#this is the closest to heaven i’ll ever get

[pine4pple-b0i]

currently GEEKING over listening to roger clark teach me history via arthur morgan’s voice lmao

[goosewraith]

thinking about costco rotisserie chicken again

[yanderenightmare]

TW: implied nsfw, implied noncon/dubcon, poly yanderes, sprained ankle, captive reader, apocolypse au, talk of fertility, murder of unnamed characters, mentions of potentially killing reader

fem reader

Just thinking about the apocalypse, the two army men who’ve long survived it in their shelter with barely any trouble, and then you, a poor girl trying hard to outrun your last captives only to run into them.  

You didn’t realize back then that it was like trading piranhas for sharks, too caught up in begging for their aid to think better of it. You should have just kept running, but your ankle was sprained badly, maybe even broken, and you were wearing so little you would most likely have died from the cold during the night if they hadn’t taken you in.

It seems unfair of them to have kept the giant bunker all to themselves, only the two of them, but you don’t judge. You would likely have kept it all to yourself as well.

This new world has bred new humans, and they’re all monsters. It’s honestly quite surprising they’d even let you in, given this is what they’re protecting, this sanctuary from the past, a comfort most people would kill their closest friend in exchange for.

Trust is all but dead, and so is honor or any other morality—you would know, you’ve lived out there for it all, only having survived by spreading your legs at the right moments. It’s a shameful tactic, and many times, you’ve wondered if it wouldn’t have been better to spare yourself and just die. What was the purpose?

This—you think. This must be it. They have showers and working hot water.

You don’t know how it’s possible—the original owners of the shelter must have been some type of millionaire. You haven’t had a warm shower since the world went to shit—years ago. It’s been a choice of waiting for rain or finding a lake, hoping it wasn’t rancid. Meanwhile, they have soap—scented soap, the lush kind you’d forgotten existed. It feels so nice you have to cry—rejoice—sobbing while lathering yourself, watching all the filth go down the drain, leaving you smooth-skinned once again for the first time in forever. You can’t remember having ever been so clean before, feeling reborn.

They have fresh clothes for you too—new socks and underwear, all clean fabrics, so much more than what you wore—pants, a shirt, and a sweater to keep warm. You didn’t know there still existed people who lived like the old days—you’d thought it was long gone, a bittersweet dream you sometimes have the pleasure of at night instead of the usual nightmares. Never had you thought you’d experience anything even remotely similar, but here you are—looking yourself in the mirror after so long, surprised to see a human looking back at you.

And they feed you. Not scraps, not leftovers, not rot, or days-old flesh from the last successful hunt—but freshly baked bread, vegetables, fruit—for fuck’s sake, they even have juice. You cry again while eating, and then you find yourself begging them again, “Please, let me stay—please, I’ll do anything. I can cook, clean, work—anything at all, I can do it, just please let me stay…”

You’re on your knees, forehead pressed to the heated metal floors—toasty and comforting, you think you could sleep better than ever right there.

“We’ll think about it,” one of them mutters as he gathers the plates. His voice was so harsh he might as well have said, not a chance. It’s clear by his frown that he’d rather send you right out again, leave you to the monsters.

“We’ll at least let you stay until your ankle heals, so don’t worry.” The other is more sympathetic, helping you up. “For now, let’s get you to bed. You must be exhausted.”

It hadn’t crossed your mind that they’d have beds—actual real soft downy mattresses and duvets and pillows. The two of you help make it together. It feels so foreign that you wonder if you might have died earlier. Some years back, you wouldn’t have thought heaven would resemble a prison cell, but now it only made sense—safe metal walls and a bed. What more could one possibly want in the world?

“I’ll wrap your leg for you if you sit.” He holds out a bandage roll, gesturing to your ankle.

Blinking, you can’t even register what he’d just offered until he’s getting down on his knees before you.

You panic, then. Bandages are hard to come by—it hardly seems worth it. “There’s no blood, you shouldn’t waste it—”

“It’ll heal better and faster this way,” he adds reassuringly. His voice is so soft and compelling that you find yourself sitting down without further quarrel, even when it makes you feel spoiled.

He’s gentle with you—holding you steady while wrapping it just tightly enough to be supportive. There hasn’t been a man who’s touched you like it.

“Does that feel okay?”

You can barely tell he’s talking to you. It’s all so lost on you that you can only wordlessly nod your head.

He fastens it just as carefully before standing. “Is there anything else you might need?”

You shake your head just as wordlessly. You can’t believe how nice he’s being. It makes no sense at all. Not in this world. Not anymore.

“I’m sorry, but I’m gonna have to lock the door,” he apologizes with a sheepish look once standing on the threshold.

You’d been stuck thinking about how warm the room was, trying to remember a single time you hadn’t been freezing during the night. “That’s okay, I understand,” you say. After all, what’s a locked door in comparison?

“Good,” he smiles—it’s likely the kindest smile you’ve ever seen. “Alright then, good night.”

Once again, you’re left stunned. The last time you’d heard those words spoken must have been from a loved one long since dead. It makes your lip wobble again as you say it back, “Good night.”

It's strange—they could have left you for dead but didn’t. They don’t seem gullible—they can’t be if they’ve managed to protect this place for so long—but you suppose there still exist men who have a soft spot in their hearts for helpless damsels in distress.

As you sink into the comfort, draping your duvet atop your battered body, you don’t even care about the camera in the ceiling—blinking red while watching you.

“Did you have to bandage her up?” he grumbles as the other walks into the bedroom after having said his goodnights to you. 

He’s already in bed, observing through the cameras on a tablet—you were currently curling into the duvet, wrapping it around you close for comfort. You’d likely not slept on anything so soft in a while—it wouldn’t surprise him if you preferred the floor. But no, you drift asleep quite quickly.

“You know how badly things can heal without proper support,” the other answers, regarding it as no big deal. “And besides, it’s not like we often need it—we have plenty to spare.”

He removes his clothes and crawls onto the bed as well, lifting the covers to slot himself right next to the other man, who still has a scowl on his face.

“Oh, come on…” he drawls. “She’s exactly what we’ve been talking about, isn’t she?”

The grump doesn’t answer, still with keen eyes watching you, even as you’ve fallen asleep—as if waiting for you to do something befitting a wild animal in a cage. The other’s eyes fall to the screen as well, but he only awes in delight.

“Look at her, already fast asleep,” he purrs while zooming in on your face. “I mean, did you see how she was begging earlier, what she said? I’d do anything,” he continues, almost whining. “So cute, I could have fucked her right then and there.”

The other man sets the tablet aside with a disagreeing sigh. “We’ll wait at least a week for her system to detoxify from the wasteland,” he says strictly. “I’m not touching her before then, and neither are you unless you want to sleep alone.”

The other groans then, flopping down on his back. “Yeah, yeah, you and your safety protocols,” he dismisses before a smirk creeps up his face, glee twinkling in his eyes as he looks up at his grouchy counterpart. “But then we keep her, right?”

“Tch—we don’t even know if she’s fertile. The wasteland could have made her barren as long as she’s been out there,” the other shuffles down into the sheets as well, turning to look at his partner and the awfully keen look on his face.

“So we test her. Give her a medical check,” he says, again as if it’s not a problem, even when it very well could turn out to be.

They’ve already broken quarantine rules by letting you in here—and who knows what your real objectives truly are.

“I don’t trust her,” he states.

The other pouts. “I don’t see what one little lady can do—she’s hardly a threat. And we already purged the group that was following her. I doubt any of them made it out alive.”

True, he had gone out and sent several gas grenades into the settlement. Surely, none of them managed to escape, but then again��

“Pest control only works when you kill them all, and we’ve just let one inside our own house,” he grumbles.

The other one sighs. “Okay, so if it turns out she isn’t as cute as she looks, we’ll deal with her like the rest. But if I’m right, and she really is just a harmless little thing, we keep her, and I get to have the first go.”

Suppose there isn’t anything better to do aside from killing you straight away, which would only have been a waste of food, water, clothes, and bandages. 

“Fine.”

The other grins at the agreeance, humming, “I guess until then, we’ll just have to make do with each other—I've been hard since we watched her shower.” He leans forward for contact but is shut down as his bedmate rolls around with his back turned to him.

“Tch—take care of it yourself.” Tonight has been too stressful to tug each other’s dicks. 

He can hear him whine behind him, but he settles down soon enough.

Suppose it would be nice fucking a woman again. It’s been so many years he figured he wouldn’t need it anymore. They’ve made do with each other so far. But even he can’t deny, once you’d washed all the blood and muck off, once he saw the dewy hue of your soft skin and the silk of your hair, all those plush curves, and not to mention that awfully sweet look on your face—he felt the tug in his pants too.

He'll do a medical check on you tomorrow. He hopes you’re fertile. But even if you’re not, he might give in to the other’s wishes and keep you anyway. After all, they might have many luxuries, but the comfort of pussy is one they haven’t had in a long, long, long time.

♡ BNHA – KiriBaku, BakuDeku, ShinKami, DabiHawks, EndHawks, ErasurMic ♡ JJK – SatoSugu, ItaFushi, SukuIta, ♡ HQ – Miya twins, KageHina, BokuAka, ♡ CSM – AkiDen, YoshiDen ♡ BLLK – NagiReo

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[avocado-writing]

cutman

turns out I’m gonna keep being horny for hugh jackman. had a crush on him when I was 10 and I guess that hasn’t changed almost 20 years later. anyway here’s a fic where he’s in a cage fight and you’re his cutman xoxo

pairing: wolverine x reader

rating: explicit

cws: blood, injury details, smut (dirty talk, semi-public sex, rough sex)

The bell rings and Logan staggers back to you, the roar of the crowd meaning you have to get close in order to be heard. You grab ahold of his biceps and manoeuvre him into a chair. He goes without complaint, any effort to resist having to be reserved for the actual fight itself. Opposite him, the other guy goes to grab a glass of water and you are once again reminded of his sheer mass; he’s twice Logan’s size and built like a fucking freight train. He catches you watching and hits you with a greasy smile, and you turn in disgust back to your lover. 

