#startin off simple

[tikurrdurr]

maxneil week day 1: wingman nikki

🤨🏳️‍🌈❓

[tobeholyistobeempty]

hey so since i’m in the season of ovulation here is degrading simon riley feeding my size kink. i’m not ok send regrets. 18+

“beggin little whore f’me. not so smart now that i’ve got your brain leakin outta your cunt.”

——-

yeah. you’ve pushed it. simple as that.

and god, you knew better. you really did. but some might say you’re a sucker for punishment. others might say you’re a masochist.

you think it’s probably a bit of both, when it comes to simon.

maybe it’s because he’s a big mean brute. emotionless. big ol wall of mass and muscle. tough bloke like him don’t feel a thing, yeah? at least in your mind. makes it easy to needle - easy to poke and prod and toss little jabs about his eyes or mask or whatever slivered sign of life he might be displaying that day.

he’s contractually obligated not to kill you, might you add. that brings a level of safety you got comfortable with.

but what you didn’t get comfortable with — what you couldn’t possibly ever get comfortable with, is the size of him in your fucking guts. the growl of him in your ear. the clutch of him around your throat.

even big dead-eyed men like simon have a limit. and by the grace of god, you’d found it. the bottom of this particular mine shaft, if you will—

“y’alright down there?” his voice is slick. fuckin slick with glee. a first for him, you’re sure. “still with me, sweet’eart?”

you can practically feel the smirk barring those teeth to your neck. you try to toss something smart assed back, something to keep it goin, but he’s got your wrists pinned behind your back and his cock stretchin your walls in a way that screams he shouldn’t even be able to fit — yet you’re clenching around him like you’d die without it.

all that comes outta you is a moan.

and he laughs. bastard. fuckin filthy rasp right against your ear. “tha’s what i thought. mm. s’what i fucken wanted.”

your eyes roll. he’s so deep your hips hurt. he presses a palm between your shoulder blades to pin you harder to the floor of his barracks. all that pent up aggressions got you leakin down your thighs. pathetic. humiliating. delicious.

“tha’s it. fucken stunned now, yeah?” he thrusts deeper. free hand smacking your ass til it stings. “always mouthin off. startin shit—fuck—y’knew what this was. you’ve always known what’d it take t’shut you up.”

you hiccup when he hits your gspot. over and over. so goddamn good it hurts. “fuck—fuck you—“

“yeah. y’are.” his hips jerk, hissing against the back of your neck. “feelin every inch of me, aren’t you? go on. fuckin tell me how i feel. wanna hear y’say it.”

you bite your tongue. squeeze your eyes shut. he fucks deeper. harder.

“say it.” another smack to your ass.

“big—“ you gasp, choking on it. “fucking—huge—“

he growls like you’ve fed him. “tha’s right. eight inches buried so deep in your tight little cunt y’forgot how to lie.”

youve never heard him talk like this and all you can do is whimper - the airs gone thin. every inhale is like sandpaper scratching at your throat. every thrust is like being punched open. and when every sound you make comes out as something pathetic you know you’ve lost.

you twist your head to try and adjust for reprieve but he fists your hair to still you. “y’wanna tell me again you can’t take it? huh? wanna tell me m’too big?”

he is. he totally is. but it’s delicious pain. makes your eyes water and your walls flutter. something about you can’t help but egg him on.

“s-shut up—“

he slams forward. breath cuts sharp against your neck. “wrong answer.”

you jolt. cry out. the heat is a wildfire across your skin. “s-si-mon—“

“try again.” he breathes, curling his fingers from your hair to your jaw. “or i’ll just keep pushin till y’feel it in your fuckin spine.”

he makes good on the promise with a bruising thrust. you wail with it. vision blurring blue. “fuck! fuck i wanted this—but you’re so—you’re too—fuck please—“

and it’s that last little word. the syllables that slip past your teeth presenting pleas on a silver platter, that make him moan. fucking moan.

“oh yeah. shit. now we’re gettin somewhere.” he exhales with it, shifting just to drag at your walls and angle deeper. “beggin little whore f’me. not so smart now that i’ve got your brain leakin outta your cunt.”

you long to tell him to shut up, fuck off, goto hell — any other circumstances you might have. but the first fuck with simon riley after months of pushing and prodding ain’t one to be won. you’ll be lucky to walk tomorrow. the monster can only be poked so many times before it wakes with vengeance.

[squinch-depraved]

Giggly sex? Maybe with schlatt?

yayaya combining this with another ask from @manticore-fangs because i thought they'd go well together hope you two don't mind sharing :3 starts sweet and ends spicy teehee

schlatt kissed your temple as you smiled, the echo of your laughter fading away and leaving you two in what would be silence if it weren't for your favorite cartoon playing quietly on the tv. the two of you had had a fantastic day together, leaving you giddy and nearly drunk off his touch. he loved when he got to spend this much time with you, you were both busy people so it was rare you both had a full free day line up, but here you were.

he joked, quipping lines timed perfectly to elicit laughs from you, and kissed you all over until you were giggling uncontrollably. schlatt loved your laugh, it always cheered him up and he never felt like a joke or bit was successful until he heard your distinctive snort, followed by your maniacal cackle.

but tonight, you were soft for him. putty in his hands, only giggles, none of your usual shrieking or howling. he kept trying to make you break, poking and prodding you at an increasingly rough pace before transitioning into tickling you. a grin broke out on his face when you finally cracked. your frantic, hiccuping laugh as you begged him to stop drew out his own crazed cackle, and he ceased tickling you.

"finally, doll," he chuckled after you had both caught your breath. "just wanted to hear your real laugh."

"it's always my real laugh," you replied, smiling as you swatted at him playfully.

"no, i know, it's just.. i like that laugh. the one that makes you sound insane. i have to earn it, but you always sound so happy." he stares down at you, positioned in between your legs from how he was laying on your chest earlier in the evening.

your face flushed when he slid his hand up your bare thigh under your dress. the two of you had worn relatively comfortable clothes for your date, and he had specifically requested you wear a simple dress so he could access you with ease. once his hand reached your panties, he hooked one finger into their waistband and pulled them off you in one swift motion. pussy laid bare to him, his eyes left your face and watched as his fingers swiped over your wet slit.

"ohh, god, j," you laughed nervously when he began tracing figure eights into your clit. "you make me so dizzy..."

he looked down at you lovingly. "i know, toots. keep makin' those pretty noises for me, huh? love to hear you all stupid just from my touch."

you giggled, spreading your legs wider. "in me, j," you asked through moans. he obliged and inserted his middle finger, pumping it into you and curling it to make you cry out more.

"not enough," you protested after a bit. "need your cock." you grabbed at his lower half and giggled once more when you noticed him gawking at you. "what??"

he shook his head as if coming out of a daze and pushed you back down before standing up to strip all his clothes off. you mirrored him, slipping your dress up and over your head along with your bra. when you laid back down and eagerly looked up at him, legs spread as if displaying yourself for his pleasure, he pumped his shaft in his hand a few times before climbing on top of you and slotting your legs over his shoulders.

"oh- oh! is this how we're doing it tonight?" you laughed again, unsure of what your boyfriend wanted. "just gonna bend me 'til i break?" you said it with a loving smile, but he snickered and made piercing eye contact.

"that's the plan, doll," he said with unsettling confidence. "this is me startin' out nice." with that, he pushed himself into you, inch after delicious inch filling your hole. you whined after a moment of stillness, having adjusted to his size, and he began pounding you. the sound of skin slapping was accompanied by lewd moans and grunts, overshadowing the intro to yet another episode of the long-forgotten cartoon.

you yelped and giggled when he smacked your ass and bent you even further back. "feels really good, baby," you cooed, oblivious to the fact that you were only halfway into the position he was aiming for.

"i know," he assured you, letting you enjoy it a moment longer before fully shifting to be on top, moving your legs, pinning you down, and drilling his hips down into you.

you screeched, dug your freshly done nails that he had picked out into his back, and rambled incoherently about how good he was fucking you. the weight of him holding you down like this rendered you defenseless as he impaled you again and again on his thick cock, and he had a perfect view of your face tearing up. you were still laughing somehow, high off the infinite pleasure he was giving you, except now you weren't in control of it at all. giggling as you sobbed from your approaching orgasm, you tried your best to communicate you were going to cum but if he understood, schlatt didn't say anything.

he only reacted with a, "jesus," when you squirted all over him, making a mess on his expensive couch. you were still laughing, voice shaky and lustful as he continued to jackhammer you.

"pl- aaah! please, j! 's too good!" you wept.

"what the fuck did i do to you to make you cry like this?" he spat down at you. "my dick just that good? huh?" his hips were speeding up and he dug his nails into your skin, determined to leave some kind of mark.

"y-yes, baby, so good!" you wailed.

he growled and continued chasing his high, mumbling a, "close!" before his hips stuttered and he thrust down into you far more forcefully than he had all night. he continued to fuck you, staring down at the pearly white liquid coating his shaft after it pumped in and out, and finally pulled away when you tapped his arm tiredly.

schlatt flopped onto another couch cushion, waving his hand when you went to get up in an attempt to prevent his seed from spilling out of you and onto the couch. "you already squirted all over it, i have to get it cleaned anyway. stay comfy," he said. "ya fuckin' whore."

[rafesteddy]

𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮𝔂𝓼𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓫𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓼

𝙽𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝙻𝚒𝚜𝚝 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕊𝕚𝕩𝕥𝕖𝕖𝕟: 𝔽𝕝𝕪𝕓𝕠𝕪

𝚃𝚘𝚙𝙶𝚞𝚗!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙱𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚊!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

warnings: angst, pet names, swearing

📖 This is based on a prompt from bloodibambiidoll. Thank you for thinking of me, baby! TopGun!Rafe x Ballerina!Reader have been dating for years. Rafe is stationed across the country on the West Coast, and the reader has landed her dream role in the New York City Ballet, playing The Rose Queen in The Nutcracker on the East Coast. A running joke between the two is Rafe asking the reader if she’s ready to get married yet… that joke is starting not to feel like such a joke anymore. The reader isn't ready to give up her dream.

Rafe’s POV:

I catch my reflection in the truck's rearview mirror as I pull into the base parking lot. My flight suit is still on from morning drills. Captain Rafe Cameron staring back at me in neat letters above my heart.

Split-second decisions in a fighter jet… Fuck it. That shit’s simple, but with her, I just can’t seem to get it right. I don’t even know if I’m brave enough to keep pushing the issue because the more I push, the farther she slips away.

I want her here with me… I don’t want to give her an ultimatum because I know that if I do, there’s a chance that she won’t choose me.

And I don’t blame her.

I didn’t get into the military because I loved it… I got into the military because I had to, and I started to love it along the way. She has always loved ballet.

I toss my keys to my desk, quickly pulling up my laptop for our nightly chat. She catches me while I’m making dinner; I see her while she snuggles up in bed.

Her smile brightens as she sees me on the screen, making my stomach flutter. "Hey, Captain," she breathes, her voice light and sweet. "How's my favorite flyboy?"

I rub my hands across my smile, feeling those thoughts that were plaguing me before fading away just seeing her pretty face. “Busy…” I hum. “Thinkin’ about you as always.”

She giggles and bites her lip, feeling that feeling too. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you too,” I assure.

“I miss you,” she pouts through a gentle smile.

I throw my gaze away, nodding as I take in her words. “Well, you know. We could make it easier if we wanted to,” I answer simply. I watch her features change, my tone colder than I intended, I am sure, but it was hard to push down how I was feeling. I swallow thickly, waiting for the repercussions of my words, but she rolls her eyes away and looks toward the door.

“Don’t start, Rafe,” she whispers weakly.

"I'm not startin’ anything," I mumble, but I know that's a lie. "I'm just sayin’ it wouldn't be so bad here. It's warm. It's quiet. There’s a ballet company here too-“

“Rafe,” she cuts me off, her voice sharper than I’ve ever heard before, making the hair on the back of my neck stand straight.

“M’sorry. I am sorry,” I respond quickly and submissively, hoping for grace as I anxiously run my fingers through my hair. "Forget it, please. I’m sorry, princess.”

The tension between us settles. She knows me… She knows It’s coming from a place of love, but her patience with me is wearing thinner by the day.

The New York City Ballet isn't just a job—it's her dream. The Nutcracker is a ballet she's danced a dozen times since she was a little girl, but here she is, getting to do it on one of the biggest stages in the world. And here I am, selfishly asking her to walk away from it all.

But then again, I have dreams too… I have orders, and unlike most men, I can’t just get up and walk away. I have dreams outside of this as well... And they’re all about her.

We never hang up on bad terms… but this conversation feels different. There’s a weight on my chest I just can’t lift.

The next couple of days pass by like a daze, a blur of drills and paperwork, but this aching feeling that I was going to lose her was tearing at my heart.

And then it happens, four days before Christmas…

"I don't see why you need to bring this up anymore, Rafe,” she snaps, her voice laced with tears, cracking on the other end of the line.

“Because I’m lonely, alright? I’m tired of being alone,” I yell back. “I’m tired of seeing you a few days every few months when you have the time. I want to be just as much a priority to you as you are to me. Do you know how embarrassing it is to talk about the future and you shoot me down each time? Don’t you understand how hard it is for me to keep askin’ you to marry me, and you treat it like a joke?”

“You’re not being serious when you say that, Rafe,” she scoffs.

“The first, second, and third time… I was serious, but yeah, I supposed after hintin’ at it for the hundredth fuckin’ time it feels like satire to you,” I sneer.

