “tastes so good.” he says against, a mischievous glint in his eye.

you grab onto his hair, steadying yourself. “god jay.” you moan, feeling his fingers teasing you as his mouth focuses on your clit. he sucks harder, thrusting two fingers inside you. “can feel you clenching around me baby. cmon, let go for me.” he coaxes, speeding his movements up. you can feel your muscles tensing under his touch, your vision getting blurry for a moment. you finish on his tongue, breathing heavily as your legs twitch slightly. you sit and breathe for a moment, breath hitching as he slides his fingers out of you and sits up. he taps your lips, signaling to open them. you listen, parting your lips so he can slide his fingers into them and allow you to taste yourself. you stare into his eyes as you move your tongue around his fingers, watching as he stares at you with a slight smirk on his face.

“are you feeling better about the party now?” jj asks, a cocky tone to his words. you nod, staring at him with delight as he fixes your clothes for you. he leans in for a kiss and you immediately sink into it. he pulls away faster than you’d like, moving towards the door and getting out before holding his hand out for you. you take it and exit the twinkie, walking up to the house with him. “have a good time in there and i’ll give you and your perfect pussy an even better time when we’re back at the chateau.” he whispers with a wink before disappearing into the crowd.

[lunerenzo]

Next Lifetime, 01

Art cred(s); @wacuoms

☆ Pairing(s). Barista!Suguru geto x Nursing student! reader 

☆ Content. Swearing, mentions of self harm (not seriously though), conversations of college, fluff, talks of food, reader is intended to be black but anyone can read, please let me know if i missed anything :)

☆ Notes. Hi guys! First off, thank you so so so much for a hundred followers! I appreciate it so much and am so grateful! This is going to be a series so expect more pieces from me soon and yeah. That's all I got for right now.  Words in bold is reader.

☆ Word count. 997

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED, Enjoy!

Masterlist. | Next.

‘Fuck mornings.’ Is the mantra that repeats in Suguru’s mind as he turns on the cafe’s lights. Laying his hands on his face before inevitably dragging them down, shrugging his coat off and hanging it against the wall before making his way out the backroom. “Who the fuck is even up this early to get coffee? ‘S ridiculous.” He grumbles as he stumbles to the front of the establishment, flipping the sign that hangs on the door to ‘open’. 

The smell of coffee and soft music slowly wakes him up, heating up pastries and putting them in their respective places in the display glass, the usual. Suguru looks at the clock on his lockscreen, its only been fifteen minutes? He huffs, leaning against the counter as his arms are tucked under each other. He sits there staring blankly at the wall. He could read, or doddle, or-, the bell at the front door rings. Isn’t it like six o’clock in the morning? Why would somebody be out of the house this early? Geto sighs as he turns around. “Welcome and good morning. How can-” Everything stops. The music, the sounds of coffee brewing, the clock in the corner, everything. In Front of him sat a girl, roughly his age. She was beautiful, dewy skin glowing in the light of the rising sun. An elastic headband pushing some of her hair out her face. Brown tortoiseshell glasses perched on the bridge of her nose. “Um.” God, even her voice was amazing. 

“S-Sorry, um, howw can I help you?” Shit, how long has he been staring? His eyes cast down in embarrassment as he tusks a strand of hair behind his ear. He’s racking his brain to see if he’s remembered her from somewhere. A regular or something? No. Well, the school year just started and there’s a university not that far from here. That’s probably it….or maybe not. She's wearing scrubs, so maybe she has some type of early shift at a hospital. “Is the brown sugar espresso good?” “Uh, i mean yeah. I like it.” The girl nods, sitting there idly for a bit. “Yeah I’ll take that and aaa…creme brulee donut.” Suguru nods, tapping on the screen and logging in quickly. “Oat milk okay?” “Yeah, that’s fine.” He hums putting in the order before looking back up, hand reaching back to the nape of his neck twirl and pull his hair nervously. “Anything else?” She declines, shuffling through her purse and handing her card.

Geto damn near short circles when his hand brushes her. Busy swiping the card and doing whatever else, a slight aroma of peaches fills the air. He sniffed slightly, was that her? “Here you go.” He mumbles as he hands her back the card. The girl flashes him a smile as she takes the card back. When Geto turns around he mentally hypes himself up as he makes her drink, his face feeling like it was on fire as he prepares himself to engage in small talk. ‘Come on Suguru, you got this.’ He takes a deep as he puts ice in the metallic cup, “So, whats your name?” “[reader], you?” “Suguru, suguru geto.” “Oh, thats a nice name.” He might be dying, like actually. “T-Thanks. You got a morning shift? I mean we’re uh…pretty far from the hospital.” Did he just stutter? His palms begin to get clammy as he pours the syrup to the bottom of the cup. Why can’t a sinkhole just his size open up right under him? “Oh no, i’m not a nurse. Not yet at least, I'm going to the medical university not that far from here.” He could feel her eyes in the back of his head. Dear god, what is happening? He’s never been this nervous in his life. Okay, maybe once or twice, but to talk to a girl? Never. Her voice was so light and cheerful.

“That’s whats up. Umm…got anything that you like studying or something that interests you?” ‘Just focus on making the drink. Focus and everything will go smoothly.’ Geto thinks as he pour the espresso and oat milk into the cup. Shaking it quickly and a bit roughly before pouring it in a plastic to-go cup. “I enjoy the simulations, they have these extremely realistic robots, like i i was in a simulation lab with a friend, ya’know just practicing, and one just yelled out ‘i want my mommy’.” He chuckles softly. Putting on the cups top and he put it on the front counter. Towards the pickup side. “I’d honestly be terrified if i were you.” He mumbles as he grabs a small parchment paper bag. Squatting down and grabbing the tongs to put one of the huge brulee donuts inside. He stands back up, folding the top flap and putting a little sticker to keep it sealed. “Here.” Suguru mumbles with a small smile. His hand brushes against hers once more, her skin was so soft. “You smell like peaches.” He blurts out, and immediately regrets it. His entire face and ears flushed into a shade of red. Embarrassment eating him whole, he’s throwing himself off a building. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why i said that, i just-” [Reader] giggles, waving her hand dismissively. “You’re fine and thank you.” She says after a while. Full lips pulled into a graceful smile, his breathe hitched slightly. She was ethereal, like some type of painting you’d see from the renaissance era.

“N-No problem. Uh…s-see you around?” Geto stammers, looking at the girl across the counter. He felt like he was floating, is this what people mean when they talk about love at first sight? Cause he totally gets the hype. “Yeah. I’ll be around every now and then.” He nods frantically, “Yeah, okay.” [Reader] giggles one more time. Before grabbing her food and waving at him as she walks out the door. Him doing the same and waving a good bye as she leaves. ‘Shit.’

☆A/N. I don't really having anything else to say besides I'm working on the second chapter rn and if anyone want to be on the tag list let me know!

© 2023 lunerenzo, please don’t plagiarize or translate work.

[yaut-jaknowit]

In Front of the Clan

Pairing: We'ar-ow (Female Yautja) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 4237

Summary: We'ar-ow decides to speak to her clan about the situation and brings you along. As We'ar-ow speaks, people interrupt and speak falsehoods about the situation. Rumors within the clan always spread around. When the meeting gets a little out of hand, you stand forward.

Author Note: There's only four planned chapters left guys! We're getting closer to the end of this duo.

Masterlist

Ao3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18

A plate of alien food was set before you. The corners of your mouth quirked up in an appreciative smile towards the large pink Yautja. She grunted before sitting down next to you and leaning into your side. Her warm scales pressing into you while We’ar-ow peers over your shoulder to look at the tablet laid open on the counter.

After learning that she has known about your plan for escape, you only use the tablet to play games now. There was no other use for it. We’ar-ow hasn’t even restricted the access to internet or deleted any of the information you’ve saved. Either she trusts you or she knows you can’t escape even if you tried without her knowing.