“How you holding up, honey?” you ask Logan, quickly glancing him over, getting a grunt in reply as he tries to refocus. He looks pretty bad. Bruising is flowering on his face and there’s a nasty gash on his forehead which is bleeding freely. You know he’ll heal up quick on his own, but you still get to work - pressing the ice-cold enswell to the worst of the spreading purple and dabbing at the blood with an epinephrine-soaked cotton swab. 

You’ve been called the best cutman in the business. This is true, but the fact your primary patient can heal himself up is probably a bit of a bonus too. For Logan, you’re mostly here to soothe; soothe and observe. 

“Okay, you’ve fucking got him, Logan. He’s weak on his left. He keeps trying to lead with his right hand which isn’t his dominant, I think he’s holding back because you’ve fucked his shoulder. If you don’t let him distract you, you can finish him off. You hear me?”

He focuses up at the smell of chemicals, eyes hazily locking in on you. Silhouetted by the grimy lights of this place, his vision not quite sharp yet, you have the hazy glow of a halo around you. An angel sent for him. The closest to heaven he’ll ever be. 

“Yeah,” he mutters, a bloodied hand coming up to caress your face. You smile despite the smear of red he leaves on your cheek with his fingertips, clasping him close. You press a kiss into his palm.

“What did I say, handsome? Stay with me.”

“Don’t let him distract me. Go for his left.”

“Atta boy,” you say with a grin, one which Logan manages to mirror despite still feeling slightly concussed, your praise like a shot of adrenaline. You surge forward to kiss him and he meets you with enthusiasm. He’s drunk on the moment, on the fight, on you. You can taste the copper as your tongue slides against his, the roughness of his beard scraping your cheeks. The crowd cheers leerily but you both ignore it. You and him, that’s all there is, the pinprick of your existence in this vast world. 

“I fucking love you,” he growls against your mouth. You nip at his lower lip, catching it for a second between your teeth in a promise of what’s to come later. 

“Finish this guy off and take me home, Logan. I’ll fucking die if you’re not inside me tonight.”

When you pull back you will be wearing his blood as lipstick, warpaint; a reminder that you belong to each other. 

He snarls, half-feral, and you think he might just take you there in the cage, in front of everyone who’s come to watch him fight. But the bell goes again to signal the start of the final round, and Logan staggers back to his feet instead. 

He doesn’t even get you home. 

When the fight is won and you’re hoarse from cheering his victory, he drags you into one of the dingy little bathrooms. It’s dark and definitely not soundproofed but the two of you don’t care. You run your tongue along that delicious vein in his bicep, tasting the salt off of his hot skin, and he grips your thighs so hard you know that he will leave bruises in the shape of his fingerprints. 

“Mark me up, Logan. Let everyone see who I belong to, baby.”

“Fuck, such a dirty little mouth,” he growls, but you can hear the gruff chuckle in there too. He lifts you onto the sink like you weigh nothing, tearing at your belt and jeans so that he can get proper access to you. He’s rock hard, cock straining in his hand as he pulls himself out, and you wonder if he’s been this turned on since before the last round. 

Usually you’d sink to your knees and encourage him to fuck your throat, let him bring you to tears before he made it up to you, but he has no such patience now. He needs to sheathe himself in you, find your tight heat and bury himself there again and again. He’s about to push inside when you grab his forearm. 

He looks up with a glint of worry in his eye. You know, just for a second, that he thinks he’s hurt you. He’d stop if you asked him to, sweet little puppy. Instead you give him another ferocious kiss. 

“I wanna turn around. Wanna watch you fuck me.” You nod to the dirty mirror over the sink and he makes a deep noise of agreement in the back of his throat, manhandling you so you can brace yourself on the porcelain. 

You moan as he fucks inside of you with one vicious push, throwing your head back to reflect the long line of your neck. You see mirrored the dual look of feral desire and total adoration in his face as he fucks you like he’s been challenged to make your legs stop working. Holding on the best you can, you watch his injuries from the fight heal slowly, wounds stitching closed by themselves, bruises receding from purple to brown to nothing at all. It’s that sort of regeneration that makes him beg for you to draw blood when you bite him as you fuck, just to leave the proof on his body a little longer that you’ve been there. That you’ve loved him. 

“Fucking love you, Logan,” you cry out as he slams so hard into you he threatens to break the fucking sink. He leans over and grabs you by the hair, moving your face so that he can kiss you with more teeth and tongue than lips. You love it. 

“Mine,” he chokes. You wrap your little hands round one of his, bloodied and rough. 

“Mine,” you echo back, sinking your teeth in. 

[peppermint-toads]

you don’t like doctor’s offices. especially not now. you don’t like the hypnotic hum of the fluorescent lights, the cabinets that’ve been there since the late 80’s, the pamphlets sitting in an acrylic holder telling you that you have options.

options. not anymore. because you’re sitting on the examination table about 16 weeks pregnant, waiting for the doctor.

“the baby looks healthy,” the doctor tells you, barging into the room without a knock. “i’m prescribing zofran for the nausea. the nurse will see you out.”

thank fucking god. you wanted nothing more than to get the fuck out of this place. the best part about these visits was the walk home. they are usually quite pleasant. being pregnant in the summertime has its downfalls, but feeling the breeze in your hair and through your thin dress is your saving grace.

it’s just another bonus that you pass your favorite ice cream shop on the way home. you think you’ll have an affogato today, decaf, of course.

it smells like heaven in the shop, that cool, sweet smell from the coolers. your favorite. this is your saving grace, this affogato will solidify the day as a good one, despite the lingering feeling of doctor on you.

ice cream in hand, it’s finally time to go home. the walk is clearing your head already. you eat a spoonful of vanilla and sigh. maybe you ought to stop by the pharmacy for those meds. on second thought, that can be tomorrow’s task. you’ll be alright.

actually, maybe not. because you see simon riley’s stupid, bulking form walking towards you about a block away. fuck. shit fuck. you should hide. duck into the closest shop before he can come after you. but it’s no hope, you’re looking up and you’ve already made direct eye contact. nausea meds sound so good right now.

may as well keep going forward. it’s not like he’ll notice, anyway. you’re barely showing, but your white dress isn’t doing you any favors right now.

you’ll give a polite smile, duck your head, and all will be well. no stopping, no small talk, no—

simon is physically cornering you to a complete halt in the middle of the sidewalk, and there is nothing you can do about it. maybe if you curl your back in a little bit, the bump won’t be as noticeable.

“what are you doing? stop that.”

he is so gracefully referring to your posture.

“i don’t have time for this simon. i’ve got things to do.”

you walk sideways around him, and he follows.

“where are you coming from?”

you can’t help it. “you lost the right to ask that question when you fell off the face of the planet.”

you hear him grunt behind you and smile. great, no snide comments yet.

“you look different.”

shit. he’s jogging, catching up to you and walking by your side now. the breeze is picking up and you shift uncomfortably. the fabric of your dress is clinging to your stomach.

simon looks down, his intent is to see what you’re eating, but he catches a glimpse of your swollen stomach and freezes. he’s nearly swallowed by all the foot traffic.

“simon?” you feel the loss of him by your side. he’s stood still, strangers bumping into him and jostling his shoulders.

great. now you’re backtracking, when really all you want is to be at home, in bed.

“simon, what’s your problem?”

“you’re pregnant.”

time stops for him. he’s the father, no way he couldn’t be. unless you were cheating on him, which he highly doubts considering your heart is the purest thing he’s ever encountered during his time on this earth.

you let out a long, long sigh. “yeah.”

then you’re swaying, trying to keep upright and simultaneously swallowing down vomit. simon watches as the life drains from your face a bit. his hands are gripping your shoulders to stabilize you. his touch feels nice, warm.

“i need to get home,” you tell him with a sad smile, pained to be leaving his soft touch behind yet again.

“i’ll walk you.”

you nod. you don’t have the heart to ask him to take his hand off your waist, feels too good. and he’s keeping the world right side up.

it’s only a short distance home, and soon he’s ushering you up the stairs to your flat. you don’t stop him from doing that, either.

you also don’t stop him from pulling your favorite blanket over you after helping you lie down on the couch.

you don’t even get the chance to tell him to leave because you’re just so tired, and his presence makes you feel so safe. you’re falling asleep and quickly. he lets you.

he sits and watches you sleep for the better part of an hour. when you stir, he’s there, staring.

he’s in your lounge chair, chin resting on his folded knuckles.

“i’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell me.”

you’re barely awake and what’s he saying? “huh?” you say stupidly, wiping your eyes of sleep.

“i said,” he swallows, “i’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell me.”

you’re sitting straight up now, definitely more awake now. “i couldn’t have told you. even if i wanted to. you disappeared, simon.

he did. but he doesn’t have the time to explain that now. so, he ignores you.

“how far along are you?”

you tell him. he stands from the chair, sitting down right next to you. he asks if he can feel your stomach. you guess so.

things are getting a little too serious for you now.

“right, well. i had a lovely nap, and i’m feeling much better. thank you for walking me home, but i need to stop by the pharmacy and—”

he interrupts you, tugging your wrist when you try to stand. “i’ll go for you. i’ll do it, please. i’ll do anything you ask me to.

you frown down at him. “simon, there’s no point to this. please just go. it’s just… too late.”

simon’s heart is breaking. he didn’t think it could break anymore than it already has in the last few months.