The other end of the line goes silent, and at that moment, I know I lost her. I shut my eyes tightly, feeling the tears roll down my cheeks, picturing her looking the same way.

"That's not fair, Rafe," she whimpers.

"I feel the same way.”

And then the line goes dead…

I told myself to give her space, but it was torture. I kept staring at my phone, pulling up her number, begging her to call me. She didn't… And I didn't, because I was too ashamed of what I said.

The guilt was crushing. I could still hear the damage in her voice, the sharp silence that followed my cruel words. I'd said she didn't care as much as I did, but that was a lie. Of course she fuckin’ cared. She taught me what that meant. I didn't know what it meant to be cared for. I wasn't strong enough. It wasn't her fault. It was mine.

I lay awake, staring at the darkness of my room— my mind, replaying memories of her laugh, her smile, the sweet names she called. I missed everything about her: her voice, her eyes, even the little huffs and sighs she'd give when I teased her too much. She was the best part of my day, whether she called right after her rehearsals or when I watched her drift to sleep.

I kept thinkin’ about all the times I’d joked about marrying her, the way she’d laugh and roll her eyes, saying, “Not yet, Rafe.” That “not yet” wasn’t just about me—it was about her, about the life she’d fought so hard to build. Just last week, she had called me, nearly bursting with excitement after the review in the New York Times praising her for her performance in the Rose Adagio. Raving about her strength and form in the series of promenades in attitude. Her joy had been infectious, and I couldn't stop smiling as I listened to her gush about upcoming shows. I couldn't help but brag about her the next day to my co-pilot like he gave a shit—like I knew more about ballet than what left her perfect lips.

I want to share my life with her outside of our jobs. I want to belong to her, be there for her when she gets home, and when she wakes up.

I need her.

The theatre is packed, not an empty seat in the house. I clutch a bouquet of roses in my hand as I make my way to the middle seats. I stare up at the stage, unbuttoning my white service dress, hoping to see a glimpse of her.

The house lights dim within moments— my split-second decision to fly across the country for the Christmas Eve show leaves me only minutes to get my feet under me.

The orchestra strikes its first note, making me straighten up in my seat. “The Minature Overture” into “The Decoration of the Christmas Tree”—I smile to myself as I recall the many nights she played the music for me, telling me the little intricacies they were having with that variation as she sat behind the computer scene. And then I heard it… “The Waltz of the Flowers,” her song.

Any troubles she told me about all those nights she was rubbing the pain out of her feet or bandaging her toes up after practicing on end were null. There was no falter. Sheer perfection— she always has been.

Her movements are smooth and polished, making tears rise in my eyes. It took me this long—it took a fight for me to come out here and see what I needed to. Each leap, turn, and gesture was a love letter to the one thing she was willing to risk it all for. Every step was met with precision and grace, making effort look completely effortless. It was the perfect combination of physical strength and softness.

A little girl leans into me, trying to get a better look at the stage as she looks through the crowd, clutching her Clara doll. I can't help but imagine my girl at that age doing the same thing. Looking up at the stage with those same wide-eyes, dreaming of herself dancing in their shoes when she grew up, and now look where she is… living it.

By the time the curtain falls, I’m not just in love with her… I’m in awe.

I step into the promenade, clutching the bouquet in my fist for dear life as the lobby fills with post-performance conversation.

I stand by where I was told she’d be… an autograph table—signing little silk ballet slipper ornaments, with a long line of little girls waiting for her to arrive.

"Rafe," she gasps, and I can hear the surprise and excitement in her voice.

"Hey, pretty girl," I drawl as I step forward. To my surprise, she buries herself in my arms, her muscles softening by the second. She breathes gently against my chest, her head pressed against my heart.

I bite my lips and look up to the ceiling, trying to keep the tears in my eyes before looking down at her again, pressing a kiss on her head.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” she says softly, and a wave of guilt rolls over me as I hear in her voice just how much that thought hurt her and how much she wanted me here.

She steps away, and I extend the roses toward her. "I wouldn’t miss this for the world, baby,” I whisper.

After we both stroll silently back to her apartment; the city lights glowing softly, making the falling snow look like glitter in the sky. She holds my hand tight, wrapping her other hand around my arm, tilting her head on me, and for the first time in days, I feel like I can take a full breath.

"Sweetheart,” I whisper, my voice weak and hoarse with emotion. She looks up at me, lips drawing to the side, already knowing what I’ll say, but she deserves to hear it. “I'm sorry," I say finally, speaking the words I should have said days ago.

“I’m sorry too,” she breathes, and I can hear the tears in her voice.

I stop and turn toward her, taking both her hands in mine. Leaning in, pressing my lips against her forehead, lingering while I listen to hear measured breaths and the city bustles around us.

“You’re amazing, you know that,” I hum.

She takes in my words, a gentle smile spreading on her lips. “Thank you, baby,” she whispers.

“I’m sorry I tried to take that away from you…”

“You’re alright… You just want us to be together, Rafe.”

"I do, baby— I do wanna be with you…”

I step a little closer, and she rests her head against me like before. My arms wrap around her waist and I know I made the right choice.

I've been thinkin’," I say. "In a few months, I’m getting my promotion… There are some jobs on the East Coast, but there’s this one ROTC spot at NYU that really caught my eye.”

“Really,” she asks weakly, not even holding her tears back anymore.

"Mhmm…” I hum. “I'm done askin’ you to give up your dreams, baby. If you wait a little longer, I'll come to you. Alright?”

She throws her arms around me, and I lift her off her feet, holding her close. “I love you, baby,” she whimpers, her voice muffled against my skin as her tears wet my neck—hitting the cold, winter wind.

“I love you too.”

"You haven't asked me today, Rafe," she says as she presses her chilly nose against my cheek.

“What, baby?” I laugh lightly, feeding off her joy.

“To marry you,” she whispers, and my heart flutters in my chest.

"Are you finally ready to say ‘yes’?" I whisper back.

“Yes… Of course, I am.”

I set her down on her feet and smile as I reach into my breast pocket, pulling out my mom’s ring. Her eyes widen on mine as she hides her smile with her wool mitten, those same tears sparkling on her waterline.

“Will you marry me, princess?”

[sassycheesecake]

"Hello everyone, I’m going ta do a -" The young Miya chef starts to speak into a video camera, his black shirt carrying his restaurant logo over his right pec muscle. His black messy hair looks like he just rolled out of bed ten minutes ago, which he secretly did because Atsumu has shown up at seven in the goddamn morning to remind Osamu of the bet that the younger twin has lost only a month ago.

The Miya twins challenged each other to do the Chubby Bunny challenge and when Osamu was about to win, you came running into the living room in just a towel because you saw a cockroach on the bathroom wall and didn't know that Atsumu came over while you were in the shower. The chef almost choked on the marshmallows when he saw you in a single towel, causing Atsumu to shriek in victory with his mouth full of marshmallows as well. In the end, you had to do the Heimlich manoeuvre on both of them.

Since it’s off-season for the professional volleyball player, he has nothing better to do than bother his younger brother and Osamu‘s pretty partner on a regular Saturday morning.

"You’re not even going to introduce yourself?" You interrupt him with a little laugh behind the counter with the video camera, where you are seated next to Atsumu so you can film your boyfriend.

"I’m Osamu Miya and today-" The ravenette starts again.

"Ya forgot ta mention the great Atsumu Miya's twin brother-" Atsumu adds cheekily, interrupting him yet again.

Osamu can’t stop the highly aggravated sigh escaping from him, and he sends his brother a death glare behind the camera.

“ANYWAY- I am going ta show ya’ll how ta make a simple deep fired shrimp onigiri. Joinin' me today is my beautiful assistant an' partner-in-crime, (Y/N)." The grey-eyed twin looks behind the camera where you are seated.

You look up with a surprised face, clearly not expecting to be helping your boyfriend.

Scooching off the bar stool in front of the counter, you hop down and make your way with slow steps to Osamu who watches you with adoration and fondness in his gray eyes.

"What’s the first step?" You ask excited, almost hopping up and down like an excited puppy.

Osamu gives you one of his rare breathtaking smiles, feeling his heart speed up by the happiness on your face.

"Well first, we need ta make sure we got all the ingredients for makin' this." The black-haired chef explains while the camera zooms out a bit and the viewer is able to see the laid out ingredients for making the dish.

Osamu points to each ingredient, explaining what it is, what you need it for and how much you need of it.

"Looks like we got everythin'. Ya ready?" Osamu leans on the counter as he watches you with a grin.

"Yes, chef." You giggle and roll up your sleeves on your hoodie.

You can hear Atsumu gag behind the camera as he hears your flirting.

"Alright. First, yer gonna crack an egg in a bowl an' whisk it, afterwards yer gonna add the flour an' the cold water. Mix all together. Add some spices so it’s not completely flavorless. Ya followin' so far?" Osamu raises his dark eyebrow as he asks you.

You do as he says, nodding in confirmation.

"Good. Now yer gonna put that off ta the side an' grab the other bowl with the flour innit an' put the shrimp in there."

Grabbing the already peeled shrimp out of the fridge, you dump them in the flour and mix it together, making sure that there are no bare parts left on the shrimp.

"Now what?"

"Now yer gonna dip the shrimp in da batter, hold it by its tail and then dunk it a few times in there. I already prepared da fryin' oil pot but I don’t wantcha ta hurt yerself so please let me do the fryin'." Osamu looks at you with his stunning ash-grey eyes and every time he looks at you with those eyes, it makes you weak in the knees, so all you do is stare at him with big eyes and nod your head.

The chef chuckles at your reaction and those chuckles send shivers down your spine.

"(Y/N), yer startin' ta drool over mah brother. Try ta tame yer thoughts please, I can hear them from here." Atsumu teases you with a mischievous grin.

Feeling your face heat up a thousand degrees, you watch as your boyfriend skillfully puts the shrimp in the frying pot, turning them over occasionally because taking them out to put them on a drying tray.

"Leave mah girl outta this. She just knows that I am a lot hotter than you." Osamu explains as he finishes the last bit of frying the shrimp.

"Yannow, if I'd known ya would be disgustin' like this, I would have stayed at home." Atsumu scrunches up his face.

"Door's right over there." Osamu mentions his head towards his front door, clearly not bothered and more than happy to have some alone time with you.

Atsumu pouts and slumps over the counter.

"(Y/N) do something. Yer ass of a boyfriend wants to kick me out." The Setter looks at you for help, giving you those brown puppy eyes.

Curse twins and their equally good looks.

"We still need Atsumu for making the video. And he can clean up afterwards since we are both cooking." You grin up at the younger twin.

"I ain’t cleanin' shit."

"He’s not gettin' anywhere near my damn kitchen."

The twins say in sync.

You laugh at their words, setting the already cooked sticky rice on the counter next to the shrimp, along with the seaweed strips, salt, water and boiled sauce for dipping the cooked shrimp in, before putting it into the rice onigiri.

The restaurant owner shows you how it’s done step by step, being slow with his movements, so you know how it’s done.

During the trying to copy his movements, the blonde excused himself to use the restroom and Osamu uses the chance to get closer to you.

He stands behind you, putting his giant hand over yours to help you shape the onigiri. He does it on a daily basis and you’re so happy that you are his and he is yours only.

"Try doin' it yerself." The dark-haired man whispers in your ear, sending shivers all over your body and getting goosebumps by his dark voice.

You feel his strong heartbeat against your back and your breathing picks up a bit. Leaning his head next to yours on your shoulder, you feel his smile against your cheek as he watches you try to shape the next onigiri by yourself.

Holding the somewhat triangular-shaped onigiri (it’s more heart shaped actually), you present it to him with an unsure look.

All of sudden, Osamu took a large bite out of it, getting some rice on his lips, shocking you a little bit even though you should have seen this coming, this is Osamu Miya after all.

Humming in bliss, your lover swallows the food before giving you a flirtatious look, turning you around so you’re standing face-to-face.

"Compliments to the chef."

Smiling in delight, the ravenette places a smooth and loving kiss onto your lips, pulling you closer to his body.

You forget the world around you, it’s just you and Osamu. And nothing else matters.

[tinyshyteacup]

Tw: cussing, firearms, tension

Part 18

Scotch and Screams - Part 19

The tension from the chapel meeting still clung to Chibs like a second skin. His fingers twitched slightly as he fished a cigarette from his kutte, but instead of lighting it, he just rolled it between his fingers, lost in thought.

Lockdown was happening, no way around it, but that meant making sure you were safe.

Gemma was already covered—Juice was picking her up. That meant Juice could grab you, too.

Easy. Simple.

Except nothing was fucking simple anymore.

Chibs found Juice in the lot, crouched next to his bike, tightening something near the handlebars. The younger man glanced up as Chibs approached, wiping his hands on a rag.

"Need a favor, lad," Chibs said, voice even, but with that underlying steel that meant it wasn’t really a request.

Juice arched a brow. "Yeah?"

"Yer already pickin’ up Gemma. I need ye to pick up my girl, too."

Juice froze.

For a second, it was like the words didn’t compute. Then—slowly—a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"So, she’s your girl now?"

Chibs scowled. "Yer hearin’ shite, Juicy. Just do what I fuckin ’ asked."

Juice let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Does she know that though?"

Chibs stiffened.

Juice saw it—felt it—because his smirk widened. "Yeah, that’s what I thought."

Chibs exhaled sharply through his nose, glancing off to the side before rubbing a hand down his face.

"That’s not the fuckin’ point,"* he muttered.

Juice grinned, clearly enjoying this more than he should. "Nah, I think that’s exactly the point. If she don’t know, then you can't —"

"Juice," Chibs cut him off, voice low, warning. "Yer startin’ tae sound like ye want a broken fucking nose, lad."