Before learning We’ar-ow knew, there was a possibility of actually making it off the mothership and homebound. Yet, she has her claws sunk into your skin. You were never going to escape now… nor did you? Did you want to leave?

That got you thinking. If you had the chance to leave, like an open door back home, would you take it? Leave all this behind. The troubles of not getting hunted down by your ex-mate, or the mess of confusing feelings about the massive alien leaned against your side. The fact the only two people you could safely converse with are her and Xilomere. That was a sad thing to think about. Such a lonely life.

Then, there was We’ar-ow. A creature that always demands, always commanding. She takes no shit from anyone. If she wants something done, she’ll do it herself. She’s protected you from the harms Dwainet attempted to bring down on you. The fact he wants you dead. We’ar-ow won’t throw you to him to get rid of her troubles. No, she’s fighting for you.

You glanced over your shoulder to find her orange eyes on you. “What?” you questioned, concerned there was something wrong. The alien chuffed and reached out with her hand towards your face.

Instantly, your first reaction was to jerk away. Instead, you held your ground. Her thumb swiped at the corner of your mouth then wiped whatever was there off on a napkin. You cursed inside of your brain the way that made your body flush. You bowed your head to look back down at the tablet.

A game was pulled up, the dog hunting one. Where you level up your hunting dogs and breed the best ones. So far, after little less than two months have gotten you far in the game. With nothing else but to pass time now, you are stuck it. There are other games you have downloaded but this one is your favorite.

Plus, with the fact you don’t… need to plan an escape anymore, it’s all you can do to pass the time. With We’ar-ow gone during most of the day – despite her attempts to coax you along with her, you have to do something not to go insane now.

We’ar-ow reached out once more and slid the tablet closer to her. You grumbled a noise of disagreement but continued to munch on the food she cooked for you. She did give it to you, nor could you stop her if you tried. From your hunched over spot, you watched as the Yautja tapped away on the device until getting to a page. She turned towards you.

From English to Yautja, the words on the page were returned to their native language. “Hey! What did you do? Now I can’t read it,” you complained and gave her a deadpanned look.

In all of your time around these creatures, you’ve not once learned about their language. The way they spoke it made it seem impossible for you to replicate. You don’t have the proper vocal cords to make such sounds. Seeming some of the words gave you head. Like, how does thirteen words equal a simple ‘how’ or something. Of course, it wasn’t perfectly translated over so it could mean a little different. Yet, still.

“It is time you learned. You are on my ship. I will teach you if you like it or not. At times, I will turn off your translator and test you. Understood?” she explained then tapped the screen. “Find where you can turn it back to English.” Your lips parted at her words.

“But-but I don’t know how to read your language!” you bickered and glared at her. The Yautja’s expression didn’t change. “How do you expect me to navigate through it to get back to English.”

To probably frustrate you more, she patted your cheek with her rough palms. “Sink or swim. This is where you show me what you got. Then, I shall go from there.” You couldn’t believe this! She just changed her soft personality like one-eighty on you. How can you even get to the settings to change it back to normal?! The translator behind your ear only did verbal words than also words on a paper or screen.

“Come on, don’t do this! My puppers need me,” you begged her, not expecting her to let you sink like this. There was no chance you were able to get to the settings and return it to English.

“I have faith in you, little ooman.” We’ar-ow left your side, stealing away the comfort her presence brought you, and stood up from the stool. “I’m going to finish preparing myself for the day. Once, I’m done, I have a meeting with the clan I must attend.”

That caught your attention. You dropped the spork you were using and spun around. This was serious. This must mean she was going to face off with Dwainet.

And instead of hiding here, you needed to be there.

“Can I come with?” you finally asked after three weeks of refusing to leave the safety of your space. Not when Dwainet or one of his goons can come up and snap your neck. The bruises lasted until last week.

We’ar-ow’s eyes lit up for a fraction of second before dipping her head. “Of course. I will warn you. Every eye in this ship will be upon us. I must address the unrest building within the clan and kill it before it becomes a problem,” she warned and hooked her finger under my chin to ensure I keep my gaze on her. “You are free to stay but I promise to keep you protected and safe in and out of this room if you are to join me.”

Your heart began to thunder in your chest at her intimate touch. It was starting to get harder to deny the way your stomach fluttered at gestures like this. The lump in your throat was swallowed down. “This is about me. I’m the center problem. I… I can’t show how afraid I am, can I?” you retorted yet with a soft voice. There was no time to show your fear to the crowd despite how terrified you are in this situation.

One of her upper mandibles quirked up. “You are learning, little one,” she purred and dragged her thumb claw along your fragile lips. You shuttered yet continued to keep eye contact with the large beast before you. “Yes. Now change into something more presenting for a meeting with the clan.”

A deep breath filled your lungs before you slipped off the stool, leaving behind the tablet for a later time. You grabbed your plate and put into the sink then headed into the shared bedroom. We’ar-ow shadowed behind you.

All of the clothes Ruach made for you were hung in the expansive closet before you. Your eyes raked over each strip of clothing, brain mauling over which would be the best for this time. Something grand, something to show you have power despite being a pet in everyone eyes.

Blues, purples, whites, and golds. An array of colors decorated the pieces you chose. Light in fabric, the top of see-through. You didn’t let that bother you as We’ar-ow helped looped strands of golden metal around your neck. Other jewelry decorated your wrists and ankles alike.

Royalty. You looked like royalty.

The bulk of We’ar-ow towered from behind. Each of her hands engulfed your shoulders before one slipped off to wrap securely around your throat. Despite knowing you should be trembling at her hand placement, all you felt was safe. You tilted your head back to find her eyes on you. Her grasp tightened for a fraction of her strength, still not worrying you a bit.

There was a slight pressure pressed onto the spot behind your ear for a moment. The translator. Words of her native language fell from her fangs like water over jagged rocks. Your brows creased, confused on what was spoken to you. The language is completely unfamiliar to you. Since day one, you’ve relied on it to get through everyday life within the Yautjas.

Another small graze over your skin. The translator was back to life. “Hey, what was that for?” you whined with a small pout. Why did she have to force you to do this? That’s what the translator’s for. There was no need to learn Yautja. Maybe the reading part but the speaking, not so much.

The hand shifted so her thumb ran over the scar that marred your skin on the back of your neck. You shuttered at the feeling, head still stretched back. “What did you say?”

A playful glint entered her eyes. “You’ll know once you’re ready,” she spoke ominously. You groaned and leaned against her with the pout still etched into your face.

“You’re not fair. How am I supposed to learn if you won’t teach me what you had just said?” We’ar-ow stepped back to create space for a moment and used her hand on your shoulder to keep you steady. At first, you felt a bit heartbroken she had moved away. Only to slightly tense up when her fangs touched the crook of your exposed shoulder and neck.

Your throat bobbed but you made no move to stop nor to encourage her. A part of you, deep down, wanted for her to take the bite, to latch her teeth onto your fragile skin. You felt them add just the tiniest of pressure to create divots in your skin. Your breath was caught in your throat, unable to move, frozen and at her mercy.

We’ar-ow retracted her head then patted your shoulder. “We must go or else we risk being late. That would not look good on us.” You pulled fresh air back into your weak lungs and dazedly nodded your head.

What was wrong with you?!

Everyone’s eyes were on your forms. The sea of people parted. We’ar-ow stepped forward. No one dared to step in her way, let alone look at their Monarch in the eye. They bowed their heads with respect her. You shadowed at her side, head level and refusing to look at anyone. A steeled expression etched into your face as you refused to shy away from the crowd.

Pet or not, you held a power within the clan. They couldn’t touch you without We’ar-ow baring down on them within the same instant. You gripped that power by the reins tightly as you strutted next to her.