“let me stay.”

he begs. you think there are tears in his eyes, and if you let them fall you know there’ll be no going back. so you sit with him, you let him kiss you with his hand on your stomach. you let him lay you down on the beat up couch he was always pestering you to replace. you let him pull your dress over your head and kiss his way down your stomach. you let him sink into you slowly and pull your calves up to rest on his shoulders. you let him cum inside of you, again.

you even let him go to the pharmacy for you.

[fandomnerd9602]

Y/N-Juice kneels before Astrid…

Y/N: my afterlife before you was nonexistent. Astrid, you are the light at the end of my tunnel. The closest to heaven I’ll ever see. You gave my dead heart a reason to beat again. Will you marry me?

Astrid: yes! yes!!

Astrid hugs and kisses them…

Lydia smacks Beetlejuice upside the head…

Lydia; see? that’s how you propose!

Beetlejuice: I get it. I see it now.

[leclerckiss]

love letters ౨ৎ

notes: charles leclerc x reader, friends to lovers, humour, fluff, confessions, this is both a smau & written piece.

a/n: one of my favourite tropes ever: guilty. this feels a little messy but I had a lot of fun writing it.

౨ৎ

liked by friendusername, charlesleclerc and 313,983 others

yourusername: hello from the birthday girl here <3 thank you so much for all of the kind messages, wishes & gifts. sending lots of love

3,122 comments

friendusername: happy bday to our favourite girl ever 🍰🫶🏼

yourusername: 🤍🤍🤍

user1: happy birthday to our favourite paddock princessss

charlesleclerc: did you like the cake I bought you then, or?

yourusername: I loved it until you threw half of it in my face

charlesleclerc: it tasted nicer that way

franciscagomes: bday girl !!

yourusername: i love youu

franciscagomes: i love you more 🤍

pierregasly: what about me?

franciscagomes: today is about y/n. shush.

౨ৎ

I. Your Birthday.

After hours spent with café au lait and too much maple syrup on pancakes in the morning with gift receiving and wishes, a quiet luncheon with those closest to your heart, enjoying the beauty of the shores and rosé champagne, evening eventually settles in a beautiful colour against the heavens of Monaco.

You have never been one for the dramatics or high attention of crowds, settling on an intimate celebratory affair amongst close friends and family: pretty dresses and glasses of Lavender French '75 or those strawberry daiquiris that Ésme is in love with; a sweet, favourite song heard in the background.

Charles arrives fashionably late, the collar of his white-linen shirt loosened and soft, dark-brunet hair slightly tousled as he comes near, the sight of a smile on his face you've always loved, dimples revealed.

There is a certain relief that comes with being graced by his presence, like you had been silently longing and waiting for his greeting before anybody else's, though you disguise it from any chance of teasing.

"(Y/N)," Your name rolls off his tongue like caramel, accentuated as he shifts to kiss both your cheeks in friendly affection before he chuckles at your expression, "Happy birthday." Mon ange.

"Thank you," You breathe, a laugh falling past your mouth at the sight of him in manifestation, inclining your head when you look at him through your lashes, "I was beginning to think you forgot."

"Forget? Me?" The Monegasque exclaims as though wounded, placing his hand to his chest though the smile about his sun-kissed visage never dissipates, stealing a nearby glass of champagne, "Never. I had some work to finish."

There is an edge of teasing beneath your looks, a dance of butterflies in your stomach when he touches the small of your back fleetingly as he shifts past with that signature wink of his, all friendly and humorous in years of friendship, and yet your heart stutters.

You almost say something else, confessions and thoughts that want to erupt from your chest like love letters you have never sent – certain it is merely the liquor fogging your judgement – but he's wandered away with a final promise before a syllable can come forth.

"Let me get the birthday girl a drink, oui?"

liked by franciscagomes and 311,646 others

yourusername: july with my favourite people <3

mentioned charlesleclerc, friendusername, franciscagomes and two others

1,354 comments

user1: literal angels

user2: second pic is definitely y/n and charles

friendusername: you still owe me another ice cream 🍨

yourusername: sorry bby, i’ll be at your front door with a double vanilla ice cream soon <3

franciscagomes: 🤍🤍

౨ৎ

II. At the beach.

Warm light kisses your skin like heavenly delight, a forgotten copy of Paris' Vogue beside where you are currently bathing with a finished strawberry lemonade, long lashes fluttering when you open your eyes to gaze at the skies above in the heat of July, a mosaic of white and cerulean about the Côte d'Azur.

Most of the others have momentarily departed for the nearby café for new sweet treats, though you are consciously aware of a half-dozing Charles Leclerc nearby against the slight flush down the bridge of his nose and eyelashes that ghost about his cheekbones where he is lying.

Pure bliss; perfect heaven.

"Charles?"

It takes him a second, the mention of his name rousing him to blink out of a hazy hint of a dream with the tilt of his chin towards the direction of your voice that calls to him like an angel's symphony, squinting against the haze of light before a lazy, boyish smile reveals his pearlescent teeth, "Mm?"

Shifting upright, consciously trying not to stare at him for too long though you have come to simply welcome and fall used to the sight of his naked chest, all smooth ridges and lean muscle, you absently adjust the ribbons of your pretty bikini and reach for sun cream.

"Do you think you could help me put some on my back, please?" You ask politely, offering him the item whilst shifting on your knees and gathering the edges of your hair over your shoulder that have fallen loose.

He does not respond initially, not until he's sat upright and shifted closer with a kind edge of a smile that dances across his face, "Oui."

Charles does not hesitate or take advantage of the circumstances, applying the fine lotion against the curve of your shoulders with gentle ministrations and lower down, fingertips feather-light, careful not to linger too long.

The act feels oddly intimate as you gaze towards the serene shores, like his touch is meant for the most secret parts of you, an unconscious shiver and the subtle arching of your vertebrae when he traces a particular area. Whether he notices or not, there is no indication given, instead continuing in a method that seems entirely platonic but leaves an ache in your stomach.

"Merci," You tell him once the deed is most finished and he draws away, shifting just enough to offer a look of him from the corner of your eye in a gratuitous smile.

You wonder if how his gaze lingers is the same way yours does, like a painting worth admiring or a flower in emergence, heart thrumming quicker under your sternum before the moment is broken when he clears his throat.

"Of course."

౨ৎ

III. A dinner.

Caffè Milano, a quaint but fanciful and warm establishment tucked in the quiet luxuries of Monaco's principality with its dancing chandeliers, oak-varnished furniture and beloved menu.

A semblance of familiarity, pleasantry and polished glasses clinking against the rhythm of conversation amongst friends in the warm afternoon: a lingering aroma of roses from the centrepiece décor neatly arranged and fine cuisine.

"– Non, I am not lying," Pierre is recounting a recent, humorous anecdote of experience, thumb idly tracing the edge of his wine glass whilst you and the others listen on, your cheeks beginning to hurt from how much you have laughed in the recent half-an hour, idly toying with the necklace resting at the hollow of your throat in common fashion.

"You are." Francisca frowns, albeit fondly.

Your concentration is removed from their talk when there is a subtle caress against the ankle bone, a touch beneath the furniture and a fleeting glance from your peripheral sight at the Monégasque beside you, all handsome smiles and that addictive song of laughter whilst a stray hair falls about his eyebrow, though he does not seem to show any degree of deliberation or notice that his shoe idly touches you there.

You have the urge to hold him, caress him, to press a thousand, butterfly kisses along his jaw and say something you should not. Instead, you continue to listen and nurse the last of your Château-Chalon.

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f1gossip: y/n at the grand prix this weekend <3 our paddock princess is back

mentioned yourusername

333 comments

user1: she looks divineee

user2: charles and y/n friends to lovers when?

user3: leave them alone, they’re just friends and have been since childhood

౨ৎ

IV. A balcony.

Charles had forgotten his keys somewhere and, until his dear brother could come and return them, you had offered the warmth of your welcomed apartment: all minimalist but homely in décor against a palette of cream, white and the like all complemented by paintings and furniture.

One hour had melted into two by the late afternoon with dusk's slow kiss, hints of lilac and grey in the edge of the skies, your cats curled contently on the plush chaise lounge and resting after endless affections from the Monégasque who seemed to be in love with them.

"Can I join you?"

The voice – honest and clear, albeit a fraction amused – is recognisable as you are drawn out of reverie on the balcony of rocaille motifs, gazing into quiet streets below and the nearby public gardens flourishing with flora, gnawing at your inner cheek as you look to the man where he leans against the threshold, a look in his eye that comes with a subtle indulgence after he stole your favourite bottle of rosé in the kitchenette.

"Of course, yes." Always.

He stands beside you, a few inches apart with his elbow resting against the intricate balustrade when he follows your dreamy stare for a moment, lost in his own thoughts. There is a comfort between the two of you, something you know must come from years of familiarity:

An seemingly endless, innocent youth that manifested in its complications as you aged and neared adolescence, like an evening primrose that flowers and sometimes falls apart, but always returns, even changing with senescence. With age.

You can feel his gaze, almost like an internal, silent imploration for your own, the edges of your fingers and nails polished in a rose quartz-esque varnish that glitters prettily in the evening, and his lips are parted just enough as if wanting to say something before they curve a little higher on the edges, his words hushed.

"Have you ever thought about love?"

Your eyebrows raise a fraction, though it is not so unexpected of a question and one that has been on the edge of your tongue since forever, even with the doubtful inkling that he has merely enjoyed too much wine.

"Sometimes," All of the time. You murmur, a soft, breathless chuckle following as you shrug and tilt your head upwards, gazing above like some wished answer or instruction from the angels or whoever listens, "Why do you ask?"