Juice held up his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, hey, just sayin’. Maybe you should tell her before you start makin’ claims on her, yeah?"

Chibs shot him a flat look. "Ye done?"

"Depends. You gonna admit I’m right?"

Chibs scoffed, shaking his head as he turned away.

"Just get her here, Juice."

Juice let out another chuckle, but didn’t argue. "Yeah, yeah, I got it."

As Chibs walked off, his jaw stayed tight, mind running in circles.

The weight of the last few hours pressed into Chibs’ shoulders like a lead vest. Too much was happening at once—Gemma’s truth, the League’s threat, you being dragged into this mess without knowing how deep it ran. He hated it. Hated that your name had even come up in the same fucking breath as Zobelle.

That’s why he had to get you out of harm’s way.

He’d sent Juice.

He trusted Juice.

Didn’t mean he wasn’t still fucking tense about it.

You sat at Gemma’s kitchen table, fingers wrapped around a cup of coffee that had gone cold, watching as Gemma moved around the room with practiced ease, but something about her felt… off. Stiff. Still not her usual self. You didn’t know if it was because of the car accident or something else, but you didn’t ask.

Then, her phone rang.

Her movements stilled, eyes flicking to the screen before she exhaled sharply and answered with a clipped, "Yeah?"

You weren’t trying to eavesdrop, but the moment she spoke, something inside you needed to listen.

Whatever Clay was saying on the other end had her rubbing her forehead. "Shit," she muttered under her breath, glancing at you for the briefest second before turning away. "Alright. I’ll get her packed up. Yeah—yeah, I got it."

Her voice didn’t change much—still sharp, still steady—but you noticed the slight shift in her tone, the undercurrent of something else lurking beneath it.

She hung up and turned back to you, lips pressing into a thin line. "Time to move, sweetheart."

You frowned. "Move?"

"Lockdown," she said simply, like it was as normal as running to the store.

It didn’t feel normal.

You straightened slightly. "Lockdown for what?"

"Because my old man said so," she replied, reaching for her pack of cigarettes. "Which means your biker said so too."

That made you pause. "He’s not—"

Gemma gave you a look, the kind that shut you up before you could finish the sentence. "Juice is coming to pick us up. Pack a bag."

"Pack a—" You blinked. "Gemma, what the hell is going on?"

She exhaled slowly, lighting a cigarette and taking a deep drag before answering.

"It means we stick close to the club until Clay and Jax figure out how bad this shit is."

That didn’t make you feel any better. "How bad what is?"

Her expression darkened. "Don’t do that," she said. "Don’t sit there and ask me to hold your hand through this. You wanna know the details? Ask Chibs when this is all over. Until then, you do what he tells you."

You swallowed. "And what if I don’t want to?"

She gave you a sharp, knowing smile, tilting her head slightly. "Then I guess you’re not as smart as I thought you were."

You weren’t sure what scared you more—what she was saying or what she wasn’t.

You pushed your chair back, moving to pack your things, but the unease in your chest only got heavier.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been sitting in Gemma’s living room, hands wrapped around a cooling cup of coffee, but when you caught the sound, your stomach twisted with unease.

Gemma peeked through the window, taking a drag from her cigarette. "That’s our ride," she muttered, blowing the smoke out through her nose before turning to you. "Come on, sweetheart."

You hesitated for half a second before forcing yourself to stand. Your legs felt heavier than they should have, like the uncertainty of the situation was sinking into your bones.

Gemma didn’t give you much room to dwell. "Bag," she said, nodding toward the duffel you’d packed.

You grabbed it and followed her out onto the porch just as Juice hopped down from the driver’s seat of the black van.

"Ladies," he greeted with his usual boyish grin, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time. His gaze flicked to you, taking in the tension in your posture. "You ready?"

"You see a bag in my hands, sweetheart?" Gemma shot back, arching a brow.

Juice let out a quick chuckle, rubbing the back of his head. "Guess so."

He turned to you. "What about you?"

Your grip tightened on the strap of your bag. "Not really."

Juice huffed a laugh. "Yeah. Figured."

Still, you followed him to the van, climbing into the passenger side as he slid into the driver’s seat.

Gemma, naturally, took the back, stretching out across the bench seat like she owned the place.

The doors slammed shut. The van rumbled to life.

The first few minutes of the drive were quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that settled into your chest like a stone.

You stared out the window, fingers curling into the fabric of your jeans.

"So…" Juice started, dragging the word out. "You, uh, doing okay?"

You swallowed giving your head a small shake.

Juice made a face like he wasn’t sure what to do with that. "Yeah. Figured."

You huffed, shaking your head. "You keep saying that."

"Well, it keeps being true," he pointed out, drumming his fingers against the wheel. "It’s just… a lot, right?"

You scoffed. "Understatement of the year."

"Yeah…"

Silence again. The van rattled over a pothole.

"You ever been on lockdown before?" Juice asked, casting you a quick glance.

You frowned. "No?"

"Right. Yeah. I mean, obviously," he muttered, scratching the back of his head. "Just—look, it’s not that bad, alright? It just means nobody goes anywhere unless Clay says so."

"Why?" you asked, voice quieter than before.

Juice hesitated. "Because it’s safer."

That wasn’t an answer.

Your fingers curled tighter in your lap. "Safer from what?"

Juice let out a slow breath, gripping the wheel a little tighter. "You ask a lot of questions."

"Yeah, well, I’ve been left in the dark a lot lately," you muttered.

Juice winced. There was a long pause before Juice spoke again. "Look, all you gotta know is that Chibs ... he's good at handling shit, alright?"

Your chest ached. "And what if he can’t?"

Juice’s grip on the wheel twitched. "Then SAMCRO will."

That should have made you feel better. It didn’t.

You turned your gaze back to the window, watching the road blur past.

Juice sighed. "Look, I know this shit is scary, alright? But you’re not alone in it."

You swallowed hard. "I don’t even know what ‘this shit’ is."

Juice rubbed a hand down his face. "It’s just… club business, alright? Shit’s complicated."

"Everything with you guys is complicated," you muttered.

Juice gave a short laugh. "Yeah, no shit."

The van rumbled on.

The clubhouse was alive with movement, but it wasn’t the usual rowdy SAMCRO atmosphere you’d come to recognize. No drinking, no loud music, no casual conversations over beer and cigarettes.

Instead, it was families.

Women, kids, old ladies, and prospects moving with quiet urgency, carrying bags, stacking supplies, setting up cots.

The air was heavy with tension, but beneath it was a strong sense of unity—everyone had a role, and they all knew what to do.

You didn’t.

You hesitated near the doorway, Gemma striding forward like she belonged here. Because she did.

You were still trying to figure out if you did.

"Holy shit…" you breathed, taking in the scene.

A little girl clung to her mother’s leg, eyes wide as she watched everything unfold.

Across the room, Happy was setting up a makeshift sleeping area near the bar, his usual scowl deepened by something heavier than irritation.

Tig was helping one of the women stack canned goods near the kitchen. Even Bobby was busy moving boxes of supplies.

It wasn’t just bikers—it was families.

That was what made your stomach twist.

"This… this is serious, huh?" you asked, voice quieter now.

Gemma shot you a look. "You think we’d pull the kids in for shits and giggles?"

You swallowed. "No, I just… I didn’t know what to expect."

Gemma exhaled sharply, then gave you a once-over. "You wanna help, or you wanna stand there lookin’ lost?"

Your spine straightened. "Help. What can I do?"

A small smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth—approval, or maybe just mild amusement.

Either way, she jerked her head toward the back rooms. "Go with Tara—she’s gettin’ the medical sht together. You can help set up."

You nodded and moved, pushing away the gnawing feeling in your stomach as you got to work.

The back room smelled faintly of antiseptic, the sharp tang of alcohol wipes mixing with the scent of old wood and leather.

It wasn’t a sterile medical space—just a storage area repurposed into a makeshift infirmary—but it was as close as the club had to a clinic.

Tara moved with precision, opening cabinets, counting supplies, her movements quick and efficient. She was in her element, her medical training kicking in as she laid out gauze, suture kits, and bottles of iodine.

You weren’t.

You were kneeling on the floor, hands working through a box of medical tape and syringes, sorting them into neat rows like some kind of strange puzzle.

You focused on the task, trying to push down the gnawing unease curling in your stomach.

Lockdown.

The word alone sat heavy in your chest.

You hadn’t realized what it meant the club wasn’t just protecting themselves. They were preparing for something bad.

"Hand me those alcohol wipes," Tara said, barely looking up.

You wordlessly passed them to her, watching as she tore open a packet and set it aside.

"You’re doing fine," she added, sensing the tension in you. "Not as hard as you thought, huh?"

You exhaled, shifting on your knees. "It’s not the sorting that’s hard."

Tara glanced up at you then, pausing. "Yeah. I know."

You bit your lip, staring at the supplies in front of you. "Is it always like this?"

Tara sighed, leaning back on her heels. "No." A beat. "But it happens. More than it should."

That didn’t make you feel any better.

She studied you for a moment before asking, "You scared?"

You hesitated, then shook your head. "Not scared. Just… confused, I guess."

Tara gave a small, knowing smile. "Yeah. That’s how it starts."

Before you could respond, a voice called from the main room—someone asking for her.

Tara sighed and stood, wiping her hands on her jeans. "Stay here, keep sorting. If anyone comes in needing something, just yell for me."

You nodded, watching as she disappeared through the doorway.

The room was quiet now, just the soft rustling of supplies as you moved them into their proper places.

You told yourself this was fine, told yourself that you could handle this.

Across town, Chibs wasn’t wasting time.

His apartment wasn’t grand, but it had what he needed—a locked cabinet filled with guns, cash, and a few other things he’d stashed away for emergencies.

And this? This was a fucking emergency.

He pulled open the cabinet, methodically checking the chambers, magazines, making sure everything was loaded and ready.

His face was set, jaw tight, the weight of the situation pressing into his shoulders.

This wasn’t just club business anymore.

The moment your name had come up in that chapel meeting, the moment he realized Zobelle’s people knew you—this became his problem.

And he’d be damned if he let the League put their fuckin’ hands anywhere near you.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

"Yeah?" he answered, Scottish accent thick with tension.

"They’re in," Juice said. "Gemma, Tara, and your girl. All safe. She’s helping out."

Something in Chibs’ chest eased, just slightly. "Aye, good."

Juice hesitated. "She, uh… she doesn’t seem scared. More confused than anything."

Chibs exhaled. "Aye. That’ll change soon enough."

"Ye stay sharp, lad. No fuck-ups."

Juice replied. "You, uh… you gonna tell her?"

Chibs scowled. "Tell her fuckin’ what?*"

"That she’s your girl."

His jaw tightened. "Not now, Juice."

"Yeah, yeah, figured."

Chibs exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. "Just keep ‘er safe, aye?"

"Got it."

[lilith0fthevalley]

The Duality of A Man {S.T.A.R.S. Era!Wesker x Reader}

Content Warning: This piece contains themes of manipulation and deception under the guise of charm and flirtation. Readers sensitive to manipulative dynamics or morally ambiguous behavior may wish to proceed with caution.

As always, Reader discretion is advised.

The task given was simple. Assemble a team of specially chosen characters, train and cultivate their skills, ignore the rest of the details that followed… So how did Wesker get here… On a date with a sweet little civilian in a safer corner of Raccoon City. Let’s rewind…

2 Days Prior…

There were two sharp knocks on Wesker’s office door before it swings open and Rebecca pops her head in.

“Cap? Got a sec?” She asks, tone warm and sweet.

Wesker puts his pen down and pulls his rectangular reading glasses off his face. “Rebecca. Come on in. What’s on your mind?” He posits and leans back in the maroon coloured leather chair. The end of his glasses hangs between his lips.

The young S.T.A.R.S. member bounds in and grins. “We’re doing happy hour tonight after shift…. You missed last week and said you’d make it up…” She teases. He lets out a faux irritated huff.

“Is that what I said, Miss Chambers?” He teases and flashes a perfect white smile.

Rebecca pouts playfully back. “You make me sound old as hell when you call me that…” He just laughs and shakes his head.

“It’s all meant in jest, Rebecca.” He pauses for a beat and looks up from his desk. “... Where are we going this time around?” The blonde man muses and taps his lip with the glasses.

“Startin’ at S.T.A.G.L.A., ending at Krimson.” Jill’s voice carries from the door. It makes Wesker and Rebecca look up.

Wesker gives a resigned sigh. “As long as we can stop for a round at Bloodhound, I’ll go.”

Rebecca throws her arms up and lets out an excited “yippeee!!” before rushing past Jill to inform the others of the attendance of their captain.

Jill lingers in the doorway for a moment, a knowing smile plastered on her face. “Bloodhound… I thought you hated that place. Owner’s a prick, if I recall correctly…” She muses and taps her chin. He scoffs at her. 

“I do, I just-”  “Just have the hots for the new bartender. It’s ok. You can say it.” Jill jabbers out quickly and grins wolfishly. Wesker glares at her, but there’s no heat behind it. “I am not infatuated with Miss L/N-” 

“YOU ALREADY KNOW HER NAME!” Jill howls out and her grin widens as she turns and rushes off. Wesker blinks, sighs and shakes his head. 

This was going to be a long night…

~

In the low lights of Bloodhound, a gritty, no-nonsense bar known for its cheap whiskey and a jukebox that only plays rock and blues, Wesker forced himself to continue sipping the vile amber coloured liquid. It wasn’t up to his tastes. To his high standards, but it would do. As long as he got to see her… It would do.