The two of you ascended to her throne. You faltered for a moment, realizing you had to sit on the steps. Heat rushed to your cheeks instantly before you reeled in the embarrassment, ready to find a seat.

Suddenly, your feet left the ground. You squeaked minutely, on the verge of flailing in reaction. When your butt was placed on a warm thigh, you instantly paused your dramatic reaction. For a moment, you stared off blankly, regretting all of your decisions in the moment. Then, you relaxed against We’ar-ow looked down upon the sea of Yautjas crowded at the base of the steps.

The entire room was filled to the brim with the masses spilling out into the hallway. Though, it was heavily overcrowded with faces you couldn’t begin to recognize, you spotted a familiar figure moving through.

Xilomere. Others you learned that were part of the council climbed the steps as well. They stopped short of the last two steps to the throne and spread out. Xilomere and a female Yautja stood the closest, on either side. The alien mentioned by name gave a cheeky wink to you. Heat rushed to your cheeks, knowing the position in her lap wasn’t very professional.

Your hand snaked over to clutch We’ar-ow’s still holding your hips from when she grabbed you. Her other limb was resting on the armrest of her throne. You shifted around to find a comfortable spot to sit in. Which was your back to her chest, one of your legs crossed over the other, head held high. This wasn’t the time to show weakness in front of everyone.

Her fingers widened and allowed for yours to card through them. We’ar-ow trapped your digits between hers, refusing to let you go. This was an action you couldn’t tell was for your support or hers.

Behind you, We’ar-ow leaned in close to your ear. “No matter what happens, I will protect you, my little ooman,” she promised then returned to her original spot. She was attempting to calm your racing thoughts and thundering heart only for them to worsen. It made it seem like she was preparing for a revolution to break out.

We’ar-ow slammed her fist down with an ear shattering roar that echoed after the room fell silent. After a few long seconds to let this sink into everyone, We’ar-ow spoke in voice you’ve deemed to be her Monarch voice. Only used in the presence of her fellow clanmates.

“Many of you know what this about. Rumors spread. I am here to quell this outrage at the source.” Her voice carried out into the room. At first, you tensed your shoulders. Immediately thinking this quelling would include your death once and for all… but We’ar-ow wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t take the easy way out.

“My pet is here to stay despite what that scum decides to try next.” You nearly curl up into her torso at her words, seeking protection. But Dwainet isn’t here to cause chaos. No, he’s locked up. “Number two, if you have an issue with my ruling, either bring it up to me or leave. I don’t need weak Yautjas part of my clan. Only the strongest, only the most skilled are sought after. You don’t have a place amongst the elite.”

“And three, if you don’t see me fit to rule, challenge me. There’s always been a clause to allow any of age to issue a challenge.” Her commanding voice sent chills down your spine. She squeezed your hand tightly. You returned the gesture the best you can.

“How can we trust that you’re strong when your pet is a feeble soft meat?” Someone from the crowd shouted. Others joined into the calls and spitting of harsh words.

“We were blinded by the last Monarch and her horrible rule.” Other agreed with whoever said that. You don’t know who or what happened during the last reign but We’ar-ow wasn’t anything like the sort. She’s a person who deserved to have this position.

Anger fell over your features. With a snarl, you ripped yourself from We’ar-ow hold and lap then stood before her, overlooking the room. Fire sparked to life in your eyes. “I know I haven't been here long, but I have seen the way she rules. A ruler that is strong enough to be gentle and knows when to use her strength,” your voice boomed loudly over the shouting match.

Everyone silenced themselves at first.

“Oh, look at that, the problem only causing more chaos in the mixture,” another voice drawled then scoffed. “I should gut you like the prey you are. Then, you’ll see how weak you truly are, soft meat.” You knew the use of ‘soft meat’ was a terrible insult to humans, but you simply brushed it off. It didn’t hurt to be said to you. Though soft, you could still cause damage.

Due to their words, you instantly knew We’ar-ow was going to step in. But, you had to act fast. “Maybe you’re right. I am weak. I am prey amongst hunters. Yet, here I still stand, with power you could dream of. I sit upon a throne while you grovel at our feet, paying your due respects to a Monarch whose blood, sweat, and tears have been put into this job.”

We’ar-ow stayed seated in her throne, yet eyes watched with rapture.

Then, your eyes drifted over into the direction of the other Yautja who before this one. “You’re right as well. I haven’t been here long. Long enough to know We’ar-ow could put you in your place. All of you in your place. Yet, here she is, choosing a path of peace rather than destruction.”

A new silence filled the tense air. Any eyes willing to meet yours, you glared at. You didn’t care that anyone in this room could kill you at the moment. Right now, this needed to end.

“Do you want discord? Or do you want peace?” you snapped and curled your hands into fists. None of your hits would do damage but it was the thought that counted if anyone dared to step up those steps. Plus, We’ar-ow promised you.

From behind you, We’ar-ow stood up placed her hands on your shoulders. Her thighs pressing into the middle of your back. Knowing that hunter stood at your back, you felt more power fill you instead of terror. She or anyone on this ship may be able to snap your neck, but We’ar-ow would never.

One person started it. They knelt down on one knee, hand splayed out to cover their face, head bowed. Once it began, others followed in their wake. Until all but eleven showed their respect to their Monarch.

Those who refused to bow glared daggers at the two of you. You snarled. Inside of your brain, you’re ready to throw down hands on any of them who didn’t respect the hardship We’ar-ow has endured. We’ar-ow tightened her grip on your shoulders and brought you from your boiling thoughts. You felt the way they twitch, nearly attempting to incircle your throat. Yet, they stayed glued to their spots.

“What paths shall you take? Leave or challenge. I will not tolerate any more disrespect from any of my clan members. I won this place, this title. I will continue to show why I deserve to be here,” she growled and tugged you tightly into her thighs. Her form continuously towering over you.

“We side with Dwainet. We see the flaws that will cause detrimental damage to our clan. You will be our downfall. We will not allow that to happen,” one snapped and stomped his foot down, arms splayed out at his sides in display.

A growled from the pits of hell tumbled from We’ar-ow’s throat. Yet, the Yautja didn’t move from her spot. “Dunkot, detain these foolish younglings,” she demanded a yellowed colored Yautja.

Without hesitation, he began his pathing down the stairs. A short growled fell from him. Others from the crowd moved towards their targets and did what their Monarch ordered them to do. They were escorted out and away. You breathed a sigh of relief and titled your head back to look up at her. Her fingers twitched and ghosted over the column of your throat before returning to their original position.

Her words made you realize. Only those under two hundred years were part of this revolution. Dwainet himself was barely even a hundred years old. They were only stupid young adults playing fire before they even knew it would burn them.

Once they had been hauled out, We’ar-ow gazed out into the crowd. “Does anyone else have something to say to either of us?” she demanded. Everyone stayed bowed but raised their heads to look upon their Monarch again. No one spoke up to voice their concerns again.

“Meeting adjourned.” With that, everyone took their, except Xilomere and the unnamed female Yautja. Though her color was different, her facial features were similar to We’ar-ow in a way that had you unsettled.

Said Yautja spun on her heel and moved along the steps to stand before you. Even at a couple steps down, she still had the same giant form as We’ar-ow. A playful smirk on her fangs. “Such a little thing to cause an uproar, sister. I love the fact you’ve kept them around,” she laughed.

Sister? This is the sister?! Jesus Christ. You don’t know why but you felt the need to impress her in any shape or form.

Xilomere joined the group as well and held out his own fist towards you in a very human fashion. You fulfilled the gesture. “Look at what you did. You’re just as good as We’ar-ow here.” His gaze flickered up to We’ar-ow. “You chose good.” You looked back up at her behind you.