"Because," His response is delayed, though his answer is sincere and thoughtful like he has been thinking over his words since a time he can't remember until his fingertips touch your elbow fleetingly, "I can't stop thinking about it."

There is a moment, a single fragment, in which you meet his eyes, his touch is known and everything seems to pause like a finished painting, a still image in a history book: his hand, his body and his eyes – the colour of autumn, earth, hints of something else so unique to him.

"Charles, what are you saying?" You laugh softly, looking away momentarily and toying with the knitted wool of your soft cardigan with the kind of feigned indifference that comes with disguising truth, "I didn't think you were a romantic, who has caught your eye?"

For a moment, you wish he would say someone's name, a blessed girl that you have never heard of, so that you can deny your own feelings and settle on the painful reality that you are merely friends.

Instead, his gaze flickers, almost nervously, and a palm cradles the curve of your cheek and jaw with the hesitance of a man of conflicting considerations even when he tries to smile a little. "Please, forgive me."

There is not an instance given to allow any insistence or inquiry as Charles presses a kiss upon your mouth: it is not rushed and there is a desperation there that is not greedy, tasting the remnants of your lipstick and rosé, slow and methodical – longer when you indulge and welcome the feeling.

He does not draw away completely when the feeling ends, his forehead lightly pressed to yours and his touch a little firmer where his fingers curl into your hair, swallowing slowly as his eyes close for a moment until he dares meet your stare once more.

"(Y/N)?"

You smile.

"Je t'aime." There is something in his face you have never seen before, something raw and open like an unfurling rose revealing itself, and you know that your heart is his and his alone.

Another kiss with your prompting, fingertips tracing the soft cotton of his shirt near the shoulder until you drape arms about his shoulders, breathing him in with hints of raspberry, amber and cinnamon, "I love you."

There is poetry in his eyes like those unsent love letters shoved under your pillow, and he delves in, holding you close and intimate until you're most certain, mutually, of the silent yearning you have felt for one another for years.

"C'mere," He mumbles, an arm drawing around the back of your thighs as he picks you up and holds you securely, and you cannot help but laugh in pure, unadulterated glee at his touch and affections, the bottle of rosé abandoned as the night settles in and you are whisked away.

He loves you.

He loves you.

[emmcfrxst]

the only heaven i’ll be sent to (is when i’m alone with you); arthur morgan x reader

word count: 2K

warnings: smut!, afab!reader, religious themes (kinda. a bitch loves blasphemy<3), oral (f!receiving), body worship (arthur worships the ground you walk on), multiple orgasms (again, f!receiving), expressively asking for consent because that’s sexy! also yes the title is a hozier reference! feedback is appreciated as always <333

!!!!!MINORS DNI!!!!!

The wind blows softly over the half-closed lapels of the tent you and Arthur had set up somewhere around Dewberry Creek, your old, rusted lantern creaking as it sways with the night breeze. The flickering light does not seem to bother your companion, however, as he flattens his tongue over the seam of your cunt, moaning greedily into you. Arthur’s eyes flutter closed in ecstasy as your fingers tangle in his hair, giving the honey brown strands a sharp tug when he delivers a particularly hard suck to your pulsing clit. Your legs close around his head instinctively, trapping him between your thighs, tense muscles flexing against the sides of his face. A soft, breathy apology leaves your swollen lips, the pressure disappearing soon after as your lover pins your body down with calloused hands, brushing off your apology with a chuckle against your skin. You do not have anything to apologize for; Arthur Morgan, a man who has escaped death more than once, would gladly let himself be smothered by your cunt if it came to it. What a way to go that would be, he thinks. The closest to heaven’s gates he will ever get. And although Arthur isn’t a man of religion, he is more than willing to spend every day and every night praying at the altar that is your body, worshipping every inch of you with his eyes, his lips, his hands. Every kiss, every mark you leave on his skin is a holy reminder of the love shared between the two of you; of the passionate nights where Arthur can forget all about his sins and fully allow himself to be bathed in the sacred light of your affections.

“There you go, beautiful. Come back to me.” he coos at you, pushing hair out of your teary eyes, a tender grin on his face. His thumb gently runs under your eyes, wiping away the moisture there as you come back to your senses, focusing on his form above you. The sight of him is like a punch to the gut; blue irises swallowed up by fully dilated pupils, lips swollen and shining with the evidence of your previous orgasms, his beard is soaked through and his breathing ragged. You let your eyes wander down to where his bulge is straining against his union suit, biting your lip. The effect is immediate— his cock twitches under your sultry gaze, a soft groan leaving your lover’s throat.

“Stop lookin’ at me like that.” Arthur warns lowly, calloused hands running over the bare skin of your thigh. You giggle, lifting yourself up to brush your lips against his, your hand running down his chest, feeling his muscles flex under your touch.

“Like what?” You ask innocently, the teasing curve of your smile betraying your oblivious act. Arthur glares at you playfully, hand coming down to squeeze your inner thigh.

“Like ye wanna do real bad things t’me.” He mutters, voice raspier than usual, dripping with arousal. Suppressing a grin, you sit up, letting your hands slide all the way down to cup him through his clothes, thumb gently pressing against the wet spot on his underwear. A sick sort of satisfaction fills you at Arthur’s reaction —pretty blue eyes fluttering closed, his lips part in a strangled moan, hips jutting forward, seeking more pressure. You allow him a few moments to bask in your touch, swirling your thumb around his tip through the fabric and cupping his balls, before taking your hands off of him, leaving him breathing heavily.

“Maybe I do wanna do real bad things to you, Mr Morgan.” you whisper against his neck, leaving open mouthed kisses over his pulse point. A satisfied little giggle leaves you when you hear him cursing under his breath, hips bucking upwards of their own volition. Your victory is short lived, however, as your lover pinches your clit in retaliation, making you cry out. Satisfied, a smug grin on his face, he finally bares himself to you, making your breath hitch. It isn’t the first time you see Arthur in all of his glory —far from it, really, but the sight of how strong, how capable he is always manages to steal the breath right from your lungs. Freckles adorn the robust planes of his shoulders, ascending all the way across the broadness of a back toned from years of hard work; a petite waist and powerful hips curve out into muscled thighs and chiseled calves— Arthur Morgan is truly a sight to behold. He flushes under your heated stare but says nothing —how wise of him, you think, for he knows by now that you would never allow him to look down on himself, not even under the pretense of a joke. You deserve better than the way you treat yourself, you’d told him a million times. And you’ll spend the rest of your life proving it— that he’s worth it, be it through words, comfort, actions or through the passionate entangling of your bodies and souls. Because sex is more than just that to the two of you; it is a way of communicating the love and the needs you have for one another— Arthur, so painstakingly touch starved before you came along, now revels in the physical familiarity you two share. From fleeting touches to lingering kisses, he simply cannot seem to get enough of you; he does not believe the longing in his heart could ever be quelled completely.

Trembling gasps leave the two of you as Arthur slides his cock between your folds, coating himself in your slick. Jolts of pleasure thrum through your body every time his tip bumps against your swollen clit, your soft cries of pleasure causing Arthur’s cock to twitch.

“Sweetheart, if you keep makin’ all them pretty noises it’s gonna be over b’fore it even starts.” His accent is thick and his voice is shaky, excited little tremors running through his body at your state of undoing —all because of him. He’s made a real mess out of the two of you; drenched, sweaty and needy — thick strips of your wetness clinging to Arthur’s lower abdomen, precum pearling over the tip of his cock and gliding down his length; yes, your lover is more than willing to drown himself in your shared desire, to indulge in the carnality of your bound. Wrapping a hand around himself, he groans behind clenched teeth, sensitive to the touch, fingers quickly getting wet from how thoroughly turned on he is. He, however, remains unashamed, having accepted long ago that he will never be in control when it comes to you —he has never felt so connected with another human being, be it physically, psychologically, mentally or emotionally and he no longer bothers trying to hide the way you make him feel.

Understood. Respected. Appreciated. Loved. Alive. He’d never felt so many emotions prior to meeting you. Had never felt so alive; had never wanted to keep going as much as he has since you walked into his life. You make it worth it.

Letting his lips brush along your brow line, Arthur curls the fingers of his free hand around one of your thighs, spreading you open for him.

“Ye still good? D’ye want me to stop?” He asks, blue eyes roaming over your bare form with tenderness, trying to assess the situation. Even with you soft, pliant and soaked underneath him, Arthur Morgan would never dare to make assumptions about your desires, would never be so single-minded as to claim you without expressed consent from your part. He needs to know you want this as much as he does, wants this to be good for you— he thrives on your pleasure and your pleasure alone; can only feel good if you are. It is one of the many reasons why you love him so deeply, but in your lusting daze, you find yourself too strung up to fully appreciate it.

“Arthur Morgan, if you stop now m’gonna kick your sorry ass—oh!” Your voice breaks off into a pitiful little whimper when his cock teases your entrance, a low, rumbling laugh leaving him.