Y/N was behind the bar, taking orders and mixing drinks with the grace and fluidity only accomplished after years of bartending. Her hair lightly tousled out of its low ponytail, bangs flying about, but that smile still on her face. It just barely crinkled the edges of her eyes, Wesker noticed in his buzzed haze. She flits her gaze to him and her eyes… those damn eyes, seem to sparkle at him. He raises his glass in acknowledgement and takes a sip. 

‘Calm the hell down, Albert. She’s no one. Just a bartender.’ He rationalizes as his phone buzzes. Front left pocket of his jeans. Umbrella. He subtly glances around before checking the message from his alternative employer…

‘Hireups have requested you find another way to blend in. The little lark behind the bar seems to have your attention. Figure something out.’ 

The message is short. No nonsense. Straight to the point. Just how Wesker-the real Wesker-likes it. None of the floundering back and forth bullshit of the S.T.A.R.S. teams or the other imbeciles at the RPD. He pockets his phone and meets the leering eyes of a man in a once pristine button up shirt. Another man like him, tasked with blending in. He gives a curt nod and looks away, Back into the cheap whisky in his glass and the reflection of his crystalline blue eyes staring back at him. 

~

As the activity of the bar slows, the sounds of billiard balls clicking, raucous chatter and souring arguments that occur in the background lessen and lessen.

Y/N looks a bit more at ease. Her smile was much less forced this time around as she tidied up the bar and took away empty glasses.

She made her way over to him and leaned against the sticky wooden surface with her forearms. “Welcome back. Good to see ya again.” She quips with a lopsided grin and tilt of her head.

Wesker puts on his charms, smirking at her and doing that low chuckle that he overheard Rebecca and Jill talking about a few weeks ago. “Good to be back. Great to see you, too.” He muses back at the bartender. He catches how the tips of her ears turn red. 

Hook. Line. And Sinker. This is too easy.

He leans back in the stool, tapping a hand on the bartop. “You know… I’ve been meaning to ask,” he drawls, voice low and smooth, “How is it someone like you ended up in a place like this?”

Y/N huffs a laugh, grabbing an empty glass to wipe down. “What, a place like Bloodhound?”

Wesker nods, lifting his drink. “Exactly. You seem… too bright for this.”

She tilts her head slightly, an amused smile curving her lips. “You calling me a lightweight?”

The chuckle that rumbles from his chest is soft, warm. “Not at all. Just saying… you stand out. In a good way.”

Her smile falters slightly — not from discomfort, but surprise. He notices the way her fingers pause briefly over the glass, as if trying to figure out how to respond.

“Well… bills don’t pay themselves.” She shrugs, but there’s a flicker of something in her eyes. Maybe pride. Maybe something more guarded. “Besides, I like it here. Good people. Good company.”

He hums, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “I’m glad to hear that.” His gaze flicks up to meet hers. Steady. Intentional. “I was starting to wonder if I’d have to give you a reason to stay.”

She blinks — and then laughs. A soft, genuine laugh that she covers quickly with her hand. “Wow… that’s smooth.”

He shrugs with mock humility. “Just honest.”

Y/N shakes her head, still smiling. “Well… you’ve got good timing. I’m off at midnight.”

He raises an eyebrow, feigning mild surprise. “Is that an invitation?”

“Maybe.” She wipes her hands on a bar towel, tossing it over her shoulder. “Guess you’ll have to stick around to find out.”

Wesker leans back in his seat, the corners of his lips curving upward in satisfaction.