“To be honest, if she wasn’t here, I’d be a shredded mess of meat and shattered bones on the ground right where I stand,” you nervously inputted and leaned more against We’ar-ow’s thighs. Her hands squeezed once more on your shoulders. It was the horrible truth.

He raised a brow and gave you an up and down look. “You are unarmed. Any honorbound Yautja wouldn’t attack you. Prey or not.”

Hidden on the side of your waist band was that knife thar random Yautja gave you a while ago. The fabric that flowed over your shoulders was enough to cover it apparently. “Well,” you drawled then unsheathed the blade carefully. “About that.”

The beautifully crafted blade was shown the group. We’ar-ow bristled behind you then snatched it out of your hand. “Where did you get this?!” she scolded and spun you around to face her. “This isn’t one of mine. Who gave this to you?” You nearly shied away from her due to instinct but held strong.

“A merchant named Wourk. He tried to trick me but I knew better. He gave it to me, free of charge. I needed something to protect myself. I have to show myself as capable without always being seen as this pathetic little creature,” you argued and tried to reach for it but she kept it out of reach. “This issue with Dwainet isn’t resolved. I could be killed by one of his goons.”

She growled and grabbed your throat, pulling you in close as she leaned down to your height. “No you won’t. I told you I would protect you as you are mine. Dwainet nor any of his followers shall lay a digit on you again. This blade will only put you at risk more. You will be seen as huntable prey with it,” she explained then plucked the sheath from your waist band with the hand around your neck.

You spun to look at Xilomere for help. “Help me. Don’t you agree me having a blade would be better than nothing?!” you rallied for him to side with you.

That look on his face told you otherwise. “I agree with her. If you hold a weapon, you are considered worth to be hunted. Without it, you are unhonorable to kill you. She’s just protecting you, ooman,” he resolved. You didn’t dare to turn to the unnamed sister, knowing she too would side with We’ar-ow.

“None of you realize how powerless I feel in this situation,” you growled, hands shaking then glared up at the pink Yautja. “Without you, I would be dead, ten times over. If it wasn’t for you presences alone, many would kill me. I just want to protect myself!”

Your voice carried out into the expansive room. Then, it turned to silence.

Both Xilomere and the sister bowed their heads to look somewhere else as you stared We’ar-ow in the eye.

“Well, I’ve got things to do. See you two later!” Xilomere announced his exit and was swiftly to fast walk down the stairs and out the room. We’ar-ow’s followed after him after giving a wave at the two of you.

Once the door was shut and offered privacy otherwise. Your neck was snatched in firm grasp that didn’t hurt.

“I do not know what it will take to get it through your thick skull. But I will protect you. You are mine to protect. My ooman!” Her fangs roughly clack together then spread wide. “Dwainet will pay for his crimes. He will die by my hand. He will suffer for the trouble of wasting two years of your life.” Her thumb rest upon your pulse point, feeling the way your heart raced.

The words in your throat died. Your chest heaved with each breath as the two of your stared into the other’s eyes. You licked at your lips. Her eyes darted down for a fraction of second during the motion. Long enough for you to notice.

This claim she continues to make felt different this time.

A deep huff dropped your shoulders. “Fine. But can I at least keep the blade? It’s pretty,” you asked, hoping she would let you. Despite the fact it could put you into danger for just having it, you liked it.

Her eyes glanced at it in her hand. “No.” Goddamn her.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18

[altrodent]

In My Arms

Pairing: Donnie Darko x Reader

Genre/warnings: Fluff, comfort read, swearing, slight mention of appearance shaming, (not entirely proof read)

Summary: You have probably the worst week ever, and the only thing that can fix it is your “friend” 🩷🤭

Shit. That’s what this entire week has felt like. From accidentally tripping over nothing, to getting yelled at by an annoying old bitch, and even your closest friend almost dying, you just can’t take it anymore. All you want to do is huddle up in your cave of a room and hide forever. The only thing between you and home is a long couple of blocks, that never seem to end. Usually you’d walk with your… well, you aren’t sure what you are to him, but let’s just say you’re very close. Donnie Darko, your first friend, your first kiss, your first shoulder to cry on. Why don’t you go to him this time? His house just got demolished, his room specifically, you’d feel like an asshole if you talked to him and complained about something that small. Little do you know…

“Hey, wait up!” You gaze out of your peripheral view to see an all to familiar boy running up to you. On any day of the week, you’d love to see him and chat, but your brain is just a big word cloud of emotion. “You usually walk with me.” Your lips purse together, he tilts his head over to look at you “You doin’ okay?” You nod as your teeth start tearing away at your lips, avoiding his eye contact. “Hey…” he gently grabs your shoulders “You know you can talk to me, right? I mean, you do the same for me.” He smiles lightly, it absolutely melts your heart “I know, I’m sorry…” his hand reaches to your face as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “Don’t be sorry. I was actually wondering if maybe you wanted to come by later? You don’t have to of course I just wanted to-“ you smile and your small laugh cuts him off, seeing you like this makes his heart flutter. “Yes, Donnie, I’d love to.” He gives you a big hug before taking your hand and continuing your walk home.

He dropped you off at your house, and told you that you could come over when you’re ready. After an hour or so you had gotten dressed, cried out any unnecessary tears, and got your stuff ready. Before there was a knock at the front door “I’ll get it!” You shouted to anyone else who might be in the house. You open the door and Donnie’s there. “Hey, Don” You smile brightly and greet him with a hug “I thought I was going over to your house?”he hugged back greatly, before gently releasing his tight grip “I know, but I just didn’t want to wait that long.” You laugh “Well, come in. I think I still have movies scattered around my room somewhere.” He nods as you close the door and lead him to your room. It wasn’t too messy, but enough for him to notice the small bundle of wadded tissues and torn memories. He closed the door behind him “I actually also wanted to see how you were holding up.” Your brows raise “What?” He leans against your vanity, “You remember what I said, right? You can tell me anything.” You shift away and go back to trying to find your movies. “I said I’m fine Donnie, don’t worry!” You can’t seem to see at this point. You already cried, but when he goes out of his way to make sure you’re alright, it makes your tears swell in your eyes. You’re now on the floor, speechless, feeling like an ass. He walks over to you, squatting down to cup your face in his hands “Please.” A tear falls, and then it seems like the stream of salty fluid doesn’t stop. He gently picks you up and sits you on the bed. Immediately, you cling onto him as if he were a teddy bear, letting out every emotion from the past couple of weeks. The weeks that felt like months, the months that felt like years, the ‘best years of your life’ scam. He adjusts himself to lay against your oddly plush pillows, with you laying on him. The patterned rise and fall of his chest eventually infecting yours. “Fuck the Fear-Love spectrum shit. I can feel how I want” you mumble into the soft material in his shirt. His laughter rumbling in his chest, “What did I say about letting that hag of a bitch get to a beauty like you?“ “I know Donnie, she just… she made fun of my appearance and my overall person I wanted to go absolutely batshit crazy on her, but I just can’t. I’m weak… I don’t want to get in trouble because of someone like her.” You try and turn away but he pulls you back and without warning locks his lips with yours, though it wasn’t the first time he’s done this, it still just always catches you off guard. He’s sweet, and tender. Passionate, yet gentle, his lips blend into yours like liquid saccharine. What makes him special is that every time you’ve kissed, you can always tell he cares by the feeling of his lips curving into a smile, then when you pull apart all his eyes can seem to follow are you. Soon you pull away and giggle as he followed your lips “If I knew I’d get you like this for telling you how I feel, I would’ve opened up more.” You smile, before a devilish glint appears in his eye “We can always make up for lost time…” his eyes, instead of looking at anything else, stare daggers into yours. It’s almost as if his eyes were laced with a poisonous love, and you can’t get enough of it. Instead of answering with words you just press your lips into his. He hums in approval as his hands gently glide from your face to your hips. Slowly he guides you to move onto his lap, and you obey. He begins peppering kisses on your face, fitting in little praises and nicknames between some of them. He presses his lips against your forehead, before gently holding your face once more “We’ll get through this, together. Just give me your time and honesty, that’s all I ask… please?” His eyes buried into yours again, you hum “How could I say no to you, Donnie?” He smiles softly after pecking your lips one last time “I’m glad to have you in my arms.” Your smile never faltering, “I’m glad you want me in your arms.”