“As you wish, m’lady.” He allows himself to be playful for a few moments longer, basking in the frustrated little furrow of your brows and your pouting lips before pushing inside in one smooth glide, aided by your shared arousal. Arthur curses under his breath as your cunt flutters around him, trying to adjust to his girth. The blunt ends of your nails leave crescent marks onto the broadness of his shoulders and Arthur clenches his jaw, doing his best to stay still and allow you a moment of reprieve from the sensations that overtake your body. Busying himself with leaving marks onto your skin, he soothes the spots where his teeth have dug into, lips moving feom your neck to your chest to take a nipple into his mouth. The loud, broken mewl you let out at the action makes him shiver, goosebumps spreading all over his skin at the sound, but he continues to stay still, waiting for you to give him the permission to go on. It’s only when your legs wrap around his waist that he does finally let himself move, pulling himself almost all the way out before sliding back in with a quick snap of his hips. Another cry leaves your lips at the action, although this time sounding strangled, your cunt clenching around your lover’s cock at the delicious friction he provides you with. Your foot presses into the meat of his ass, encouraging him to go faster, deeper— a silent demand he is quick to indulge in. A series of loud, wet noises begin resounding around the two of you, only motivating Arthur on to thrust harder; your back arching up into him when he starts battering that one spot inside of you, rough fingers coming down to rub circles onto your clit. The moans pour freely from your mouth and into his as he kisses you, tongues tangling together in a messy, sloppy fight for dominance. You’re vaguely aware of the spit trickling down your chin but are far too gone to care; the coil in your stomach getting tighter and tighter with every powerful snap of Arthur’s hips into yours. Already sensitive from your previous orgasms, you rake your nails down his back, trying to warn your lover of your impending climax. Alas, gargling moans are the only thing you can manage before you finally snap; vision going white, body going rigid under his, you repeat his name like a prayer as waves after waves of pleasure wash over you. Arthur isn’t far behind you, spurred on by your own release, a long, incredibly deep moan rumbling through his chest before he pulls out of you, sticky cum splattering across your stomach. Coming down from your high, you tuck a few strands of hair behind Arthur’s ears, fingers lingering on his face lovingly. He leans into your touch immediately, turning his head to press a gentle kiss into your palm, his body trembling with the aftermath of his own orgasm.

“Was…” He clears his throat, rolling off of you and pulling you along to rest on his chest. “Was that good f’r ya?” The gravelly tone of his voice cannot conceal the genuineness of his question, his fingers running down the length of your spine. It makes you smile— he makes you smile, your sweet cowboy. Shifting to look at him, you kiss him right over his heart, fondness warming your features.

“It was. It always is, with you. I love you.” And despite it not being the first time you utter those words— far from it, really— emotion still takes over Arthur’s heart and features, eyes shining with a sheen of tears.

Love. You love him.

No, Arthur Morgan may not be a religious man, and he remains unconvinced of God’s existence, but he does know one thing; you are his little piece of heaven on Earth.

[siriussslut]

boners at the theater

warnings: semi-public sex, creaming in pants, & scariest of all- prongsfoot. they’re just friends who help each other get off tho so it’s okay xx

masterlist

sirius shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his sudden boner so hard it’s painful. he and james are sitting in the last row of the movie theater, and the closest person is in the next row, 7 seats down. the movie lights the theater in a soft red glow. he glances over at james and sees a tent in his jeans too.

he leans down to whisper in james’ ear. “hey, james,”

“hm?” he doesn’t look away from the movie. some hot girl is on screen, drenched head-to-toe, her nipples hard through her dress.

“i’ll help you with yours if you’ll help me with mine.”

“what?” he finally meets his gaze, eyebrows pinched together.

sirius gestures at their laps.

james turns a dark shade of crimson. “…here?”

sirius grins cheekily, placing a hand on james’ erection. he palms him through the denim of his jeans, and james muffles a gasp behind his hand.

“what if we get caught?” he whispers.

he leans closer. “that makes it more fun.” he slips his hand down the waistband of his jeans, feeling his cock through his briefs.

james hesitates and then nods, reaching over to touch sirius. sirius sighs quietly when james’ fingers reach his dick, wrapping around the shaft. sirius mimics the action with james’.

james is softer, slowly sliding up and down sirius’ cock, while sirius is rougher, moving at a brutal pace, ever so often reaching down to tug on james’ balls. james twitches every time he does.

when james’ hand sends him into what feels like heaven, he leans closer to rest his head against james’ shoulder. he can hear his pulse fluttering through his neck, his skin sticky with sweat.

a bubble of pre-cum licks against sirius’ hand and the sensation sends him over the edge. he gasps as he comes, soaking his clothes. james bites down on a whimper, playing with sirius through his orgasm as he finishes himself.

he creams in his pants, dick twitching as he paints sirius’ hand with his cum.

james pulls a shaky hand out of sirius’ jeans, his waistband snapping back against his skin. sirius pulls his own hand back as well, licking the cum off of his fingers. james watches wide-eyed.

“going to the bathroom,” he whispers, stepping away with a grin.

[ataraxiaspainting]

King of Infinity.

Yan (Villain) Gojo x F Reader. 

Synopsis: You don’t get the starring role. You’re partially happy about it; because you don’t have to break a leg.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships/kidnapping(?), descriptions of genocide, descriptions of corpses, manipulation, Stockholm Syndrome(ish), and degrading language against the reader.

Word Count: 1.1k.

can technically be considered a roleswap AU but up to you as geto isn’t talked about rcfncodnorjr…

*~*~*~*

“I never considered you someone who would be fond of apartments.” Satoru pushes his sunglasses up with his pointer finger as he wraps an arm around your trembling shoulders.

The same hand that holds you so very tenderly in the eyes of his followers is the same hand that turns on the lighter to envelop his cigarette in a small flame – a flame you had learned long ago to not attempt to put out, lest you would like it seared into your palm like the tattoo he forced on your neck.

‘The Star.’

“It’s a good strategy though,” Those words are the closest thing to a praise you have heard in months. They are akin to Satan reflecting on his reign of hell and comparing, considering whether or not it would be better to serve in heaven. But then he would laugh as his servants danced, not wanting any angel or God to take such bliss away from him.

Satoru had you dressed in what he considered to be the highest quality fabrics monkeys can make, while he had attire made from the sorcerers he had wrapped around his finger. Yours were not suitable for Tokyo’s snowstorms and his clothing covered up more skin than he would ever let you cover – because you aren’t him, the one he loves the most more than anything else in this beautiful world; Gojo Satoru, the special grade sorcerer that killed more than thirty thousand people in a single hour outside Jujutsu High and was never punished after that fateful evening.

You still remember that night. It is etched into your memory like a child had drawn it on a white wall. Despite everything, you will not ever be able to erase it. You will grow old and never dream of anything but him, the center of your now small universe, the only flower that is allowed to bloom under the eternal blood moon. Everything else will rot – even the earth’s shadow will not remain once Satoru’s dreams are realized. His will is all that matters now, he is the priest of the god of destruction and you are so very far below him. 

A monkey. That is where you will stay and continue to be after you rot and he steps on the soil placed on top of you so you cannot breathe or scream. Only gratitude can fall from your disgusting lips because Gojo Satoru’s only fuel is the groveling of every living creature that makes up the infinite number of galaxies. He will gladly replace your tongue with the worms who decompose you if you have more to say than that. After a while, he’ll comfort you and say that it doesn’t get too bad underneath because that is your one true purpose in life; to not speak and only do.

“You didn’t cry too much this time,” The ends of Satoru’s mouth move upwards, having the freedom to do as they please because his lips aren’t sewn shut. Yours on the other hand can hardly get something that tastes pleasant. “That’s an improvement, wouldn’t you say? I’ll be sure to get you some mochi after this mission, pet.”

You’re not sure if he is talking about the car ride here or the corpses strewn across the floor – occupants of this apartment and a poor security guard that just so happened to be in the general vicinity and heard flesh being torn apart like paper.

There are glimmers coming from the knife block in the kitchen area, the sunlight hitting them just right to make them glow a silvery hue. But the idea dies as soon as you feel its warmth – almost nonexistent because of the burning cold – and slink back into the shadows where you belong, where you are meant to be.

“I never took you to be one for planning. Usually, it is Nanami who does that.” 

A puff of smoke comes out, but you can still see his glowing eyes. You can always see them no matter what you do, even if you close your own, so you decide to imagine them as a different color; something less bright and more normal, something like black or brown. Sometimes you get away with it, and other times he somehow knows.

“I don’t mind it though.”

From across the street, you see the clocktower that stands at the gate of the nearest train station… or bus stop. You don’t care enough to remember which it was. Most likely the former though – you highly doubt any mere bus station would have a clock that large when said buses only hold less than fifty people.

“Will you miss me?” The tone in his voice is teasing, you think because his lighter isn’t on his lap or in his hand – it is on the little coffee table beside the sofa you two are sitting on. But you must still behave according to Satoru’s design because the placement of the flames can easily change. The comfort is cold, but it is better than a scorching hot truth.

“Yes.” 

The real reason you had chosen an apartment and not some corporate office that was under the thumb of the Star Religious Group was because you wanted to be somewhere that was halfway normal. It’s selfish, you know that. But the floors are aged and not polished daily, the air smells different and the heating is at its lowest setting because the owners wanted to save a bit of money. It was oh so very selfish of you. But when you are forced to be the companion of Gojo Satoru, someone who is every definition of the word, you have to combat it in a way that won’t leave your skin black and blue.

“It’s almost eleven,” Satoru groans, stretching his arms up to the ceiling. Some blood managed to get up there along with a bit of a leather shoe, probably the husband’s. You two ignore it for different reasons that are just as strong as the other. “Be good.”

When he reaches towards the table, you think he is reaching for his lighter. But with a slight detour of his hand, he opens his wallet instead. A few thousand yen is handed to you when your eyes are closed, your mind prepared for another fight or flight response. All you get is another poke of your cheek.

“You know where the market is, don’t you? The one I took you after our date last week.” 

You nod. “Would you like mochi, master?”

“No,” Satoru chuckles. “Get me something you like.”

[yandere-writer-momo]

Finally wrote part ii to pinky promise. Took forever but I’ll have to split it into three parts. Mehhhh

Yandere Short Stories: Pinky Promise II

Yandere Lesbian x Afab Reader x Yandere Genderfluid Noble

Pink Promises (1)

(Your name) nervously fiddled with the skirts of her dress. Her eyes flit over to Cressida, who greeted each of her esteemed guests with soft, fake smiles. It was strange to see the blonde so stiff.