Hook line and sinker indeed…

~~~

Masterlist

[henneseyhoe]

Still Mine.

Tyrone x BLACK!FEM!Reader

WARNINGS: Tyrone being a slut, baby daddy drama, smutty flashback, slight daddy kink, unprotected sex(wrap it before you smack it!), abortion mentioned, pill mentioned, baby trapping, short, tad bit unedited.

SUMMARY: During Tyrone’s weekly pickup of his daughter, he tries to make his baby mama fold.

Ps. This was originally SO much longer but I didn’t like the way some parts were written so I cut it in half lolzzz

✮✮✮✮

“You know if I licked it, it’s mine, right?”

Your face twisted into a mug at Tyrone’s words while packing a diaper bag with all the necessary things your daughter needed for the weekend with him.

“Tyrone, please don’t start with that tonight” You couldn’t believe the extents he’d go just because you were seeing other people, it was crazy! Tyrone didn’t see it that way though.

The man was a tyrant. A danger to society and other men when he suspects you fucking with somebody who wasn’t him. Every single time he found out, he would let you know that you had limited days with that nigga, which he was always right about.

They’d either disappear completely or simply just stop responding to your texts.

One time you saw one of them at the grocery store and tried to say hi but he ran the other way, even left his cart stacked with groceries. You wondered what the hell was going on, and why they were so scared, but you knew there was only one person that could have them running for the hills like that, and it wasn’t you.

“I’m not startin’ shit, I’m speakin’ facts. You playin’, knowing them niggas ain’t shit compared to me”

Though the statement was true, it was bold of him to assume you wasn’t getting any good play. It was rare you did, but still! It’s the audacity.

You look at Tyrone up and down before bursting into laughter, making the infant besides you both slightly jump in her pack and play, looking around in confusion before flipping over on her stomach, a skill she just learned.

“Oop- I’m sorry, mama” You apologize to her, the baby just rolling back over and blinking up at you with a tether in her mouth. “Now, back to yo’ delusional ass!”

You thanked god the small child wasn’t old enough to understand words because she would have been cursing like a sailor by now. Pointing at Tyrone with the acrylic nails he paid for, that same signature mean look on his face that he always wore when somebody had him fucked up, you squint.

“Ain’t shit yours, and it hasn’t been yours since about a year now”

Tyrone sucks his teeth, still not believing anything you were saying to him.

“You shittin’ me, it’s always gon be mine!”

“Says who?! You crazy” You blow him off with the wave of your hand, zipping the diaper bag up and handing it to him.

He grabs it, then drops it to his feet without a care, crossing his arms. You look at him with a confused expression, your eyebrow cocked upwards.

“Why you like playin’ wit’ me?” He questioned while straight faced, but you stood your ground, unlike when you use to submit under him and his tone when you two were together. Truthfully, you use to be a bit scared of the nigga. He never gave you a reason to be personally, but he was a hard shell to crack, you rarely knew if he was happy or sad until he said something to steer you in a certain direction.

“Tyrone, quit playing and find you something safe to do, aight?” You fired back, challenging him. He moved not one inch. You knew he wasn’t scared of you at all, so this was no surprise, but you wasn’t gonna take him treating you like this in your own damn house.

“How many niggas you fucked since we broke up, Y/N?”

You shrug. “However many I wanted. I dunno, I wasn’t counting”

“Okay” He nods slowly, putting you on edge just a tad bit. You hum and study his reaction. He only did that when he had some shit up his sleeve. A simple answer, then a nod before he did or said some fuck shit. “And if I find them niggas and suddenly they stop callin’, then what?” Nothing he hasn’t done before.

“One less problem for me. You already pack up enough niggas in the glen anyway. Can’t kill ‘em all!” You giggle childishly after gaining your composure again, but as you found humor, the man stayed oh so serious.

“Oh, you’d be surprised at what a nigga can do now”

“Lemme guess, you learned to read a no loitering sign? Or maybe a no trespassing one?” You continued to joke, him finding nothing funny, as usual.

“You think you so funny” He warns, but you brush him off again, picking the diaper bag up and handing it to him again, this time forcing it in his hands to keep it there.

“I’m fuckin’ hilarious, nigga. better ask bout me”

Tyrone rolls his eyes.

“…so you really tellin’ me youn miss me?”

You turn and walk away to ignore the man further, side eyeing him as he followed. “Get out my face, Ty”

“Stop playin…so youn miss how I use to beat that pussy till you cry?” He spoke, getting closer to your ear so you could hear every syllable there. See, if this was a year and some change ago, you would have folded yourself in on a couch and put your legs to the sky faster than a pin could drop, but you had a point to prove.

You inched away from him to your kitchen, but he followed behind like a hungry shark that smelled blood.

“Let daddy dig that pussy out again, baby. You know I do it better than any other nigga”

Just with those few words, it had you thinking of flashbacks, your eyes fighting off a roll inwards. You knew the power he held in those boxers, you knew all too well what he was capable of. When Tyrone got to the pussy, he made sure he wasn’t playing no games. The man would even pull your bed from the wall everytime he came over so nobody in your moms house could hear how hard he was beating it up, talking dirty to you like you was a random bitch from the club, and that was your favorite part. That’s how you got into this mess anyway. Stuck with him and a tiny human who stole your face.

✮✮✮✮

Tyrone was definitely a man of threats, but he had never fallen through with any of the non-violent ones till this.

As Tyrone bucked his hips wildly into you, your leg began to quiver in his hold. You had thanked the gods that he had opted to lay you down on your side instead of fucking you standing up like he loved to do. You were sure your legs would have gave out by now if you were upright.

“Imma nut in this pussy, baby. Can daddy nut in this pussy? You want daddy to get you pregnant?”

He asks, and you nodded gladly like a dummy. Whatever the female version of pussy whipped was, you were definitely long past it. Even in that moment, you thought he wasn’t serious about the whole baby thing. He had never talked about one outside of sex, and you honestly thought he was against the entire idea of kids with the way he’d run junebug out of his presence when he’d do normal kid shit. He just didn’t seem serious.

Hell, you knew you weren’t serious about it. What would you do with a baby in this economy? Most importantly, how the fuck were you gonna care for it? You were only 21 and he was 24, had no business being together, but obviously he wasn’t the type to follow rules of any kind, or let you go.

The more he promised to get you pregnant, the harder y’all fucked until you were on top, riding him like there was a prize at the finish line you called an orgasm. Your hands were placed on his thighs behind you and your back was arched in as you spread your legs wide and bounced that ass on him, giving him the perfect opportunity to see himself slip in and out of you.

“Shit…shit! I’m bout to cum!” He shouts while panting, a few groans exiting his mouth.

“Fuuuck! I’m bout to nut, bae!” You heard him announce once again, but that wasn’t what set off alarms in your head, it was when he held you down and continued thrusting upwards into your wetness, making you leak. You whimper and shout, toes curling into the mattress.

“Shit! Lemme get up, Ty!” You tap his hands, trying to get them off of your hips so you could move, but he continues to bounce you with his fingers gripping you tightly, bound to leave a mark. “Tyrone! lemme get up, please!” You shout with urgency, but it had already been too late. By the time you rose up off of his dick, he had been pumping out the last bit of his seed, the small amount just sliding down the shaft of his dick. That’s when you knew you fucked up. Tyrone was a shooter in more ways than one, but when it came to cumming, he was damn near like a loaded gun. You’d have to squeeze your eyes shut when giving him head because he liked to cum on your face, and the first time he did, he almost blinded you with how far he came, literally.

“My god…” You breathed harshly, looking down at his dick begin to soften.

When it was all said and done, you asked him for money for a plan B, but lo and behold, he already had a pill prepared. Right in the glove compartment of his car is where he kept it and gave it to you when he came to see you the next day. But, as the weeks went by, you started to feel like that pill wasn’t much of a plan B, or at least not your “plan B”. It was definitely Tyrone’s though.

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and nine of those later, you were popping out a little girl with a full head of hair and features just like yours. If you told somebody you made the baby alone, they’d probably believe you with how much you two looked alike. You were pissed off your entire pregnancy at Tyrone, but that didn’t stop you from loving your baby, you just couldn’t bring yourself to get rid of her either, though the process wasn’t foreign to you. If the “plan B” didn’t take her out, then who says she wasn’t meant to be here? But, with that being said, as you came closer to your due date, you grew farther from Tyrone while he was trying to keep you close, you even moved out of the glen and into a whole ‘nother town over.

He was there through your entire pregnancy, or at least tried when you weren’t trying to kill him for getting into stupid shit and almost dying, but because he was still so supportive and caring for you, checking up on how both you and the baby were doing, you cut him some slack, letting him name the bouncing baby girl. He went with the name ‘Autum’ because you two met in autumn, to your surprise he even remembered that since it had been so long ago.

Fast forward five months later, y’all were still beefing on and off over stupid shit. You would curse him out over scaring away new friends and or lovers, he’d ignore it and continue, working extra hard to make sure all them niggas knew who he was. Oh, Tyrone was on a mission, and he would not be ignored by some lame nigga you wanted to fuck, or ignored by you.

✮✮✮✮

[radioactivepeasant]

Snippets: Jak and Daxter

Loosely based on the song "God Games" from Epic: the Musical

It would have been so easy to leave. The subrails were right there. They could just step in, find out how far onto the mainland it went. It should have been so easy.

So why couldn't Jak do it?

"Uh...Jak?"

Daxter waved a hand in front of his face.

"Earth to Jak! What's the holdup, buddy?"

Just step down. That's all you have to do. It's so simple, Jak, why can't you do this one simple thing?

Jak stared at the tunnels for the space of three breaths.

And then he took a step

Backwards.

"Jak?" Concerned, Daxter leaned around to examine his expression. "What's the matter? C'mon, don't you want to get out of here?"

Shame slithered up his throat, but it couldn't stop the confession from slipping out.

"...no."

Dumbfounded, Daxter scurried to Jak’s other shoulder.

"No?! After how long it took to get down here, you wanna go back? We ain't gettin' a warm welcome, you know that, right?"

"I...can't leave. Not like this." Jak took another step back, then another.

"They'll think we're just, just weaklings who ran back to Haven because they couldn't cut it."

"They don't gotta know we went to Haven!"

"Dax, we barely escaped getting kicked out as it is! I- I can't go AWOL right now, what would Damas think of us?"

That was the wrong thing to ask. The ottsel's fur puffed up, and he bared surprisingly sharp teeth.

"He didn't think we could cut it anyway!" Daxter snarled, "Who cares what he thinks?"

But he knew the answer before he'd even finished the question. It was that sickening guilt in Jak’s eyes that drove it home.

I do.

Even after the man turned on them, called Jak "newcomer" like he didn't belong, Jak still wanted his approval? Daxter didn't understand.

But then, he'd never understood why Jak couldn't see right through Samos, either.

"I...I want to talk to him. Before anything else."

Jak prayed for some kind of perfect sentence or phrase to explain to Daxter why he needed to go back, but none were forthcoming.

Jak swallowed and added, "Sig should know about these tunnels anyway."

Daxter grimaced, but relented. "Fine. Fine. But I am not talking to Sandspurs unless he has one heck of an apology waiting."

No one was waiting in the vehicle pit. In fact, no one seemed to notice them come in at all. Jak told himself that was better, that he didn't have to explain himself if there were no witnesses. It didn't keep the whisper out of the back of his mind.

They wouldn't miss you if you left. They'd barely notice.

They were almost all the way past the forges when someone called out to them. Jak almost ignored them. But-

"Hey kid, you okay?"

But that wasn't a question he was usually asked.

Jak turned with a questioning expression to the gunsmith. He looked oddly concerned.

"You didn't show up yesterday. We were startin' to wonder a little. You didn't breathe in any of that gas, did you?"

Jak looked away.

"No."

"Good." The smith shook his head. "Poison gas-! They've never done that before. Sorry kid. Damas wouldn't have sent you out there if he knew."

"What would he have done?"

Jak didn't mean for it to come off aggressive. But he was just...tired. Tired of everything always happening to him. Tired of everyone else always having excuses.

If he heard the anger under the words, the gunsmith didn't let on. He picked up his tongs and shrugged as he got back to work.

"First offense, and you're a cadet- no, wait, two amulets, you're a scout. So scouts on punishment detail get either the 'pede larva cleanup or manual fishing net repair. Cadets have to clean the stables for three days."

Punishments that actually made sense?

Jak needed to talk to Damas. And at the same time, he did not want to talk to Damas.

At the elevator, Jak paused awkwardly.

"Da- Daxter? Can I- um. Can I do this...myself? If- if it goes south, I don't want you in the crossfire."

"If it goes south, you'll need me watching your six," Daxter retorted. But he reluctantly agreed.

Damas wasn't there, and that was somehow worse than finding him on that throne, glaring down at the intrusion. The water wheels creaked and groaned in an otherwise unnaturally silent chamber. Jak almost lost his nerve. What if Damas really didn't believe he belonged in Spargus? What was he going to have to do to prove him wrong?

Jak paced the lowest stair for several minutes, trying to rehearse his question. Trying to plan for every worst case scenario. If Damas got angry and threw him out, did they have a place to go? If Damas just shut him down, did he want to defy him again?

He didn't hear the elevator lowering down the shaft again. He didn't even notice it coming back up until it locked into place loudly.

Jak paused mid-step. His eyes flicked over to the elevator, but he didn't turn.

Damas was staring at him.

He didn't look angry, he looked surprised.

"I...did not expect to see you this soon," said the king in lieu of a greeting.

Jak couldn't quite make himself turn to face him.

"Why?"

"Ah." Damas sounded chagrined. Almost pained. "Because I...did not handle the debacle two days ago very well. I wouldn't have blamed you for wanting to put some distance between us. I put you and Sig in harm's way because I failed to fully read the artifact runners' brief."

Sounded like what the smith had said. Like Damas hadn't known about the poison gas.

"So you...weren't trying to kill me."

Damas’s ears stood almost straight up, and his shoulders stiffened.

"What? No! No, I wasn't trying to kill you!"

Jak nodded, but kept his eyes on the stairs and resumed pacing.

"Had to make sure."

Damas took the long way to the throne, along the outer edges of the pools. He didn't speak, letting the oppressive thickness of the air settle over them again. When he'd almost disappeared behind date palms in ceramic planter pots, Damas stopped to look out the windows, down to the sea.

"Is that why you came?"

"No."

"I see."

Jak thought he imagined a hint of hope in Damas’s voice.

"I don't have any work for you."

Damas glanced back down at him.

"It's not because of the...incident, you understand. You've just come after work has already been assigned for the day."

Jak glanced up. "I know."

courage. You can do this. And even if you can't, you have to.

"Well," the king sighed, "if you're here to lambast me with Sig for taking things too far, you just missed him."

Taking things too far. That was certainly...simplifying things. Jak clenched his fists and forced down acid in his throat. Don't get angry. Don't let him get under your skin. Remember why you're here.

Jak folded his arms across his chest and watched Damas’s face carefully.

"I...needed to- to ask...you. For something."

It was like pulling teeth to get even that out.

Damas turned immediately, eyebrows raised.

"It's not like you to ask for favors. Or help. What happened?"

He couldn't outright say that he'd met with Ashelin Praxis. Damas would probably shoot him on the spot.

"Got a call out there from-" Jak paused. "From a friend still stuck in Haven. It's- there's barely any city left. People I still care about are in danger."

"And?" Damas asked coolly.

Clenched fists and gritted teeth. Jak had to fight to force out the words.

"And I'm a- asking. You. For- for permission to go back."

Any pretense of calm fled Damas in an instant. His eyes darkened, and there was a promise of danger in his stride as he came to the edge of the dais.

"You're what."

"Just until they're safe. Just until I can destroy the new metalhead nest."

Damas flung out an arm as if gesturing to the offending city.

"You're asking me to allow you to leave Spargus, to give aid to our enemies. You want me to deal with Haven again. You want to go back to the people who betrayed you, again."

"If Haven falls, Spargus is next!" Jak argued.

"Spargus is not weak like Haven!" Damas snapped. "I had thought you had been among us long enough to know that by now."