~

(A/N): I’ve watched it like 10 times, and while this is absolute shite, I just can’t figure out what to write right now. My ideas have run dry 😭

[sodamnradd]

Near midnight Draco yanks his front door open, wand in hand, suspicion etched all over his face.

Hermione stands on the top step, a rather sorry cupcake melting in her hand. “You didn’t come.”

She’s zipped into a little black dress with crisscross straps all along the sides and a swooping neckline he spends a breath too long gawking at.

“You never said it was mandatory.”

She wobbles on the edge of her heel, but when Draco reaches for her, she pulls back, scowling.

“Happy birthday.” She hands him the sorry cupcake.

He stares at the sticky mushy thing and notices a goopy swirl that might be a blazing comet on a bed of Slytherin green. “What’s that?”

“A Snitch. They ate the rest at the surprise party you didn’t show up to.”

His heart sinks. “I didn’t know.”

“Rather the point of a surprise party.”

“Who was there?”

He can’t imagine anyone showing up except for maybe Potter because she’s got some kind of magnetic pull over him. Draco suspects he’s suffering from a similar syndrome. Because, say, if Granger had insisted he show up tonight, Draco would have. He almost asks why she didn’t demand it of him.

“Everyone. My friends. Yours.”

“You spoke to my friends?” he asks, jarred.

“They were amused when we thought you were late. Then they all seemed sorry for me. Thought I was delusional for misinterpreting our relationship.”

“…our… relationship…” It’s not what she means. Of course, it isn’t.

‘Our’ pangs in his brain until it becomes rhythmic. A marching band beat of our, our, our.

His eyes wander. Her outfits are never so short, though they ought to be because Granger’s thighs are magnificent. He envisions dragging icing over them and running his tongue—

His face flames. “I’m sorry, Granger. I just wanted to spend my birthday alone.”

“Why? You love to be pampered.”

True. He grins. “Were you going to pamper me?”

A curl falls over her face as she lowers her chin, and he feels the burning need to tuck it behind her ear. But as the rest tumble forward, he realises she’s hiding. His chest tightens. He feels awful for making her feel small. She’s a mammoth in his mind. All five foot two of her. All the time.

“I don’t know why I came. See you on Monday.”

He feels like an arse. A tongue-tied, idiot arse who doesn’t know what to say to her and instead blurts out: “I didn’t want to spend my birthday watching every bloke at your party try to take you home. It’s bad enough at work. But when there’s liquor and strappy dresses and your thighs… I just needed a day off.”

“A day off from me.”

“From the side-effects of spending time with you.”

“Side-effects? Like I’m some sort of disease?”

“Probably!”

“Wow, Draco.” She glowers. “Just wow.”

“Nobody makes me feel this way. My palms are always sweaty. My stomach is in knots. I can’t speak properly around you half the time. It takes ages to focus because I’ll spot a lipstick stain on your stupid S.P.E.W mug and my mind launches into space. Like this fucking comet.”

“It’s a Snitch.” She steps forward, cat-like. Close enough to smell the perfume on her neck. His trousers are suddenly too tight. And that’s before she swirls her finger through the comet-Snitch icing and draws it to her mouth. “Butterscotch.”

He gulps. His favourite.

She drags her finger through it again, offering it to him. “Want some?”

His lips part and holy shit Hermione’s finger is in his mouth and he’s seconds away from coming in his fucking pants.

He tears back.

She steps forward.

“Granger,” he snipes like a spooked animal.

“Don’t be rude, Draco. I baked them just for you.”

Oh Gods.

She dunks her finger into the cupcake again. “Just a little more.”

“Stop.”

“Be that way.” She drags her finger between her lips and makes a moaning noise that joins ‘our’ in sounds he’ll never get out of his head.

“Ask me.” She’s looking up at him with her career confidence. Mouth wet.

He shakes his head, dazed. “What?”

“You said you didn’t want to see other blokes trying to take me home. Well, here I am at your doorstep and you haven’t even asked if I’d like to come inside.”

“Would you like to come inside?” he manages roughly, wondering if he’s hallucinating.

Hermione snatches the smeared cupcake from his hand and waves at the door. “It’s still your birthday for seven minutes. Think we can make them count?”

Oh, they make them count.

(768 words, prompt: you didn't come)

[reds-skull]

BLOOD||HUNGER

[PREV PART] [AO3]

So remember how I didn't like how short the last chapter was? Well this one is almost as long as the longest chapter I've ever written (insane how when it goes smoothly and I don't feel like the words are fighting me, I actually write more!)

This chapter is called "Droops and Decays"

Page 11 of the “Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde”, parable 4:

And a knight, wearing the blind man’s colors, Brings his sword forth and calls, halt beast, Leave my brother to be, release him from your bloody maw. The blind man steps forth, hands raised, And he calls his brother-in-pain, lower your steel, This monster is unharming, it is calm, And it needs guidance, as the blind do. The knight asks, why would the blind lead the sinners? And the blind man answers, when all other paths are blocked, We can only move forth on ways seen only by the unseeing.

Ghost doesn’t sleep in the company of others. It is not because of the person in the room, his body and mind just genuinely, physically, can’t trust anyone anymore.

(He wonders if it were Price-)

So Ghost lets his eyes rest, while his mind turns and churns over the events of last night.

“I know ye would rather leave me to die, go scurry away to whatever hell ye crawled out of. But we both know ye can’t. Now, would you rather die alone…”

“…or fight together?”

Soap… no, John MacTavish. He has quite the bleeding heart, offering to work together with the man that pointed a gun to his head not an hour prior. He wonders who he was before being discharged, if fighting alongside him tonight was how it would’ve been to work with him.

(He wonders if he could trust him-)

The 141 will arrive to the wreckage they left any moment now. Instead of finding the Sergeant, they’ll come across the charred remains of the Hunter’s soldiers. Ghost knows they’re smart enough to figure out neither of them are dead, considering there are no tire tracks beyond the destruction.

(If he were to burn and die, would Price be able to tell his body from the rest-)

He wishes he could sleep. Would’ve been more useful than the shit that’s stirring around his brain right about now.

(Maybe talking to Soap could be more useful-)

The Sergeant wouldn’t want to talk to him. Not after what he’s done. 

(No better than the Hunter, no better than Roba-)

(But he wants to-)

Ghost doesn’t want things.

(That’s Simon’s job-)

Simon is dead.

(Simon can’t be dead when Ghost is still living-)

Soap shifts next to the window, and sighs. Ghost gets reminded of the way the Sergeant stirred in his sleep, his eyes scrunched up like he’s trying to close them in his dream. He took mercy on him then, kicked his shoulder lightly. Soap grasped at it like a lifeline, eyes snapping wide open to swivel around the room.

(Searching for ghosts-)

It was then he started wanting, Ghost reckons. Wanted to know what burrows into Soap’s mind, what crawls beneath his bed to sink its claws while he sleeps.

(Wants to see the beast himself-)

Fucking hell. Since when does Ghost care what other people bloody dream about?

In an attempt to stop all those buzzing thoughts, Ghost opens his eyes. Soap is still by the window, rifle in his hands, clicking lowly as he fidgets with it. He looks about as lost in his mind as Ghost was just a few moments ago.

(He wonders what Soap is thinking about-)

Ghost sits up, internally annoyed with his own stupid mind. Soap looks at him as he stretches his limbs slowly, taking stock of their condition.