“This is my closest friend, Lady (your name).” Cressida introduced (your name) to the noble ladies. Her blue eyes admired (your name) who looked so beautiful all dolled up. Cressida wondered if (your name) would want to look like this nearly everyday… Cressida simply wanted to spoil (your name) until the day she took her last breath.

The salon went by swimmingly, there wasn’t anything the women really talked about other than gossip. (Your name) remained silent for the entire evening as she sat beside Cressida. The blonde snuck glances at (your name) here and there, unsure if she should make a move.

And that’s when Cressida grabbed (your name)’s hand in hers from under the table. Her pale thumb ran over the soft skin of (your name)’s knuckles to soothe her. Cressida now had a genuine smile on her face, her thick golden lashes fluttered at (your name). Her cerulean eyes filled with emotion.

The ladies of the party noticed the look Cressida gave (your name) in confusion. Cressida has never looked at anyone like that or has even given anyone her undivided attention. But rather than finding the look cute, the noblewomen were unnerved. Cressida looked obsessed with (your name) and they felt awful for the poor young woman.

Cressida’s temper was known all over the land. And heaven have mercy if (your name) were to fall from Cressida’s graces. The poor girl would probably end up with the other hanged heads on her rumored walls.

“You seem awfully close with each other.” One of the ladies quietly brought up, which made Cressida beam.

“Yes. (Your name) is my best friend. I’m so happy to have her in my life.” Cressida gave (your name)‘s hand a squeeze. A blush now on her face. “I’m so lucky to have found her… I was so lonely for a long time.”

The ladies furrowed their brows in confusion. Lonely? Cressida was the most popular socialite despite her ill manners due to her doll like beauty. People flocked to her like flies to honey. Yet this was the first time Cressida has ever flocked to someone. And call someone so informally.

(Your name) gave a stiff smile to everyone. She was nervous now that she was put on the spot like this. She didn’t know what to say or what to do… luckily, Cressida did all of the talking.

“I’m happy you ladies have been so kind to her. It means a lot to me.” The noblewomen all gave smiles, it seemed they had been trying to get into Cressida’s good graces for awhile now. Just how powerful was Cressida?

(Your name) nodded her head and cast her gaze to the floor. Even though she was now being swarmed with compliments, she felt so out of place…

She had left this noble life behind and she had no interest in being a part of it again.

.

.

.

“Did you like the salon, (your name)?” Cressida asked with stars in her eyes. She wanted to know if (your name) loved wearing pretty dresses and drinking foreign teas. Were the macarons to her liking? Cressida hoped so. She’d go all out next time if (your name) wasn’t satisfied. Cressida merely wanted to give her future wife the best. “I picked out subtle sweet treats so the flavors weren’t too overwhelming and I wanted you to try one of my favorite teas.”

“I had a nice time, Cressida.” (Your name) smiled softly at the blonde. “But I just don’t think this life is for me-“

“Nonsense! I think you deserve to wear beautiful dresses and to enjoy nice treats everyday.” Cressida’s cheeks were a furious shade of cherry as she began to get worked up. Her blonde flyaways stuck straight up like a canary’s feathers. “Were they mean to you? I can personally talk to them-“

Cressida gasped when (your name) gently took her hands in hers. (Your name) smiled at Cressida with so much kindness, she swore she’d melt.

“I’m truly grateful for you being so considerate of me but I don’t really like large groups of people all that much.” (Your name) gave Cressida’s hands a squeeze. “I appreciate our friendship, Cressida. But you don’t have to do so much for me. I just enjoy spending time with you-“

Cressida suddenly pulled (your name) into a tight hug. The taller girl burying her face into (your name)’s shoulder. Her arms felt like the coils of an anaconda from their unyielding grip.

“I appreciate you! We can just spend time together with just the two of us then!” Cressida pulled away, a few tears of joy falling down her rosy cheeks. The cherry color made her porcelain skin even more doll like. “I love being with you.”

(Your name) gave Cressida a smile so bright, Cressida swore she was momentarily blinded. The blonde felt her heart flutter out of her chest and try to crawl into (your name)‘s.

“I love you…” Cressida muttered under her breath in a voice so soft, (your name) couldn’t hear her. “I love you so much.”

And this was only the beginning of Cressida’s lifelong obsession.

.

.

.

(Your name) didn’t come back until it was nearly dark out. Cressida had spent the entire day pampering her with meals and a large bouquet of roses. The sweet fragrance from the delicate flowers reminded (your name) of her blonde friend to a tee.

“Can we do this again soon? I’ll share that secret with you next time!” Cressida blushed, the blonde shyly glanced away. “I’d love to gift you more roses.”

“Thank you, Cressida. I’ll see you around.”

“Please don’t be scared to write to me! I’d love to hear from you more.”

Cressida helped (your name) out from the carriage. The two girls bid each other farewell before Cressida took off. Her cerulean eyes watched (your name) until the smaller girl was no longer in her line of sight from her carriage window.

“I love you. I love you. I love you.” Cressida chanted while her heart pounded against her rib cage. “And now I know you love me too.”

.

.

.

“What the hell are those?” Marisa glowered with jealousy at the bright red roses. That stupid porcelain doll bought (your name) those, didn’t she? Marisa couldn’t stand that noble wench. “Can you even eat them?”

“I mean, roses are edible but they’re a gift. I think I might put them in a vase- what are you doing?!” (Your name) could only gasp in horror when Marisa began to rip apart the roses with her sharp teeth like a hungry wolf.

The red head tore the flowers to shreds with her sharp canines in seconds. The redhead’s wild cinnamon eyes glanced up at (your name) as she swallowed down the last bits. Red petals stuck to her lips and parts of her cheeks from the absolute slaughter she committed against the flowers.

“There. It was much better as a meal than decor.” Marisa grumbled while she crossed her muscular arms over her chest. “Don’t take gifts from weirdos.”

“Cressida is my friend-“ Marisa closed the distance between them until she towered over (your name). Her large body trembled with overwhelming emotions. Why was (your name) defending that haunted porcelain doll? Did she… did (your name) love Cressida?

“Are you saying Cressida is as important to you as I am?” Marisa asked in a hushed tone. She had no idea why the thought of (your name) being with someone else, another woman, drove her insane. Marisa had the strongest desire to tear her flesh off herself at the thought of (your name) caring about someone as much as they care about her. It made her sick to her stomach.

“No, that’s not it at all!” (Your name) frowned at how panicked Marisa seemed to be. “You’re my most important person, Marisa.”

Marisa melted when (your name) pulled her into a hug. Her arms quickly wrapped around (your name) into a tight hug as her heart began to flutter. Yes… this felt so right. Being with (your name) felt so right. She wondered how (your name)’s lips would feel against hers…

They may have only been on the edge of eighteen, but Marisa knew it in her heart that she wanted to be (your name)‘s one and only for the rest of their days together on this planet.

“I hope you don’t get an upset stomach from eating so many flowers.” (Your name) used her thumbs to brush off some petals from Marisa’s face. “I still cannot believe you did that…”

“If it makes you feel any better, they tasted awful anyways.” The two shared a laugh as they held each other. (Your name) could never be mad at Marisa. Never.

“(Your name)?”

“Yes?” (Your name) looked up to look at Marisa who had a conflicted expression on her face.

“Swear to me you’ll never leave me- no. Pinky promise me that we’ll be together forever.” Marisa held out her pinky to (your name). “No matter what happens, we will be together.”

“Mari, we’re not children-“

“What’s the matter? Scared of a childish oath?” Marisa teased which made (your name) hook her pinky around Marisa’s. (Your name) chuckled and shook her head.

“Alright, alright. I pinky promise.”

“You’re going to be by my side until the day I die.” Marisa told (your name). “Because even in this lifetime, I could never get enough of you.”

.

.

.

“We’re going to be moving to the north.” Orik told the two women with a smile. “It’s time for a change in scenery and for Marisa to learn the way of the sword. We’ll be leaving in a week’s time.”

(Your name) frowned at Orik. “But isn’t the north dangerous? It’s a frozen wasteland.”

“I’ll be there to protect you of course.” Marisa teased (your name) with a bright grin. “I’ll be stronger and then I’ll truly be the knight to your princess.”

(Your name) gave Marisa a soft smile. She knew her childhood friend would never let anything happen to her, it’s been that way since they were children. It was just…

“I should tell Cressida I’m leaving-“

“Nonesense, you can send her a letter once we’re there.” Orik butted into the conversation with an awkward smile. The old wizard did not want that blonde haired menace to know of their whereabouts. There was something incredibly off about the marquesses. And Orik has never been wrong about his gut feelings. “Is that okay?”

(Your name) frowned but nodded her head at her teacher. She felt as if she was in the dark about this whole matter but she didn’t want to address the elephant in the room quite yet. She needed to figure out what Orik knew in private.

“I’ll help you pack.” Marisa offered with a giddy smile. They were about to start a new chapter together… maybe once Marisa became stronger, they could move in together?

(Your name) nodded her head and followed along. The young woman gave one last look to the door before she dipped around the bend.

Hopefully Cressida would understand…

.

.

.

Marisa wrapped another cloak around (your name) when she noticed the smaller girl shiver. A loving smile on her lips as she took (your name)‘s hands in hers.

“Your hands are so cold… want me to warm them up?” Marisa took (your name)‘s hands and pressed tender kisses all over the soft skin. A shudder left her scarred lips from the contact. This felt so right… Marisa was meant to kiss (your name)’s palms and fingers. She was meant to have the delicate digits in her mouth to suckle on. Marisa wanted to drag her tongue over every finger so she could taste how seeet (your name) was- what was that? What kind of demon possessed Marisa that made her mind wander to such obscene thoughts of her best friend?