"Apparently not, since I'm just the newcomer who doesn't deserve mercy!" Jak shot back.

He felt a tiny twing of guilt for throwing the words back in Damas’s face when the king lurched back like he'd been struck. But Jak couldn't stop now.

"The metalheads will raze Haven to the ground. Everything Mar built, they'll have access to. Even the subrails to the temple."

"The what?" Damas asked softly, almost threateningly.

"There are catacombs under the temple." Jak gestured sharply. "Daxter and I found them last night. Oracle says they have a subrail that goes right to Haven. How long do you think that's going to stay hidden if the city goes down?"

"We will fortify the temple." Damas turned away to march to his throne.

"You will remain in the city."

As he sat, he leveled a harsh glare at the boy.

"I strongly recommend that you heed instructions this time. I prefer not to revoke your gate pass."

Keira's life was on the line. Tess's life was on the line. And Damas was going to confine him to the city out of spite. Fury rattled in Jak’s lungs and loosened his tongue.

"I almost left," he growled at the king, "I almost went anyway without telling you."

Be grateful I told you anything at all ran unspoken under the statement.

"Then why didn't you?" Damas challenged him.

"You already think I haven't earned a place here yet. Well I'm not going to prove you right."

Jak's anger didn't burn hot enough to evaporate the lump in his throat. He should have known it would be useless.

"Jak-"

"This was a mistake." Jak turned his back on the dais and throne and stormed down the pathway.

"Shouldn't have asked."

He heard Damas stand in a rush, but ignored him. Why did he think this would go in his favor? Stupid. Stupid to hope.

"Stop."

He didn't.

Damas’s voice rose, bouncing off stone and water.

"Put one foot in that elevator and I put this tower on lock down."

He probably thought Jak was going to go to Haven to spite him. Jak weighed his options before pivoting on his heel to glare at Damas.

"What."

Damas was pretty fast for a man in armor. He had one arm outstretched like he'd been about to grab Jak by the collar. He settled a hand on Jak’s channeling ring -- not pulling, not yet. Just keeping him from leaving.

"You. Belong. Here," Damas said sharply.

"Not in Haven. Do you not know a trap when you hear one?"

You belong here.

Don't crack.

Jak cursed the catch in his voice. "You dropped everything to send rescue missions after just four scouts. You can't ask me to leave my friends behind enemy lines after that. Either you're a hypocrite, or I'm just doing what you taught me to do."

If Damas wasn't angry before, he probably would be now. Jak knew he shouldn't have called him a hypocrite point blank. Damas’s face went still, expressionless. His fingers tightened around the channeling ring, but his face was blank.

Jak closed his eyes.

"Sorry," he grunted.

"Convince me."

"What?"

Damas leaned closer.

"If this is that important to you, you'll have to convince me. You find five Wastelanders willing to go with you or support your mission, and I will consider letting you go."

Five?! Jak wasn't sure he could fine one!

"And if I don't?" he asked warily.

"Then you don't leave home, simple as that." Damas released him and stepped back.

"You have one day."

[subwaystragedy]

Count Em All || Simon "Ghost" Riley x Sub Ftm!Reader

Word Count. 1.7k

Warnings: Spanking, Vaginal Fingering, Degradation, and Slight Size Kink

"One!" You cry out, having to restart the count all over again as your secret lover slaps his large hand across your ass, the punishment he set for your disobedience throughout the day. "Two!" you call, hearing Ghost chuckle, "Don't mess up again love," you hardly hear his low and taunting voice, trying to get to ten without messing up again, having not taken the punishment seriously in the beginning. Leaving your ass red and sore, the actual number of hits being somewhere nearing 25 or 30, you can’t remember, once again feeling his hand come down on your ass, making you jolt forward. Crying out a simple, “Three!” as you whimper, the pain soon turning into a masochistic form of pleasure as his hand hits your pussy every time he brings it down to smack your ass.

His large hand hitting both sides of your ass from how small you were in comparison to him, even now as you’re leaned over his knees, the size difference is noticeable. “Four!” you sob, head hanging low as you bite your lip, thankful you didn’t get distracted by your own thoughts as you become increasingly wet from the sadistic actions Ghost was dealing you. Hearing him chuckle after smacking your ass again, “F-five!” you wail. Voice becoming hoarse from all yelling, “Startin’ to think you’re enjoying this more than you should,” Ghost laughs, fingers soon finding their way to your entrance as he runs them up and down. “Fingers are already slick with your juice's love,” he teases, knowing you’re enjoying it all from the small whimper you let out.

Hearing him chuckle lightly at your pathetic noises, “Really are enjoyin’ this more than you should, huh?” the words make you whine, earning another laugh from him as he gently pushes his fingers inside you. Only a knuckle deep as his free hand rubs your sore and aching ass, the gentleness stings as your raw skin screams from the break of contact and pain it's providing. His thick fingers stretching you as he pushes them fully inside you, the feeling like always making you desperate for something more than just his fingers. His still fingers inside you make you moan, the small and unintentional attempt to push yourself back against him, the quick but small amount of sting that comes from him gently slapping your ass once again is almost unbearable.

Tears falling slowly as he shushes you, “You can always safe word out love, no need to take what you can’t han-” “No!” you cut him off, wiggling your hips as you whine, “W-want you,” you softly sob, needing more than what he’s giving you as you raise your hips. Whimpering softly just to hear a laugh follow from him, “Count it,” he commands before he brings the hand previously rubbing your ass down to your smack it again, taking a moment to think of where you left off as you yell out before counting, "Six!" Letting out a sigh of relief as he praise you, "Good boy, glad you can keep up," feeling him smack your ass repeatedly and quickly, too fucked from his fingers pushing in and out of you slowly afterwards.

Hearing him exhale, seemingly amused with the loud scream you let out, almost convulsing as he gives the back to back spanks, "How many was that love?" "N-nine?," "Awe, that's just too bad pretty boy," you practically sob at his words. Throwing your head down, knowing you'll have to restart all over again as he tells you, "It was ten love," you whine, a few more tears running from your eyes at the disappointment. Having been so close to the actual amount, hearing him click his tongue in his mouth as he runs his hand over your sore ass again, light feather-like touches as he moves his finger back to your cunt with the other hand. Entering you immediately, no more teasing as he begins to finger you at a satisfying pace, humming as he watches you squirm and hears you whine, snickering quietly to himself as he looks down at you.

Soon feeling the small bump against your stomach turn into a full bulge against you as he picks up the pace of his wrist, thick and long fingers hitting deep enough inside you to make you moan and writhe in pleasure. You're noises clearly effecting him, both of you unable to ignore the growing bulge in between his legs, but you knew he wasn't going to give anything to you any time soon. "S-simon please~" you whine, hearing him hum as he slows his fingers down to let you speak, "I want you~ Please Si," earning a laugh from the man above you as you hear him give a simple command, "Get up then love, face down, ass up, on the bed now." Following his orders without a second thought for once in the day, getting off of him and crawling into the bed in the bunk room, just like he said, ass up and face down in the bed as you hear it creek when he removes his weight. 

Looking back to see him standing at the edge of the bed undoing his pants, as he once again makes the bed creek with his weight, being almost too small to line up with him properly. Soon feeling his cock on your ass as he rubs it in between your legs, hearing you moan makes him laugh, "A desperate lad aren't you?" he teases, pushing his head inside you before pulling it out. Once again laughing at your distressed whine, doing the action once more only for you to push back, feeling more of him entering you but soon feeling a harsh slap to your ass, harder than any of them before. "I didn't say you could move," he talks while shoving the rest of himself inside you.

Gasping at the sudden fullness, the pace he immediately sets is brutal, pounding into you with his hands on your waist to stabilize his movements, fingers basically touching as he holds you. The moans, if not heard before, were definitely being heard now by the rest of 141, increasing in volume and frequency, unable to keep it all inside as you feel him deep in your stomach. Looking down to see that small bulge in your guts that could make you cum on the spot, once again feeling his hand come down on your already stinging ass. The scream once again pulling a laugh out of Ghost, "Such a small thing beneath me," he moves his hands to grip your ass, "Can fit all of your ass in my hands," he laughs.

The tight grip on your rear makes you whine, "Come on baby, bounce on me," he gently commands, moving your hand to your stomach to feel him make that small bulge you love so much. Moving yourself back on forth, his hands still on your ass as he groans, only slightly helping as he lets you do most of the work to please yourself and him, "God you look so pathetic underneath me," he chuckles, "So small and cute," he once again laughs. His deep voice getting to you as you moan softly, whimpering and whining like the cock drunk whore you are for the man behind you, rolling your hips up and down as you push and pull yourself back and forth.

"Off, now, " Ghost commands, immediately flipping you over as you pull forward enough to make him pull out, now laying on your back as he pushes your legs up, knees near your head as he lines himself back up with your entrance, pushing in and setting a brutal pace. Pushing you up aggressively every time he thrust into you, your eyes closed with your mouth hung open in a silent moan as he presses down on your stomach. The force of his hips against your ass still not giving you a break from the pain on the raw and sensitive skin, hearing him grunt and groan at the feeling of your walls clenching against him making him get unbearably close. 

"Lookin' so beautiful love," he talks in between soft moans, trying to hear you screams of pleasure and pain, on hand keeping you leg as far back as it could go, the other relaxed as he angles himself to fuck you deeply. The bulge seemingly growing in size as he fucks you from the new angle, "So small under me," he comments, groaning with his head tilted back before he take his hand off your stomach to pull his balaclava mask just above his nose as he leans down to kiss you. Holding his face as he does, feeling his grunts and groans against your lips as you moan against his, knowing he's getting close, silently begging for him to cum inside you as you unintentionally clenching around him at the erotic noises of your kissing and sloppy sex. 

Pulling away to catch your breath properly, head thrown back as you feel him thrust quicker, trying to fill you up with his cum, and he eventually does. Grunting and groaning as he rest his forehead against your as he continues to fuck you through his own orgasm, feeling his cum inside you spurring you own orgasm, almost squirting on his cock as you finish with him. Ghost giving a few slow but deep thrust as he rolls his hips into you, whimpering as you feel almost unbearably full of your lover, his lips meeting yours again in a soft and tender kiss, hearing and feeling him sigh peacefully against you. The sweet moment being interrupted by pounding on the bunks door, a thick Scottish accent following, "Keep it down next time!" causing you both to laugh after the initial shock dies down, breathy and exhausted laughs leaving the two of you as you fall into each other. "Did so well love," he kisses your forehead, moving so you're atop of him instead of underneath, big arms wrapped around you as he pulls you close, your head on his chest as he stays inside of you, "Proud of you handsome."

[daryltwdixon]

The Promise of Us: Chapter 39

“So the game goes, I say something I’ve never done, and if you have done it, you drink. If you haven’t done it, I drink. Then, we switch,” Beth explains, sitting across from Daryl with a cup in her hand. “You really don’t know this game?”

“I ain’t never needed a game to get lit before,” Daryl replies, the skin of his thumb caught between his teeth. 

“Wait, are we startin’?” Beth asks, her excitement clashing with his simmering reluctance.

“How do you know this game?” he mutters, his suspicion barely hidden.

“My friends played, I watched.” She brushes off his question and adds, “Okay, I’ll start.” She closes her eyes, pretending to think hard, but her first attempt is obvious. “I’ve never… shot a crossbow! So, now you drink.”

Daryl rubs his fingers together, staring at her with a deadpan expression. He wants to resist, but the rules seem simple enough. He reaches for his cup, bringing the strong liquid to his lips, feeling the familiar burn as he drinks. “Ain’t much of a game,” he mutters.

“That was a warm-up!” Beth insists. “You go.”

He grunts, hand returning to his mouth, teeth picking at the skin around his nails. His mind’s a mix of annoyance and hesitation. “I don’t know,” he mumbles.

“Just… say the first thing that pops in your head!” she presses, trying to keep the energy light.

“I’ve never been outta Georgia,” he finally says.

“Really?” Beth responds, intrigued. “Okay, good one.” She takes a sip, her curiosity palpable.

She continues quickly, eyes narrowing a bit as she thinks. “I’ve never been drunk and did somethin’ I regretted.”

Daryl stiffens, feeling the subtle dig. He knows she’s trying to pry, to make him crack open, even a little. His defenses flare up, and it’s not anger he feels—it’s shame. He lifts his glass and takes a swig, the bitter taste doing nothing to wash away the memories of all the bad decisions he’s made under the influence of liquor.

“I’ve done alotta things,” he says flatly, the words clipped.

“Your turn,” she prompts, eager to keep the rhythm going.

Daryl’s eyes shift as he thinks, feeling the weight of her gaze. “I’ve never been on vacation,” he says, voice low.

“What about campin’?” she asks, her tone lighter, almost playful.

“No, that’s just somethin’ we—” He pauses, the words catching in his throat. His gaze drops, shame bleeding into his expression until he looks up again after a heartbeat, “I had to learn. To hunt.”

Beth’s eyes soften. “Your dad teach you?” she asks, trying to be careful.

“Mhm,” he grunts, nodding, still watching for her reaction. 

Beth shifts awkwardly before coming up with her next attempt. “I’ve never been to jail. I mean—as a prisoner.”

His eyes narrow, the question striking a raw nerve. The old shame, buried deep but never forgotten, wells up inside him. He feels suddenly exposed, his past laid bare in front of her. 

“Is this what you think of me?” he asks quietly, voice tight with both defensiveness and hurt.

Beth’s eyes widen, realizing she’s crossed a line. “I didn’t mean anything serious,” she backpedals quickly. “I thought maybe the drunk tank. Even my dad got locked up for that back in the day.”

Daryl doesn’t let up, pointing to her with a rough gesture. “Drink up,” he demands, his hand back on his face, fingers covering his chin as if trying to shield himself from her scrutiny.

But Beth’s smile creeps back. “Wait! Prison guard, were you a prison guard before?” she guesses, her enthusiasm unintentionally prodding him further.

He takes his time answering, staring hard at her. “No,” he says at last, his voice low and flat.

“It’s your turn again,” she presses gently, trying to get back into the rhythm of the game.

But Daryl’s done. He pushes himself up abruptly, muttering, “Gotta take a piss,” as he stalks out of the cramped living room. It’s an excuse, and a thin one, but he needs distance. The game was never about fun to him—it was an interrogation, a slow peeling back of layers he’s spent the life he had now trying to forget.

He heads into the kitchen, releasing his fly, dropping his glass of leftover alcohol on the floor as it shatters on the ground. Her questions riled something in him—how different their lives have been, how far apart their worlds are. Beth grew up with family dinners and curfews; Daryl grew up with broken bottles and bruises, fighting just to exist. And then there’s Y/N, who grew up in the same kind of hell he did. She got it, never needed to ask these kinds of questions because she knew—she lived it. The shame from his past was never something he had to explain to her.

The glass shatters beneath Daryl’s boots, and Beth’s voice cuts through the chaos, urgent but hushed. “You have to be quiet.”

But Daryl’s fury is already boiling over, his body coiled tight with anger. “Can’t hear you! I’m takin’ a piss!” he shouts, voice harsh and ragged.

“Daryl, don’t talk so loud,” Beth hisses, her voice tense.

“What? You my chaperone now?” he barks back, his voice rough, his words laced with a bitterness that’s been festering inside him for far too long. He urinates against the kitchen wall, the anger a twisted kind of relief. When he’s done, he zips up, spinning to face Beth. “Oh, wait, it’s my turn, right?”

Beth’s face is a mix of frustration and something close to pity, but Daryl ignores it. He looks out the grimy window into the darkness of the woods, eyes distant, searching for something he’ll never find. “I’ve never, uhh…” he mutters, adjusting his belt as he steps into the room. “Never eaten frozen yogurt , never had a pet pony. Never got nothin’ from Santa Claus .” His voice turns sharper, colder, as he shoves over a dusty vase that crashes to the floor, shattering in front of him. He steps closer to Beth, lip curling with disdain. “Never relied on anyone for protection before—hell, I don’t think I’ve ever relied on anyone for anything!”