“Yer leg’s faring better?” the Sergeant asks.

Surprisingly, it is. The muscles no longer shake, even if he has a general feeling of weakness across his body.

Ghost raises from the tarp, “affirmative. Ready to move?”. Soap jumps off the table, and opens the door. The fields outside are bright and calm, wheat stalks idly swaying in the soft breeze.

They return to the road, Soap still tapping at the metal body of the rifle. Eventually, he speaks up, “you think Price and Gaz reached the trucks already?”

Ghost spares him a glance, “certainly.”

The Scot slows his steps, “...maybe I should go back-”

“By the time you reach the trucks, the 141 would be gone.” It took them hours to get this far.

Soap sighs, dragging a hand over his hair, “fuckin’ hate that yer right.” He catches up to Ghost.

(He wants to know more-)

He doesn’t need to-

(He needs to know more-)

“How do you know Price?” Ghost instantly curses himself.

Soap raises an eyebrow, “how do ye know him?”

“I’m not telling you shit, Sergeant.”

Soap crosses his arms, “then I’m not tellin’ ye shit either.”

Fuckin’- how did he get stuck with such a childish, impudent, little bastard.

“Everyone knows Captain Price.” Ghost almost growls, bluffing through his teeth. Soap’s eyes light up like he caught him with his pants down.

“Aye”, Soap smirks, “everyone in the British Army knows the Captain. But not everyone knows how he looks.”

He leans in closer to Ghost, “no, ye had to be in a high rank fer that. Said ye were SAS, Lieutenant? I’m thinking ye weren’t lying after all.”

Bloody wanker. He’s not fucking stupid.

Soap leans away again, finally answering his question, “well, I didn’t know Price too personally. Was on a few missions along his squad. Tried to recruit me before I got… discharged.”

Ghost narrows his eyes. So that’s the game he wants to play. Give me a bone, I’ll give you something to chew on. As much as he wants to be annoyed, he supposes that’s fair.

(Now that he’s been given a hand, he wants the whole arm-)

“Why did they discharge you?”

Soap’s smile falters, “disobeyed direct orders one too many times. Killed an HVT they needed alive.” his blue eyes dim, “sliced his neck and choked the blood outta him.”

Ghost frowns, “how important was the fucker that they booted you out?”

Soap stops walking, Ghost turning around to face him.

“Ever heard of Vladimir Makarov?”

Ghost blinks, “you’re not-”

“I am.” Soap’s face twists, in grief or in anger, Ghost can’t tell, “I’m the one that killed Makarov.”

They stare at each other, Ghost mind whirling. If Soap is the one that… 

Everyone knew what Makarov was planning. The power vacuum he left was huge, leaving Konni Group to disintegrate. Leaving people like the Hunter, to attempt to take his place in the twisted international power game.

“Ye can tell me Ah’m feckin’ daft, I’ve heard it all.” Soap starts walking, his frame more taut than usual.

Daft? “You eliminated the biggest nuclear threat since the Cold War.”

Soap laughs bitterly, “yer talking like Ah’m a fucking hero.”

“None of us are heroes, MacTavish.” Not with the amount of blood on their hands.

Yet, men like Soap… Ghost can’t say he’s evil. He’s too… compassionate for that.

Soap looks ahead, eyes fogging over with memories, “...said that to Price once. He told me…” He refocuses on Ghost, “...forget it.”

(What did Price say-)

“What did he say?”

Soap huffs, a sad smile on his face. “He told me about his previous Lieutenant. How he was a man of many sins.”

Ghost’s heart stops beating.

Soap continues regardless, “but he said Lieutenant Riley was his most caring soldier. Would always fight as hard as he can to bring everyone back home.” he turns to Ghost, whose breath caught at the Lieutenant’s name, “for those he saved, the Lieutenant was a hero. At least, that’s how Price saw it…”

“Ah wanted to be like him, back then.”

Ghost barely managed to whisper the words out, “and now?”

John smiles, “now Ah want to be better.”

His eyes shine so brightly, Ghost thinks at the back of his mind. His body is still as a statue, ceasing to exist in the now, sinking into the dark waters of the past.

(Yet Simon feels more alive than he’s been for years)

Ghost continues to scan the horizon, as the city comes into view. It becomes clearer and clearer what causing the sounds echoing through the lonely fields.

Someone is fighting against the Hunter’s soldiers. And they’re vastly outnumbered.

“What should our next move be?” Soap crouches next to him, overlooking the battle.

Well, Ghost’s goal is to find a high ranking soldier, bring the intel on the antidote out of them (gently or violently depending on how cooperative the tosser will be), and find it. He’s working with limited time - who knows when his body will lose the fight against the poison and simply give up.

Soap however… Ghost still doesn’t understand why he’s here. All he knows is that the Sergeant seems to hate the Hunter’s soldiers about as much as he does.

He supposes it’s good enough for him.

“Need to capture a soldier.” Ghost murmurs, combing for stragglers.

Soap does the same, “shouldn’t we help whoever’s fighting ‘em?”

“Don’t think they’re gonna hold up for much longer…”

The Hunter’s soldiers swirl like a swarm around one house, flashes of rifle muzzles coming from opposite windows. The fighters are cornered. It’s only a matter of time before they get overwhelmed-

Soap Jumps over the wall they were hiding behind, and starts running at full speed towards the fight.

“Sergeant!” Ghost shouts after him, “where in the bloody hell do you think you’re going?!”

Soap doesn’t spare him a single glance, swinging his stolen rifle to aim at a few soldiers, “Price and Gaz are in that building! I cannae let them die!”

Ghost’s eyes widen. He looks over to the house again. The Hunter’s soldiers are closing in…

(Price would never leave him-)

(The Lieutenant was a hero-)

(You saved them, Simon. Why?-)

(No man left behind, except when the man is Simon Riley-)

(I can’t leave them to die!-)

Ghost heaves a breath, pulling out his pistol and taking point next to the Sergeant. Soap finally looks at him, face contorted in confusion.

“If we want to do this, we need to make the soldiers split up.” Ghost says, already calculating how many hostiles they’ll need to take down, “we don’t have much to work with, but they don’t know that.”

Soap nods, “divide and conquer, eh? Sounds good.” He scans the left of the house, “I’ll take that side, circle around that building and get into a higher position.”

“Copy, I’ll take right.” that side has more winding alleys, where Ghost can pick soldiers off one by one with his knives.

“Understood. What if ye-” Soap cuts himself off, and Ghost watches how he chews on his own lip.

“What is it, Soap?”

The Sergeant’s brows furrow, “nothin’, uh… good luck.”

Ghost doesn’t answer, Soap already leaving for his path.

(Simon asks himself, if it means Soap cares whether he lives or dies-)

He needs to focus. They don’t have the night to cover them anymore, pale blue skies leaving no shadows for men like him to melt into. Ghost takes a long way around the nearby buildings, until he finds a little group of soldiers.

He unsheathes a knife, long and serrated edge gleaming under the sun. In a flash, he yanks one soldier back, burying the knife in his throat, twisting and pulling it out. The man is dead before he hits the floor.

His squad mates only realize something is wrong when they turn to talk to him, finding the soldier in a growing puddle of bright red blood. Ghost is already changing angles, quickly walking around another soldier to pull them back and grant him the same fate.

Panic spreads through them, more and more joining the search for Ghost.

More and more victims for his ruthless blade.

When the number of hostiles dwindles, Ghost circles back to the house Price and Gaz were holed up in. He watches them from afar clearing the surroundings, before opening the front door and stepping out.

He can’t see Soap anywhere. Something pinches at his chest, and a wave of concern wrecks through him.

It makes sense, that he wouldn’t return to Ghost. He did technically kidnap him… surely he was waiting for a right moment to buck it.