“Mari?” (Your name) quirked a brow at her best friend in concern. Her friend has never kissed her hands like this before and she seemed so lost in thought. “Are you alright?”

Marisa shook her head and gave (your name) a reassuring smile. “I’m okay. I just had some thoughts on my mind was all.”

(Your name) gave Marisa a big smile. “You’ve been having a lot on your mind recently. I’m starting to believe you’re a scholar now since you’re so full of thoughts.”

The two shared a laugh before they fell into a comfortable silence. (Your name) rested her head on Marisa’s shoulder with a big smile, which made the red head’s face exploded with color. Marisa swore her heart leapt to the stars from the simple gesture. Her shoulder felt as if it was on fire. Marisa was being boiled alive with desire- desire?

Marisa felt her head swim with more thoughts of her friend. Her reactions felt natural and yet… would it be possible for two women to be together- together? What was wrong with her… Marisa shouldn’t think of such things. They were friends, nothing more… right?

(Your name) was none the wiser of Marisa’s muddled feelings for her nor was she aware of just how upset Cressida would be once she found out of her disappearance.

.

.

.

Cressida threw her vanity chair across the room with such force, it splintered into thousands of pieces. A loud scream escaped her chest as she sobbed uncontrollably.

Bits of silk and velvet from expensive dresses laid torn across her bedroom floor. Cressida’s body shifted in and out of her male and female form from how unstable she was.

“My lord, you must collect yourself-“ Gerald barely dodged a hand mirror that was chucked at his head. A sigh left his lips. There was no way his lord was going to ever be royalty at this rate… he was too unstable.

“She’s gone! They took her from me!” Chrysanthos screamed, his face a beet shade of red and his golden hair frazzled. He looked like a maniac. “Why would they take her to the north?! I want her back immediately-“

Gerald slapped him across the face with his white glove, Crysanthos’s head thrown to the side. A red welt formed on his porcelain skin but the slap successfully silenced the marquis. The butler glared at the noble with disdain.

“You are acting like a fool.” Gerald hissed, the butler had had enough. “If you don’t get yourself together, you’ll never be able to sit on the throne.”

Gerald clicked his tongue at the mess in the room. “I’ll send a maid to clean this up while you collect your feelings. You’re done acting like a spoiled child. You cannot forget your purpose, my lord.”

Gerald then left Chrysanthos alone in his room . The door slammed shut behind the butler, which snapped Chrysanthos back to reality.

The blonde’s knees collapsed from under him as he began to sob. His darling would never hit him… she would have consoled him and let him cry his heart out on her shoulder. How was he going to cope without her by his side?

Crysanthos admired his ethereal reflection in the large body mirror in the corner of the room. There was no denying he was a man of exquisite beauty, but it didn’t matter if his darling wasn’t here to see him. If she didn’t love him.

“We’ll be reunited again…” Chrysanthos’s tenor voice rung out in the emptiness in his room. “We will see each other soon and I’ll never let you go again.”

.

.

.

Half a year went by living in the north and it wasn’t horrible. (Your name) spent a lot of her time indoors where it was warm to practice her healing abilities while Marisa took up sword fighting.

Orik had given (your name) permission to heal people for money now so she could be more independent. The young woman was ecstatic to finally use her abilities more often and she began to meet the locals… especially a young knight named Joshua.

It was shocking to learn that most people in the north had blood red hair just like Marisa. It turns out Marisa may have originally been a northerner before she became a slave and eventually ended up in the orphanage… she had lived such a hard life but it seems she found her place… or so (your name) thought.

(Your name) had no idea that Marisa considered (your name) herself as her true home.

Marisa would put her all into training so she could head back to their home to be with (your name). She even began to earn money by her big game she hunted and sold. It wasn’t uncommon for her to hunt for boars or deer after her training session. Marisa now legally bought her beloved princess presents.

Today was no exception. Marisa had decided to buy (your name) a stuffed snow rabbit. It was something small and simple, but she was sure (your name) would love the cute stuffy…

And that’s when Marisa came home a bit early to find a man with (your name). The two talked and laughed while (your name) healed his wounds and Marisa knew that (your name) was just doing her job but she couldn’t help the jealousy that consumed her. Especially when he had such a prominent blush on his face when he looked at (your name).

The scene instantly soured Marisa’s mood. Who did this man think he was? How dare he bask in (your name)‘s presence for this long… he didn’t deserve to be in the same room as her. No man did…

“I noticed your hair is shorter, Joshua.” (Your name) smiled at the young knight who only blushed in response. “It looks really nice on you.”

“O-oh… you noticed my hair cut?” Joshua ran an olive hand through his red locks. “Thank you, (your name)… actually I-I have something to ask you-“

Joshua froze when he saw Marisa in the corner of his eye. He quickly sprung up and collected himself. “Sorry, it seems I overstayed my welcome.”

(Your name) frowned but then she saw Marisa in the door way. Her cinnamon eyes glared holes into Joshua. Oh my… it seems Marisa was upset about something.

“It’s perfectly okay, Joshua. Please refrain from hurting yourself.” (Your name) smiled warmly at the knight who blushed once more. He shyly gave her a nod and scurried out the door before Marisa’s wrath was inflicted on him. He made sure not to look the giant woman in the eyes.

Once he shut the door behind him, Marisa opened her mouth to speak. “I didn’t think you were acquainted with any men around here…”

“Oh I’m not, just Joshua.” (Your name) smiled warmly at Marisa, who took Joshua’s seat beside her. “He is so clumsy-“

“He’s probably injuring himself to see you.” Marisa mumbled under her breath before she dug the stuffed rabbit out of her pocket. “Here, I bought you something.”

(Your name) smiled at the white rabbit plush. She couldn’t believe Marisa had bought her something so cute…

“Thank you so much, Mari.” (Your name) smiled at Marisa who blushed a bit. Marisa felt her breath hitch when (your name) held her hand in hers. “I love it.”

“It was nothing…” Marisa couldn’t quite explain the feeling that she felt towards her best friend. Her stomach swarmed with butterflies, and her face felt hot. What was going on with her? Why did she have such muddled feelings around (your name)?

.

.

.

Marisa stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her hand ran through her long red locks in thought. (Your name) really liked Joshua’s short hair…

Marisa glanced at the dagger that rested on the bathroom cabinet, the young woman brought it up to her face to admire it. Would (your name) like her hair short as well?

Marisa grabbed a fist full of her hair up into a ponytail and sucked in a deep breath. Her hand shook as she held the dagger so tightly, her knuckles turned white.

And with the flick of her wrist, handfuls of blood red hair laid on the bathroom floor. Marisa smiled at her reflection in awe.

Short hair suited her much better. She looked more like a man than Joshua now.

Marisa ran her hand through her neck length locks in contemplation. Perhaps she could trim it up a bit more? Keep it a bit longer in the back to tug on while she shoved her face between (your name)’s legs- where on earth were these impure thoughts coming from?

Marisa shook her head to try to clear it. Her hands held her hot cheeks in shame.

“What on earth is wrong with me?”

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.

.

“Wow, Mari! Did you get a haircut?” (Your name) beamed at her friend whose cheeks flushed at the compliment. Marisa shyly ran her palm through her short wolf cut. “You look so handsome, Mari. It suits your face.”

She was thrilled that (your name) loved her new cut. It made butterflies explode in her stomach to a nearly overwhelming degree. Marisa had never felt so flattered in her life.

Marisa bent down to (your name)‘s height and took her hands in hers. “Do you mean it?”

“Mean what, Mari?”

“That I’m handsome?” Marisa’s voice was barely above a whisper, her body trembled. She needed to know… she needed to know if (your name) truly thought she was attractive.

“Of course I do.” (Your name) smiled at Marisa. She moved her hand to cup Marisa’s face, her fingers traced over the unsightly scars on the left side of the redhead’s face. “You have such a strong jawline and I love your Roman nose…”

Marisa leaned forward into (your name)’s touch. She wanted more… she needed more. Marisa wanted to open up her ribcage so (your name) could crawl inside but even then, Marisa wouldn’t be satiated with the close proximity. They needed to fuse together into one, living being- she was thinking of bizarre ideas again.

(Your name) traced her fingers over the slit scar on Marisa’s thin lips. She wasn’t lying about Marisa being handsome… if (your name) didn’t know the truth, she’d think Marisa was a man.

Marisa suddenly scooped (your name) up in her arms and lead her to her room. The red head collapsing on the bed with her best friend with a big smile.

“Mari!” (Your name) giggled when Marisa buried her face into (your name)’s stomach.

“I want your eyes on me forever.” Marisa whispered into (your name)’s skin. “I don’t ever want you to go to a far away place where I can’t see you.”

“Then we’ll stay together till we’re old.” (Your name) giggled with a big smile. “At least until I get a husband.”

And that’s when it hit Marisa. The reason why she loved being near (your name) so much, the reason she wished to provide for her and protect the small girl from harm was because Marisa was in love with her. Marisa was in love with (your name)… and she’d be damned if she let some man take her away.

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.

.

As the years went by, (Your name) did her best to send Cressida a weekly letter despite the her busy schedule in the north. The blonde would always send back letters spritzed with perfume or small flowers tucked into the envelopes. Cressida was so cute sometimes. (Your name) could not wait to be back in the west to see Cressida. It’s been so long… she wondered if the blonde was still so doll like…

A large, veiny hand was placed on her shoulder which drew her from her thoughts. (Your name) turned to see her best friend, Marisa.

The redhead now was nearly seven feet tall and more massive than any man around. The unsightly scars on the left side of her face made her presence even more intimidating, but it didn’t affect (your name) who beamed warmly at her friend.