“That’s not true—” Beth begins, her voice softening as she tries to reach him, “You and—”

“ Don’t ,” he snarls, his voice breaking, pointing a finger at her, his face twisted with barely-contained rage. “Don’t you dare.” It feels like a dam breaking now, and he keeps going, throwing words at her again and again:

“I’ve never sung out in front of a big group in public, like everything was fine,” he continues, his voice heavy with contempt, each word dripping with raw pain. “I sure as hell never cut my wrists lookin’ for attention.”

Beth’s eyes widen, her initial shock quickly turning to anger. She twists to face him fully, her back straightening, her expression hardened. But before she can speak, the banging against the door grows louder, a chorus of guttural growls now turned to snarling from the walker outside.

“Ah, sounds like our friend out there’s tryin’ to call all his buddies!” Daryl screams, his voice rising with a reckless, desperate edge. He kicks a chair across the kitchen, making as much noise as he can. “Hey, you never shot a crossbow before? I’m gonna teach you, right now,” he snarls, grabbing Beth roughly by the arm. He kicks open the back door, dragging her out into the low evening light.

“Daryl, stop it! Daryl!” Beth squeals, panic and anger clear in her voice, but he pulls her forward, ignoring her protests.

The walker at the window turns toward them, drawn by the commotion. “Dumbass,” Daryl growls, leveling his crossbow at it. “Come here, dumbass.” He releases an arrow, pinning the walker to a nearby tree.

“You wanna shoot?” he demands, shoving the crossbow into Beth’s hands.

“I don’t—I don’t know how,” she stammers, her voice breaking.

“Oh, it’s easy,” Daryl says, positioning himself behind her, his chest pressing into her back. He forces the crossbow into her trembling arms, guiding her to aim. “Come here, right corner,” he mutters darkly, firing another arrow that lands with a dull thunk.

“Let’s practice later!” Beth insists, fists clenched as she tries to break free from his grip.

“Come on, it’s fun,” he grunts, voice harsh and almost manic.

“Just stop it! Daryl!” she cries, twisting away.

“Come here,” he repeats, his voice low and menacing, pulling her back toward the walker pinned to the tree. “Eight ball,” he snarls, releasing another arrow that thuds into its chest.

“Just kill it!” Beth yells, her voice thick with fear and frustration.

“Come here, Greene. Let’s pull these out,” he says releasing her, his tone almost taunting as he steps closer to the walker.

But Beth moves quicker, lunging forward and plunging her knife into the walker’s skull with a sharp, angry thrust.

“The hell you do that for? I was havin’ fun!” Daryl yells, his voice raw as he gets in her face, his breath coming fast and angry.

“No, you were bein’ a jackass!” Beth shouts back, her eyes blazing with tears. “If anyone found my dad—”

“Don’t,” he snarls, cutting her off sharply. “Not even remotely the same.” He’s close now, so close that his anger is palpable, radiating off him in waves.

“Killin’ them is not supposed to be fun ,” Beth spits, leaning in, unafraid now, her eyes fierce. 

“What do you want from me, girl?” he roars, his voice breaking with a mix of rage and grief. 

Beth cries in his face, “I want you to stop actin’ like none of this matters! Like nothin’ we went through matters! Like none of the people we lost meant anything!” her voice is harsh, cracking, as she bares her teeth at him, “It’s bullshit!”

“Is that what you think?” Daryl’s voice drops, his anger smoldering into something darker, more bitter. His eyes are cold, but his voice trembles slightly. 

“That’s what I know,” she snaps, voice faltering as she looks him up and down, “You haven’t even said her name , Daryl— just say it! Say you miss her! And that you miss the others! Rick, Michonne—”

“You don’t know nothin’,” he growls, shaking his head violently.

“I know you look at me and you just see another dead girl ,” she cries, her voice wavering with a mix of pain and frustration. “I’m not like her, Daryl! I’m not like Y/N! I’m not tough, but I’ve survived! But you don’t get it, ’cause I’m not like the two of you, or the others. Carol or Maggie… But I made it! And you don’t get to treat me like crap just because you’re afraid!” She waves her hands at him, her face wet with tears.

He steps closer, his face inches from hers, his breath ragged. “I ain’t afraid of nothin’.”

“I remember,” Beth says, her voice lower, shaking with tears, “When that little girl came outta the barn, after my mom. And the night you found Y/N in the field, seeing you in the morning on the highway with her covered in blood, the both of you. And now God forbid you ever let anybody else get too close.”

“Too close, huh? Bet you know all about that,” Daryl sneers, his finger jabbing at her accusingly. “Lost two boyfriends and can’t even shed a tear!” His voice is full of venom. “Your whole family’s gone and all you can do is just go out lookin’ for hooch like some dumb college bitch!”

“Screw you, you don’t get it!” she shouts.

“No, you don’t get it!” Daryl roars, his voice breaking. “Everyone we know is dead! ”

“You don’t know that!” she screams back, desperation in her voice.

“Might as well be, ’cause you ain’t never gonna see ‘em again!” he snaps, “Rick–” he stops short, her name almost coming off the tip of his tongue then, but he holds it back, the only morsel he can hang onto as his walls come crumbling down in this moment, “You ain’t never gonna see Maggie again!”

“Daryl, just stop!” she begs, reaching for him.

“No!” he twists away, the pain and guilt rushing up uncontrollably as his back faces her. After a heartbeat, his voice breaks as he says, his throat tight, “The Governor rolled right up to our gates. Maybe if I… if I wouldn’t have stopped lookin’, maybe because I gave up. That’s on me!” 

“Daryl—”

“No!” he shouts again, shaking her off, his voice cracking, “And your dad …Maybe I coulda done somethin’...and her , god…” his voice wavers now, the sting in his eyes, his throat tight and throbbing, “She’s…she’s prob–probably already...already...dead,” the words barely make it out of his mouth, his throat so thick with grief.

But suddenly, Beth is on him, wrapping her arms tightly around his middle, hugging him with a fierce, desperate strength. It’s like she’s trying to hold together all the unraveling pieces of him as her arms wrap around him, fingers interlocked against his chest so he doesn’t push her off. But he doesn’t. Daryl’s chest heaves, his breath coming in ragged, uneven gasps. The dam finally breaks, and he sobs into the night air—quiet, breathless, and broken.

[wizardofrozz]

I don't think I submitted an ask to you yet lol so: for the first kiss prompts,

the hands. on the waist. oh my god. with Fox!! ❤️

Above Coruscant

Commander Fox x reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

Warnings: 18+ for suggestive actions, groping, and mention of war. Let me know if I missed anything.

A/N: Well this got away from me but I really shouldn't be surprised...its Fox after all 😂 pretty sure I'm going to write smut that follows this because I can't contain myself when it comes to Fox lmao. Also, if you're a Republic Commando fan, there's a tiny (just a mention) cameo for all of you 👀

The landing pad was empty, Coruscant’s faint breeze ruffling your hair as you leaned against the railing. You occasionally glanced down at the dots of people moving around below, only paying half a mind to the message you were typing. With a soft sigh, you send the message to Captain Obrim, tucking your datapad away and turning to lean back against the railing. 

Your job with the Coruscant Security Force put you in some interesting situations over the years but the start of the Clone Wars had ramped up your workload, especially when Jaller had offered you a spot in his Anti-Terrorism unit. The job also came with some new coworkers in the form of the Coruscant Guard, specifically the four commanders. It took some time, but slowly you started to get to know each of the commanders despite coordinating with Commander Fox the most. 

He could be...stiff at times. You didn’t like to use cold because after watching him interact with his men, he was anything but. However, the more time you spent around him seemed to have him warming up to you. Now, if only that didn’t make your stupid little crush on him worse. 

You felt like a teenager again, getting giddy when you knew you’d see him but the worst part was that he seemed to return the feelings. His smile softened a bit when he looked at you, he stood just a little too close and brought you caf just the way you liked it when you spent hours debriefing the Guard. Sometimes, he’d even flirt with you, just enough to make your stomach somersault. But then it would stop abruptly.

Fox held back, pulling away when you tried to meet him halfway and it would’ve hurt if you didn’t see the emotion reflected in his expression every time. 

The thump of footsteps forced your mind back to the present and Maker, did you wish you could’ve stayed oblivious. Your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth as you scanned from his heavy boots upward. You’d never seen Fox in anything but crimson armor and you hated that this outfit was doing something for you. 

It was a simple outfit, just plain brown pants, a black shirt, and a black jacket but there was something oddly alluring about seeing him look so...normal. You swallowed around the lump in your throat and stood straighter as he approached, absently brushing a stubborn curl off his forehead. Butterflies fluttered around your stomach when you noticed that his cheeks were a little rosey and it occurred to you that he probably caught you checking him out. 

“Commander,” you greeted, praying your voice didn’t sound as breathless as you felt. A small, unconscious smile lifted the corner of his mouth and it made your face feel too hot. 

“Startin’ to think I’m late,” he huffed, glancing at the speeder parked nearby. 

“Nah, I wasn’t far,” you replied with a shrug, wandering closer to the speeder, prompting him to follow. You grabbed the spare helmet off the back and tossed it to Fox, smirking when he almost fumbled to catch it. Fox’s brows knitted together as he stared down at the modified Ubese helmet. When his eyes lifted again you shrugged, moving to take it from him. 

“You don’t have to wear it immediately but when we get to the club you’ll have to put it on,” you explained, tucking the helmet into one of the bike’s saddle bags. 

“Will I be able to breathe in it?” Fox eyed the helmet apprehensively, leaning over to look into the saddle bag. 

“No, Fox, I’m gonna let you suffocate,” you huffed, arching a brow. “It’s modified so you’ll be able to breathe but it also acts as a good excuse for why you can’t take it off.” Fox hummed, resting his hands on his hips and looking at you through his lashes. 

“Alright,” he mumbled, his eyes following the length of the speeder. There was a hint of color high on his cheeks when he glanced in your direction again. “We’re sharing, huh?”

“Sorry,” you said with a shrug. But there was a small part of you that hoped he really didn’t mind. His eyes lingered on your face for a moment before he bent down to grab one of the riding helmets you’d managed to find. Fox tossed the helmet so it twisted around before he caught it again, slipping it over his head with ease. The visor was still up when his gaze drifted back to you, allowing you to see the way his eyes wrinkled as he smirked. 

Yeah, you had definitely been staring. 

You quickly pulled your helmet on, trying not to watch as Fox climbed onto the bike, scooting forward to leave room for you. You almost wondered if Jaller purposefully didn’t find a second speeder. Fox tensed slightly when your hand gripped his shoulder, using it to steady yourself as you climbed on. His head turned, watching you from the corner of his eye as you settled in behind him. 

Logically, you knew there was only one way to keep yourself safely on the bike but now that you were faced with the reality of it, your face burned. You moved slowly, wrapping your arms around his waist and your mouth felt too dry at the heat simmering in his dark eyes. You pulled in a slow, calming breath and shifted to get comfortable. Your exhale was cut off with a yelp when two large hands wrapped around your wrist, pulling you tighter against Fox’s back. His voice was muffled behind the helmet but the mischief twinkling in his eyes told you he knew what he was doing.

“Don’t wantcha fallin’ off.” You rolled your eyes, thankful he couldn’t see the small smile on your face, and tightened your arms around his torso. Fox glanced over his shoulder one last time with a wink before snapping the visor of his helmet down. The speeder’s engine roared as Fox twisted the throttle, the speeder shooting forward and you instinctively squeezed his torso. Shithead.

Skyscrapers whizzed by as Fox sped up, merging into the nearest skylane. It was going to be a long ride to the club you were supposed to infiltrate and usually, it wouldn’t bother you. However, Fox was never involved in any of the other long trips you’d been on. The slow, even movement of his chest under your hands was oddly distracting and you shifted your hands toward his waist. You tried to let your mind wander but every minute shift of the man in front of you made it nearly impossible. 

You shifted back slightly, suddenly aware of how your legs framed his, your mind conjuring up a few of the dreams that had you waking up blushing. Fox settled into the seat, sitting up a bit straighter, and the movement forced your hands a bit lower. His stomach was warm and solid, your fingers itching to trace the lines of muscle you could feel under his clothes. Maybe it was his cheeky little wink or the fact that your crush was only getting worse the longer you knew him that had you sliding your hand under his coat. Fox’s fingers flexed, gripping the handlebars a little tighter and you smirked to yourself. 

His stomach clenched, his hips shifting slightly when you pressed your palm under his ribs. The howl of the wind was muffled through your helmet and you turned your head, watching the beings in the vehicles around you. Fox’s chest expanded with a deep breath and you took the opportunity to shift your hand, dropping it lower, dragging it across his stomach. He didn’t react, switching lanes to avoid a speeder going under the speed limit. 

You were toeing a line that you’d stayed far away from up to this point...and Fox was letting you. He could’ve pushed your hands away, making it clear he didn’t want this but instead, he leaned more of his weight against you. Taking a deep breath, you let your hands wander, sliding down enough to almost brush the waistband of his pants before moving to rest them against his hips. 

You lingered there for a bit, not squeezing, just lightly holding onto his hips as he maneuvered through Coruscant’s busy skylanes. Fox stiffened when your hands finally moved, sliding down to his thighs and you couldn’t stop yourself from squeezing, licking your lips absently. Fox tilted his head, almost like he was trying to crack it, and your confidence only grew. Muscles flexed under your hands and you ached to feel him without layers of fabric in the way. 

Fox’s thigh twitched when you trailed your fingers a little higher, brushing the inseam of his pants. But you didn’t stop there, lazily following the stitching upward, applying just enough pressure for him to feel it. You were almost at the bulge in his pants, ready to pull back when Fox’s hips shifted forward, and you froze, hand hovering inches away from his crotch. Fox turned his head and you could almost see the anxiety in the set of his shoulders. You had to make a choice. 

Fox’s hip jerked again when you lightly cupped him through his pants.

You couldn’t hear him but you could feel a groan rumble through his chest and you shivered. His head tipped back when you squeezed lightly, his back straightening as he sat up. His cock twitched against your hand and you gasped into the privacy of your helmet. Then suddenly nerves buzzed under your skin, uncertainty threatening to eat you up. You wanted this more than anything but stepping over that line was big, to say the least. 

Anxiety quickly got the better of you and you released him, ready to pull away only for a large hand to cover yours. You blinked at the back of his helmet, chewing on your bottom lip when his head turned to glance over his shoulder. Fox nodded, squeezing your hand once before reaching for the handlebar again. You clenched your teeth, letting out a shaky breath as you settled against Fox’s back. You wanted nothing more than to be anywhere but on a speeder hundreds of feet from solid ground. 

You didn’t move your hand for a while, letting some of the tension melt off Fox’s shoulders first. His chin dipped down when you slowly started to rub him through his pants and your mouth watered when his breathing picked up. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wondered if you could make him cum like this. Fox’s back arched, hips jerked when you tightened your grip and the arousal simmering under your skin continued to intensify.

Then Fox suddenly jerked into a more upright position, slowing the speeder enough to exit the skylane and you released him, moving your hand to his hip again.

Descending into the lower levels made your stomach turn and you kept your head on a swivel as Fox landed the speeder. He seemed to almost slump with a harsh exhale and you tried to hide your laughter as you climbed off the bike. Fox lingered on the seat for a moment, twisting to hide the way he readjusted his pants before standing. He kept his back to you, hands clenching and unclenching at his side as you lifted your helmet off. 

There was commotion somewhere behind you, an argument or something, but you kept your attention on Fox. He eventually reached up to lift the nondescript helmet off, setting it on the speeder’s seat but he still didn’t turn around. Fear welled up in your stomach and you immediately regretted the fleeting touches on the speeder as you took a step closer. 

“Fox?” His shoulders lifted in an exaggerated exhale and then he was moving. Your breath hitched when he grabbed the front of your jacket, yanking you closer. Your head was spinning, eyes widening when you registered Fox’s lips on yours. It took a moment for your fight or flight instinct to settle but once it did, your eyes fluttered shut and you melted into the kiss. 