Hopefully, he met up with Price. The Captain will insure his safety, in that Ghost doesn’t doubt.

(He’s dead, he left you, he’s captured, gone, lost, your fault, your fault-)

Ghost hears footsteps behind him, and in a blink grabs a rifle from his latest victim and points it at the source.

“Relax, jus’ me Ghost.” Soap raises his arms, mildly annoyed.

Ghost instantly lowers the gun, “why didn’t you leave?”

The Sergeant looks around, inspecting the carnage Ghost left behind, “for one, when I say we’re fighting together, I fuckin’ mean it.” he mutters the rest, “unlike someone ‘ere…”

Soap steps forward, and Ghost can see how his hands are absolutely covered in blood, “and… I’m still not done.”

“What do you mean?” Ghost asks, stare climbing up Soap’s bloodied forearms.

Soap’s voice lowers, “you’re after the Hunter, right? I want him dead.” If Ghost was a lesser man, he would tremble at Soap’s tone, “What they’re doing to this city, killing and destroying everything in their path, it needs to stop. And Ah know the only way to do tha’ is to take them out.”

Ghost wants to tell him he’s stupid, for sticking his nose in business that’s not his, for endangering himself like this, that it’s not his job, that he should turn his back. Injustice will always exist, and in the long run, this city won’t matter.

(But Simon’s heart beats faster, his eyes shine bright, and he wants to see Soap succeed)

(he wants to make sure he succeeds)

Soap snaps him out of his reverie, “ye said ye needed to capture a soldier?”

“Affirm. We need intel on the Hunter’s location.”

The Sergeant’s grin is sharp when he replies, “could always build a little trap from ‘em…”

Ghost huffs, his mouth stretching into an unfamiliar smile, “nobody would fall for that shite, Sergeant.”

Soap sputters, “ye did!”

“Yes, because I was broken.” Ghost starts walking out, knowing they won’t find any living soldiers on this side, “your needlessly complicated contraptions will be a waste of time to build. We just need to find one distracted wanker, grab him and tie ‘im up.”

Soap walks beside him, “good thing there’s plenty of feckers out here.” he grumbles sarcastically.

Ghost hears the quiet sound of someone sneaking in the alley in front of them, and it takes a great effort to suppress the urge to shoot when the person rounds the corner.

“Stop right there!”

Gaz stands in front of them, gun pointed at Ghost. He glares at him, jaw clenched.

“Gaz!” Soap calls, hands raised to calm him, “just wait-”

“John, come here. Don’t let him grab you again.” Gaz orders. Soap, to Ghost’s surprise, keeps his feet planted beside him.

(Simon, in his heart, knew the Sergeant would keep his word)

“No. Stop aiming at ‘im, and listen to me.”

Gaz’s rifle doesn’t stray from Ghost’s head, “John-”

“Kyle.” Soap snarls, “fuckin’ listen to me for a second mate!”

The SAS operator pauses, slowly lowering his guard, “what the fuck is going on?”

“Ah know it’s crazy-” Soap starts.

Gaz cuts him off, “it ought to be if you’re protecting the bloody Ghost!”

Soap continues, “But I need to stick with him fer now.”

Ghost watches Gaz’s eyes flicker between them, “if he’s threatening you brother-”

“He’s not doing shit to me, Gaz.” Soap growls, “I… I need to kill the Hunter. And Ghost is my only way to do that.”

Gaz’s brows furrow in sadness, “John… Didn’t your therapist tell you to stop chasing this- this adrenaline?”

Ghost wants to laugh. Soap isn’t doing it for the thrill, that much is pretty fucking obvious at this point. No, the Sergeant’s goal is far more noble than that. He considers pulling out a knife again, maybe make a show of threatening Soap to get Gaz off his back, but…

(Simon doesn’t think he can see the light shatter in Soap’s eyes as he’s being betrayed again-)

What Ghost forgot is, Soap and Gaz are friends, and the Sergeant is an honorable man.

“Ah can’t jus’ go back to Scotland and pretend this never happened! I have to stop it, Gaz.” He steps closer to the man, “please…”

Gaz shakes his head minutely, “if you die-”

“I’ll die a soldier, a fighter. For a good cause, trying to protect innocent people.” He stands in front of Gaz, “what better way is there to go?”

Gaz’s eyes soften, his grip on the rifle drops completely, “...I don’t want you to die.” he almost whispers.

Soap pulls him into a hug, holding onto his friend tightly, “I died the moment they discharged me. Here, I feel more alive than I have the past year.”

“You- why didn’t you tell me?”

Soap lets him go, still holding his shoulders, “what is there to tell?” he asks in a sad tone.

They’re quiet for a moment, before Gaz sighs, looking up at Ghost.

“If you hurt him, I’ll chase you to the end of the fuckin’ earth, and make you regret ever picking up a gun.” he barks at Ghost.

Ghost, for his part, doesn’t answer. His word will not be trusted either way.

(But Simon knows, he won’t be able to hurt Soap anymore-)

Gaz turns to talk to Soap again, “I don’t know if I’ll be able to bail you out after this, mate…”

Soap hums, “I understand. What about Price? Will ye be alright?”

“Don’t worry” Gaz smiles sadly, “I never saw you.”

As if on time, Gaz’s radio crackles, “Lieutenant, have you seen anything?”

Ghost’s heart jumps, as if the Captain is talking to him.

(As if things are still as they used to be-)

The Lieutenant presses the comms, “negative, whoever it was disappeared.”

“Copy, circle back to the house, we’ll keep looking.”

“Rog, out here.” Gaz clicks off his radio, and nods at Soap. “Good luck. Don’t you dare fuckin’ lose, Soap.”

The Sergeant smirks, “wouldn’t dream of it, Lieutenant.” he shoves Gaz playfully.

The Lieutenant laughs, “fuck off, Sergeant.” Gaz’s eyes shine suspiciously, and suddenly he drags Soap into another hug.

They exchange a few words Ghost can’t make out, and Gaz retreats, leaving to find his Captain. Soap continues to watch him until he turns a corner and vanishes from sight.

The Sergeant sighs, muttering to himself, “hope I don’t fuckin’ regret this…”

Ghost is sure he will.

(Simon hopes against hope he won’t)

[loveisfriendship]

Leaving Breadcrumbs behind [11/?]

Author’s Note: Hello all, after ages I have come back to writing. I feel like my brain fog is lifting slowly but surely. I have made some life changes, like working out more but also I stopped taking my contraception. And holy shit, my mind and my body are changing. I cannot describe it another way than my brain fog lifting. And suddenly there are words flying out of my fingers again.

And while rereading this story I have realized that I switched the perspective at some point without realizing :D But it feels more natural like this. And let’s not talk about time lapses and where everyone ends up and if its realistic. I am in too deep to make it right :D

I hope the tag list is still up to date and I haven’t missed anyone. If so, please send me message.

It feels good and relaxing to write again. And I am in desperate need of a hobby again.

Anyway…

Enjoy.

Love,

Lis

Previously….

“You stupid thing. What did you do?” he asks as he cups your face in his hands smiling at you and you immediately tear up.

“A lot. And it cost me a lot as well.” You cry, as he embraces you in his arms and you just cry.

You two stayed like that for a while. On the one side you are relieved that you have reached your brother and that he is alive. And he can walk, so he is not as bad in shape as you thought. On the other hand you cry even more about how you reached him in the first place.

He pulls back and cups your face in his hands again, wiping away the tears with his thumb.

“I can’t believe you are here.” He says and smiles at you. You smile back and also raise your hands to his head. You go through his hair and look into the eyes you have missed so much.

“I can’t believe you are alive.” You say, going over the beard that grew, indicating just how long he must be captured. But the mention of his being alive makes his face form a confused look.