Your lips parted for his tongue and Fox tasted faintly of caf, a bitter yet welcome taste. You loosely wrapped your arms around his neck, shivering when his hands released your jacket, following the curve of your body before coming to rest on your hips. Breaking the kiss was harder than you anticipated but Fox stayed close, resting his forehead against yours.  

“Where did that come from?” you whispered, still trying to catch your breath. 

“Long overdue,” he huffed, slowly rubbing your sides. 

“And what does it mean?” Fox chuckled under his breath, bumping his nose against yours, a disarmingly tender show of affection. 

“It means, I’m not done with you, honey.”

Ragu list:

@a-single-tulip @wings-and-beskar @anxiouspineapple99 @secondaryrealm @dystopicjumpsuit @sunshinesdaydream @moonlightwarriorqueen @msmeredithrose @starrylothcat @starqueensthings @multi-fan-dom-madness @trixie2023 @mythical-illustrator @cw80831 @wolffegirlsunite @clonemedickix @sev-on-kamino @dickarchivist

[chaisshitposts]

Hi I am rabbit🐇 anon and I wanna say that Idk why but i m not understanding the pych-k method like i don't get what PPL say especially when ppl tag that post I just don't get it so can you tell step by step how to do pych-k method for void.

P.s we r same age lol

oh yeah??? cool! glad to meet a fellow adult 🐇 anon🤝 and that's ok, I'm more than happy to explain it for ya in simpler terms, it be like that sometimes so I get it. yer mind is like a computer, yer subconscious is the motherboard of info, and while ya do psych-k ya are basically downloadin' an entirely new program with new codin' and all that jazz with the affirmations ya choose, then ya save that affirmation in yer motherboard.

psych-k is about usin' yer entire brain, both hemispheres simultaneously, and how to do it is super simple. when you're just startin' out with it, I always recommend that ya start off with your left side (it doesn't really matter what side ya start with but some people do better when they have clear instructions)

left side -> ya wanna start off with crossin' yer left ankle over yer right ankle, set yerself a five minute timer and then start it, immediately afterwards you're gonna cross yer left wrist over yer right wrist and then interlock yer fingers. for a visual aid, check out this video -> it's not very long and I hope it'll be easy for ya to follow while ya are doin' this pose, you're gonna close yer eyes and repeat yer affirmation for the duration of yer timer. with this pose, ya more than likely will start to feel an influx of thoughts that may try and argue with yer affirmation. it's important to invite those negative thoughts and just let them flow, let them happen, and just keep repeatin' yer affirmation over and over. what yer doin' is teachin' yerself somethin' new until these resistant and negative thoughts disappear. i should also mention that sometimes ya may not experience any negative thoughts at all, which is fine too, just keep affirmin' for the five minutes. some folks also report that they feel physical symptoms when doin' psych-k, which is also normal, and it's perfectly okay if ya don't, that's also normal, everyone is impacted differently.

ya hold this posture for the entirety of yer five minute timer. once you're done you're gonna 'save' yer progress by uncrossin' your ankles and wrists and then press the finger tips of both yer hands together (kinda like when villains are havin' their evil scheme moment, y'know) just make sure all yer fingers touch each other and hold it for 10 seconds --- like below BUT MAKE SURE ALL YER FINGERS TOUCH TIPS 🙏, no palms need to be touched, you're not prayin'.

once you're done, you're gonna repeat the entire process for the right side where ya cross yer right ankle over left ankle, and yer right wrist over yer left wrist, hold that pose for five minutes with yer timer and then save it again with the pose mentioned above.

ideally, this'll completely change whatever limitin' belief ya had with the affirmation ya chose after a single session, BUT sometimes it can take more than one single session of psych-k which is also completely normal especially when dealin' with something that's been deeply embedded in yer mind for such a long time. think of it like a stubborn program in yer computer that you're tryna get rid of, sometimes it can take a few tries to completely wipe out the old programming.

somethin' else that can happen is that psych-k did work but does not instantly reflect in your 3D which can sometimes make people think it didn't work so they fall back into old thinkin' and start reaffirmin' the old story. h o w e v e r, ya can easily find out if psych-k worked through the use of muscle testin'. I'll provide some reference posts for muscle testin' below which can also be used in combination with any and all methods of manifestin'.

muscle testing applied kinesiology

psych-k is just a form of focused, super affirmin'. it can also be used to calm yerself down just from simply crossin' your ankles, many people do it unconsciously without realizin'. i recommend that the next time ya have a moment of panic, anxiety, or any other negative feeling, ya should try crossin' yer ankles and see what happens. 🕵️

if ya need anymore clarification, just let me know!!!

[dovkss]

hawks confronting reader for trying to hide their stockholm syndrome

word count: 957

warning: 18+; stockholm syndrome, emotional abuse, mentions of kidnapping, manhandling, bratty! reader, threatening, yandere themes

a/n: a lil sum to make up for lost timeee! ;(

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months. As he had planned, your feelings for him had began to shift.

No longer were you fighting him, spitting at him, yelling at him. No longer were you being disobedient, pushing his face away when he tried to kiss you.

No longer were you being an ungrateful whore.

You couldn't help but feel attached to him. It was hard not to. You haven't had any contact with an actual human besides him for the past few months. And, boy, were they long.

You got used to seeing his face. His gorgeous face. You were now comfortable enough to caress the fluffy red feathers he would leave in your space on purpose.

After being locked up in the basement during the day, you began to actually look forward to when he came back to you from patrolling or whatever hero work he had to do for the day.

When that door opened and he stepped through it, you found yourself smiling or letting out a sigh of relief.

You were aware of what was happening to you. You had read about it online some years ago. Stockholm Syndrome was what it was called... you think. People who are victims of abuse will start to empathize with their abusers to cope with the trauma they faced.

Well, he never hit you. Nor did he force you to do anything you didn't want to.

That's not abuse, is it? Surely not, you were perfectly fine and able to take care of yourself.

He kidnapped you, yeah. But... he was nice to you. He fed you, washed you, kept you warm, and bought you your favorite things!

That's not abuse.

Takami also took note of your change of heart. You never knew when your gaze on him lingered a little longer than normal. Your smile now wasn't sarcastic or half-assed.

At first he thought you were up to something. Maybe you were creating a ploy to blindside him in an attempt to escape.

Like he’d let that happen. Of course not.

But knew he had you wrapped around his finger when you let his lips come in context with your neck without putting up a fight. You were doing so well for him.

Only problem was you not admitting it. That annoyed the hell out of him.

You couldn’t let him know that you were coming around, then he would be getting his way. But if he was keeping you safe, what would be the harm in that?

No harm at all. Just a hurt ego. If he knew he was getting his way, you’d never be able to live it down. That cocky bastard.

"You cozy?" He asked you, his tone light. You nodded as you sat on the opposite end of the warm couch. It was movie night tonight, it was his turn to pick the movie.

You both sat in silence for the first half hour of the movie. You could see in the corner of your eye him looking at you. You bit your lip nervously, only trying to focus on the movie.

"Ya wanna sit next to me?" His next question was simple enough. You looked over at him. You knew you'd never forgive yourself for this. You scooted over a bit, your shoulder almost touching his.

He reached over and pulled your head into his neck and grabbed your legs to dangle over his. You huffed but said nothing.

"You startin' to like me yet?" He rested his head on top of yours. You rolled your eyes, not saying anything in response.

"Not even a little?" He chuckled. "This 'playing hard to get' act is getting old, Babe."

"It's not an act. You're just 'hard to get rid of'."

In a flash, you felt his demeanor change. Suddenly, he's on you before you even know it. He slams you back into the cushion, bringing his face to your cheeks, squishing them together. “I hope you know that you're never, ever getting rid of me. Nobody is fucking coming for you either, so I suggest you come to terms with that now."

You wriggle under his firm grip, trying to pry him off of you. You found it to be useless as he brought your face closer to his, forcing you to make eye contact with his yellow ones.

You couldn't lie to yourself. Being this close to him made you feel some things. You panicked.

"M' sorry, please, let me go..." you begged, closing your eyes. You hoped he listened, as your face was growing hot and beginning to cramp. You braced yourself for the nail marks that you would feel embedded in your skin.

He grinned. "Give me a kiss."

You leaned forward slightly, pecking his lips. He scoffed and shook you a bit, making you whine. "A real one, c'mon now."

You obeyed and attached your lips to his. He wasted no time slipping his tongue into your mouth. He wasn't just kissing you, he was letting you know that he was in charge.

For as long as you're here.

He pulled away with a chuckle before pushing your head down away from him further into the couch, then letting go. He returned to his spot while you lay there, trying to catch your breath.

You hadn't even noticed your thighs being clenched together. Your eyes watered slightly at the idea.

You were losing it. You were losing yourself, slowing turning into his. Your life now in his hands. Your freedom being stripped away from you.

“When I get outta here, m’ gonna kill you.” Your words were timid and empty.

The only thing left he had to change about you was that bratty mouth.

[xfangheartx]

My Hellaverse Fanfiction Masterlist.

I may as well do this, too, in case people wanna find and read my fics.

Main HB Fics:

Meet Buffy (Complete)- After getting into yet another argument with Blitzø, Loona decides to blow off some steam by going to the Lust Ring. However, in a surprising turn of events, she winds up coming back home… with a new friend. This is the story of Buffy, a Hellhound who found a home and a family in the most unlikely of places… in this case, literally.

The Break-Up (Complete)- Blitzø and Stolas haven’t had their monthly “transactions” in a while, and instead of immediately taking it to the bedroom, they’ve been going at things more casually. However, when Stolas brings up the possibility of ending the deal, Blitzø finds himself at a crossroads. Things come to a head on the night of the Full Moon, and now, both the assassin and the demon prince come to realizations about themselves as well as each other that could make or break their relationship.

A retelling of The Full Moon and Apology Tour with some divergence.

Healing (Complete)- Choosing to better oneself is the only first step in a long, uphill battle, which Blitzø is beginning to realize for the very first time. The question is, will he sink or swim? This is the story of Blitzø’s journey to self-improvement and how his moments of reflection affect his relationships with his loved ones.

Main Hazbin fics:

Nine's Tales (In Progress)- After she hired I.M.P. to kill her father, Nine left to find a place to stay, and she finds herself staying at the Hazbin Hotel, where she befriends Charlie Morningstar, the Princess of Hell, and her guests and hotel staff. As Nine navigates through her newfound afterlife, she finds that the journey to redemption is full of ups and downs. (OC fic, but also contains bits of Chaggie, CherriPentious, and Huskerdust)

Helluva Boss One-Shots:

Not Used to This- Fizz should be used to this by now, right? (Fizzarozzie)

Afterglow- After Blitzø and Stolas have another one of their little “transactions”, the imp lies awake with his thoughts while the prince sleeps. (Stolitz)

Late Night Ponderings- As Fizz and Ozzie sit in their bedroom, the former finds himself wondering about the relationship he has with the Sin of Lust. (Fizzarozzie)

Run Away- Octavia’s usual weekend stay with her mother quickly goes awry. Ties in with Chapter 31 of Meet Buffy.

The Cake- “Don’t you think these parties are startin’ to be a little… overkill?”

Fizz asks Verosika a simple question. Takes place before The Full Moon and Apology Tour.

Just For One Night- “Just one night” pretty much lost its meaning when Fizz started letting the quieves sleep in the bed. (Fizzarozzie fam fic)

Crushes- Oliver experiences his first heartbreak and Fizz tries to make it better. (Fizzarozzie fam fic)

A Morning Smoke- A few days after the trial, Fizz is staying with Blitzø in the Pride Ring, and decides to go outside one morning for a smoke.

Time to Reflect- Heartbroken, Ozzie sits at home alone until someone pays him a visit.

Random Stories-

How Lust Found Love- How Asmodeus went from Hell’s Eternal Bachelor to a Sin who fell madly in love.

DM me for an NSFW Fizzarozzie one-shot I wrote. I don't wanna take chances.

[jackals-ships]

almost 5am and i am Thinking..... compelled by the Clowns....

“You're doin the thing again.”

He says words at you like you're supposed to know what the fuck they mean. Like the pair of you ain't been sitting in silence for the past several minutes while he fiddles with the lighting for the fuck millionth time, and you perch on a nearby altar like some kinda gargoyle watchin his every move. (done his sermons how many times? and he still gotta mess with shit before each one. the routine of it all makes your heart fluttery.)

“...what thing?” You ask when he doesn't speak further.

And the fucker doesn't even do you the good graces of looking at you when he responds. “Ya know. The thing with your face.”

"...Bachus. Darlin. Dearest most palest diamond mine. Precious beloved of mine life. The one person I have allowed to gaze into the darkest parts of my very heart and drink his fill. The one who I have allowed ta witness the soft underbelly of my being." Now he's lookin at you, all soft and sweet but with an air of exasperation.

Well that's what he gets for startin it. "One who if life took from me too soon I would simply wilt and perish from the heartbreak of it all. I know you're a pan rotted old cave robbin fool but could you, perhaps, attempt to explain to me what "the thing with your face" fuckin means? Unless that is too far out the grasp of your aforementioned rotted pan?"

He gestures at all of you in a grand sweeping motion. As if that is explanation enough. When you continue to stare him down he elaborates.

“Shit you're pullin at me right now best friend. When you've been away too long and come back weird with it. Theatrical in a way that rings mighty false. And ya don't stop smiling the whole time you do it. When you act like you need to put on a show for some invisible voyeur even when it's just us.”

You feel the aforementioned smile twitch as you croon, well practiced. "Aww what you don't like my smile Bucksies? Howww very cruel you are to me. How hurtful darlin. Ya wound me." (terrible awful he's barely read you for filth and you're deflecting so you don't spiral. but you still are, nails digging into the soft meat of your palms and really you don't even know why you're doin this at him for one simple observation.)

There's a gentle claw on your cheek now, rubbing circles and smudging your paint. It makes your nose crinkle. “Nah little love, you know I adore that smile of yours. But this ain't your smile.” His claw traces down, sharp tap against the edge of your rigor mortis grin. “‘Sides I know when you're actually chillin, when you got a proper vibe on, ya don't smile. You got a little curve down right here. Shits wicked cute, y'know?”

You frown at that, for a fraction of a fraction of a second, before your head tilts to the side. Before you're putting on your best softest puppy dog eyes up at him. "You think I'm cute Makara? Reely?" (why, why are you doing this to him, why can't you turn it off.)

He's frowning a little himself, but it's a gentle thing while he traces back up to your cheekbone. Knuckle rubbing slow gentle circles once more.

“‘Course you are. All the lil things about ya and all those little yous you wear are precious. But I prefer the you that's comfortable.” A pause as his ear flicks, considering, eyes narrowing predator like at you.

That's the warning he gives before he's squishing your cheeks in one giant hand, voice dropping to a low croon. Type you can feel in your ribs. “Well that ain't fully true. I'm awful fond of you only I get to see. The one all sweet and soft, curls up in the pile and whimpers at me til I start pettin em. The one that lets me tend to all their sharp edges and smooth em away, cuz really what you want is for someone to take care of you when you can't. Want someone to treat you gentle as you deserve."

You can feel your face heat as he talks, false smile starting to drop unbidden.

Oh. Oh you see how it is. Get you to strip your masks by being all pale and flirty on you. It's not working (it is) it isn't (it is.) (oh but you fold so ridiculously fast for this shit.)

You're pressing into his hand harder on reflex, you know he can feel how hot your face is gettin and he's getting all smug about it. Doesn't stop you from relaxing, from being able to practically feel all that sweet sweet dopamine being released.

And as the tension unwinds he starts purring which just makes you relax more. Muscles in your face going loose makes him purr harder, fucking Pavlov's Dog up in this bitch.

God you hate when he's right about you.

Your eyes are closed now but you can feel that shit eating grin from a mile away. “There now.. doesn't that feel better sweetness?”

“Kill yourself clown boy.”

“Awww love you too best friend.”