“What do you mean alive?” he asks as he helps you stand up to your feet. You dust yourself off and take a look around the room. A small window and sand everywhere, but nothing else. Thick concrete walls surround you and a heavy and rusty metal door behind you. You focus on the person in front of you again and look him up and down. He still looks beaten and has aged a lot. He is thin and completely out of his SEAL shape. But he can stand and walk and talk and that is important.

“I thought you were dead. We all did. After we split on that mission… Even the Nacy pronounced you dead. We couldn’t find you, and believe me I tried everything I could. But there was no trace from you.” You say and send him a sad smile, suppressing the urge to cry again and fall in his arms. You need to focus. There will be enough time later to catch up…maybe.

“Really? That’s why I have been stuck all this time here?” he asks, realizing the impact of your words.

“Yes, I’m so sorry JJ. If I would have known you were still alive… I would have never stopped looking.” You answer, taking his hands into yours. He grabs them and looks at them.

“Were you married?” he asks, raising his eyebrows at you. You heart stops a beat at the word married.

“No…” you gulp, taking a deep, shaky breath. “But I was engaged until yesterday.” You whisper, looking at your hand and realizing what he saw…

The tan line where your ring used to be.

Back on Hawaii…

Whenever there is nothing to discuss and everyone is going after hints and trying to get information, all Steve does in look at the dot on the screen. The dot that resembles you. Somewhere deep in a jungle. Kono is scanning the area right now, trying to get pictures that are up to date. Joe is still trying to get someone from the Navy to HQ, getting more and more pissed and irritated. Chin, Danny and Lou left a while ago to check all relevant houses for more clues. Steve has a feeling though, that there is nothing more to find. What else could there be? He would love to be on his way there now, but the 48h are not over yet.

He took your engagement ring and put it on a necklace to wear. He wants to have it with him, to give it back to you, as soon as he can. All the clues you left and the fake death certificate are scattered on his desk. He can’t imagine, what you might be feeling, thinking that he is dead. Or maybe he can? He has basically lost you, too. Has not certainty if you survive and if he gets to you in time.

Steve is pulled out of his thoughts when his phone rings.

“McGarrett.”

“Steve, hi, here is Hawkeye.” Dr. Pierce answer.

“Hi Hawkeye, what can I do for you?” Steve asks, hoping there is anything helpful for your case.

“I remembered something. (Y/N) left me a password.”

“A password? For what?” Steve sits up straight in his chair.

“I don’t know. She just wrote down a word in her file. I have no idea what it is for.”

“What’s the word?”

“Waterloo.”

As Steve hears that word, there is slight twitch on his lips to a smile. Waterloo is an insider between the two of you. It’s not about the word or history, but actually about the song from ABBA. You always called Steve your waterloo.

“Thank you, Hawkeye.” Steve says softly,

“Do you know what it could be for?”

“No, but we will figure it out.”

“Okay, good luck then.” Hawkeye says and both say their goodbyes.

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[lillupon]

A and B are in two different gangs (maybe they are the leaders) and the hate each other. they hate each other so much they don’t even try to start shit with the other gang to avoid them. they hate each other so much, they don’t even try to kill each other or members from the other gang as to not waste their time. they hate each other so much, they don’t ever talk or think about the time they didn’t know who the other was and they hooked up and had possibly the best sex of their entire life… one day A gets injured and doesn’t know who to trust and where to go, so he ends up at B‘s doorstep…

B: what the hell are you doing here?

A: I need your help

B: why would I help you? can’t you go literally anywhere else? a hospital maybe?

A: do you really think I’d be here right now if there was anyone(/anywhere) else I could go to?

… obligatory ‘who did this to you?’ moment

It doesn't exaaaactly follow your prompt, but this is all my brain can come up with. I ended up stopping where I did because I dunt kno nothing bout first aid heh.

The doorbell rings, tugging Wonwoo out of his dreams. The chime echoes through his sleep-hazy mind. The bright note of the doorbell is incongruous against the deep silent of the night, as out of place and unsettling as hearing an ice cream truck at midnight. For a brief and confused moment, he wonders if he had imagined the sound.

It rings again, just once, reverberating through the walls of his house. Immediately, the cobwebs of sleep are banished from his brain. Between one blink and the next, he goes from half-dead to full alertness.

He's not expecting any visitors.

Wonwoo grabs his gun first--he keeps it in the drawer of his bedside table--and his glasses second. He unfolds his glasses and slips them on as he swings out of bed.

Keeping close to the walls, he pads into the main hallway. Doesn't bother to turn on the lights. His eyes strain into the darkness in search of movements or signs of a presence. Everything is as he left it--and Wonwoo knows, because he is nothing if not meticulous about the placement of his belongings--but it doesn't stop him from clicking the safety off his gun.

Blood pounds in his skull as he makes his way to the intercom. A dark and hooded figure is standing on his porch. The man's chin is tucked, hiding his face. For a wild heart beat, Wonwoo wonders if this man is here to kill him, but then the man reaches out with a hand to ring the doorbell again, and as he does so, he tips his head up towards the camera. Wonwoo catches sight of the man's face and even in the dim lighting, Wonwoo would recognise those features anywhere.

The tension leaves Wonwoo's body all at once. (It occurs to him that he shouldn't be so quick to lower his guard, but he pushes aside that quiet warning. If Mingyu wanted to kill him, Wonwoo had given him plenty of openings already; there have been times, just the two of them, when Wonwoo had been arguably more defenseless than he is now.) He blows out a sigh, releasing one hand from his gun to unlatch the chain and unlock his door.

"Mingyu. What do you want?" Wonwoo says in lieu of a greeting. His flat voice betrays nothing of the tangle of emotions running amok in his chest. There's relief, certainly, that no one is here to kill him. There's worry and anxiousness because Mingyu should not be here. But maybe there's a smidge of delight, too. Wonwoo is, perhaps, a tiny bit pleased to see Mingyu at his door.

Only a little, though.

"I was in the neighbourhood. Thought I'd drop by to say hi."

Except Mingyu is never 'just in the neighbourhood'; he's not stupid enough to encroach on the Jeon Family's turf. The only time they ever meet is if they want to blow off some steam, and that only happens on neutral grounds, except for that last time... "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Not wearing a watch and I lost my phone, so no."

Mingyu sounds different. His voice is strained, pulled taut, and he's breathing hard. Wonwoo's eyes flicker down, landing on Mingyu's waist.

Mingyu is clutching his midsection. Notcing Wonwoo's attention there, Mingyu pulls his hand away, revealing a palm that is slick with dark, red blood. "...Can I come in?"

"Jesus Christ," Wonwoo breathes out. He steps aside, allowing Mingyu to enter and then shutting the door behind him. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Got slashed," Mingyu grunts. He makes a beeline for the couch, groaning as he lowers himself down.

"So why the hell are you here instead of a hospital?"

"Wanted to see you before I died?"

"Don't be fucking stupid." Wonwoo kneels down on the floor before Mingyu, slapping the other's hand aside. "Move your hand. Let me see."

Gingerly, Wonwoo lifts aside Mingyu's hoodie and shirt, both of which are soaked through with blood. The fabric clings to the wound, drawing a pained hiss out of Mingyu.

Wonwoo sucks in a breath through his teeth at the sight of the bleeding gash in Mingyu's side. It's oozing, deep enough that Wonwoo can see the pink insides. He covers it up again, applying pressure. He's no stranger to blood and injuries and death, but it has his stomach bottoming out to see it inflicted on Mingyu. "Mingyu, you really should go to the hospital."

"And deal with the fallout? Nah, think I'll pass."

"Even if you don't want to go to the hospital, don't you have a doctor that you can call?

Mingyu is silent for a moment before saying, "Things are weird right now, alright? I just... I trust you, okay? Just clean me up and sew me up. I'll be good."