“You still send letters to that doll?” Marisa scoffed as she bent down to scoop one up to snoop through it. “I don’t know what you see in that girl. She’s corny.”

(Your name) tried to take the letter from Marisa but Marisa merely held it up high above her head.

“Mari, give it back!” Marisa’s chest shook with a laugh before she gave (your name) a smirk.

“I will if you give me a kiss.” Marisa’s cinnamon eyes glinted with mischievousness. Over the last few years, she’s been pushing the boundaries of their friendship in pursuit of turning it into a relationship… a shame (your name) was so dense since Marisa ruined any romantic endeavors for the smaller woman.

“You wild woman!” (Your name) huffed and then pouted in defeat. “Fine.”

Marisa bent down in a millisecond, the large woman turned her cheek to the side for (your name) to kiss. The smaller woman giggled and rolled her eyes before she planted a tender kiss on one of Marisa’s scars.

“Perfect, here’s your love letter.” Marisa sarcastically mumbled. She was a woman of her word despite her disdain for the blonde.

“I’m amazed Cressida isn’t engaged. We’re almost to our mid-twenties now.” (Your name) chuckled at the image of Cressida that played in her head. She wondered if the blonde still threw tantrums… her dear friend was so fickle it was comical. (Your name) swore she was the only one in the world Cressida enjoyed being around…

It took everything in Marisa not to shout on the top of her longs that Cressida was a weirdo. Cressida gave her the chills… there was something unsettling about the blonde and not just due to her doll like appearance. Yet Marisa couldn’t voice her disdain when all she had was a hunch. Marisa would need proof to keep the blonde away so she could finally keep (your name) all for herself…

“Joshua is going on a hunt today.” Marisa did her best not to gag at the man’s name. She didn’t like that string bean either. Joshua was a nice guy, don’t get Marisa wrong, but Marisa did not want (your name) to be with anyone other than her.

Was it awful for Marisa to just want to keep her friend all to herself? To keep her safe from the danger of the world in her large arms? Marisa was jealous that she wasn’t born a man.

“Joshua actually asked me out on a date-“

(Your name) squealed when Marisa suddenly pulled her into an embrace. The red head buried her face in the crook of (your name)’s neck, her hot breath made (your name) squeal at the sensation. Marisa could take this torment no longer, she had to make a move,

“Mari! Stop teasing me!” Marisa merely hummed before she scooped (your name) up and carried her to her bed. The red head flopped over so that her muscular body pinned (your name) down on the mattress in a compromising position. “Mari-“

Marisa hungrily pressed her lips against (your name)’s in a dominant kiss. (Your name)’s eyes blew wide when Marisa shoved her tongue in her mouth, her large hands held (your name) in place. There was no escape from her friend but maybe… this wasn’t so bad?

(Your name) leaned into the kiss that soon turned into a full make out session. The strong taste of cinnamon overwhelmed her senses but Marisa’s hands made her mind melt. All (your name) could smell was Marisa. All she could taste was Marisa.

Marisa suddenly pulled away, a string of saliva connected the two from their make out session.

“I’m in love with you.” Marisa whispered as she pressed her forehead against (your name)‘s. “And I know I’m not man. I know I’m not conventionally attractive either but I could treat you well…”

(Your name)’s hands were scooped up in Marisa’s large, calloused palms. The redhead trembled as her deep voice became soft like a breeze. “But we could run away and live in a cabin somewhere. Where no one can find us. Just us. No Cressida. No Joshua. Just you and me and the pinky promise we made.”

(Your name) smiled at Marisa. A simple life with her best friend? One where she could truly leave her past life of nobility behind and shed no longer have to heal the citizens of this ungrateful frozen wasteland? It sounded as unbelievable as a story in a child’s fairytale book but she didn’t know unless she gave it a shot.

“Well you find us that cabin and I might take you up on that.” (Your name) smiled at Marisa who instantly pulled her into a flurry of kisses. “Hey. Stop that.”

“You didn’t fight back earlier when I shoved my tongue down your throat, what’s the difference now?” Marisa teased (your name), which made the smaller woman furiously blush. “We’re lovers now. And I won’t ever let anyone else have you.”

“It’s your world, I’m just living in it.” (Your name) and Marisa shared a laugh before they cuddled together on the bed.

Although this may have seemed like a happy ending for the pair, the story was far from over. No. It had only just begun.

[j0eyj0rdis0n]

Wait hear me out , pls do sm about EJ , like him being a soft dom and some overstimulation with CNC pussy eating and creampie (ik cnc is often written as rough but could you make it more soft , like boyfriend EJ Just not caring about your struggling, instead he just softly pets you and shush's you while he takes advantage of you, lovingly ofc)

ABSOLUTELY!! I always love your requests btw 🖤

SOFT DOM EYELESS JACK

Fandom: Creepypasta

Plot: Jack takes you when he wants, but that doesn’t mean he’s mean about it

Warnings: noncon/dubcon (i honestly can’t really tell so I leave it to you), oral briefly, unprotected sex, creampie

It had been a busy day running around on missions, the last thing you wanted was to get down and dirty with Jack… But when he has his mind made, well… He knows what he wants. And tonight he wanted you. He wasn’t big with words and you knew that. But when you tried to reason him off of you, he wasn’t having it at all.

He worked your pants off, gently pushing you back on his heavily blanketed bed. The only sounds that came from him were soft purrs as he took off your underwear, moving his mask to the side so he could get a taste.

“Jack off! I don’t want this right now…” You groaned, half from annoyance and half from pleasure as his tongue delved its way into you.

Your words still didn’t change his mind and you could see this wasn’t going to go your way. He gently ran his hands down your thighs leaving a trail of goosebumps behind. His warm tongue worked magic on your folds, getting you to whine and push him away just like he liked. He loved knowing you were too weak to get away from him even if you put effort behind it. He loved how small your hands were against his shoulders as you push harder, not making him budge one single inch from your sweet core.

He looked up at you with an evil grin, putting his razor teeth on full display for you. “Oh darling, you can’t get away from me. It’s useless trying. Now let me take care of you.” He left gentle kisses up your thighs, giving small nips here and there to mix a little pleasure with pain.

You don’t stop your futile fight as he pulls off his pants, letting his erect cock spring free. “See dear? This will stretch you out just perfectly! Remember last time?” He mumbled against your thigh before standing up so you could see him in his full glory.

Oh you remembered last time… All 8 inches of it… And the worry was evident on your face. You watched as Jacks cock twitched at your expression.

“Don’t be worried darling, I’ll take good care of you~”

He ran the tip of his throbbing dick against your slit, making sure to collect as much of your slick as he possibly could. After all, he doesn’t want to hurt you too bad. Your nervous whimpers brought out the monster in him that he tried so hard to keep at bay. He would ruin you if you kept up those sweet noises. You’re lucky he didn’t tear you apart right now!

“J-Jack please… I don’t wanna hurt…”

He only shushed you with a smile, slowly entering you with a hiss. You were the closest to heaven he’d ever get to and he was feeling it now. He prayed you wouldn’t bleed, oh god would that drive him absolutely feral. Your scent of arousal was already so strong it made his head dizzy, he didn’t know if he could take the scent of your sweet blood. The mix might actually make him sick.

He watched as small tears rolled down your plump cheeks. How delicious. He starts off slow, nice and soft for you. He does care after all. But as your slick begins to build up, your whines grow louder, your hole squeezes his cock in just the right way, he can’t hold himself back. He hits the spots you didn’t even know could be reached. It made your toes curl as you desperately clung to him, panting over and over again how it’s “too much” or you “couldn’t take it”. He didn’t take a single word you said seriously. In one ear and out the other. You weren’t done until he said so.

Jack let out a low growl as he saw the bulge reappear in your core with each loving thrust.

“I want to eat you up so bad. All to myself. All for me.” He hissed desperately, feeling his orgasm building along with yours. He could always tell by the look in your pretty eyes that your orgasm was dangerously close. The pleading look they gave him, the salty tears that he loved to lick up. You were close, oh so close.

With a few circles around your clit with his precise fingers and a couple deep thrusts you came undone. Your pretty pants filling the room along with the sloppy wet sounds that continued as Jack chased after his orgasm. He loved the feeling of filling you up, knowing that you, his mate, could possibly have his babies. His hot seed filled you up with one final thrust. The demon kissed your neck greedily, pulling out slowly, watching the way your hole throbbed around nothing.

“My darling did so well~” he cooed, cleaning you up slowly but surely, making sure to get every drop that could get your pretty self all sticky. “I’m so proud of you love.” He laid next to you, stroking your hair and kissing your tears away, making sure to lick his lips to taste how sweet you are.

[piratefishmama]

Fake it till you make it | Part 11

“Be careful, Eddie” were Wayne’s words as he hugged his nephew goodbye, knowing he wouldn’t see him for a whole week and honestly still being a little worried about it “if you think even for one minute that something’s off, just… just get out of there, alright?”

“I know, I know, I’ll bolt through the woods and hitchhike my way home, I know the way, Wayne, I got this.” He could read a compass, he’d be able to get a map from any gas station and head home, he was resourceful, an adult, he could handle himself.

“Damn right you got this, son. But… be careful in other ways too, alright? Steve’s a charmin boy, but… remember this ain’t real.” Eddie had bitten his bottom lip at that one, brows furrowed in thought, those big brown eyes of his swirling in emotion, he never did hide his feelings well, it’d always be a little real for him. “Protect this” Wayne poked his chest with a gentle prod, right over Eddie’s heart “okay?”

“Mhm, I will…” he’d try to anyway. Steve really was… charming. An his kisses? God his kisses… but also... it really was the closest he’d ever been to what romance ought to be, what a relationship ought to be, he never thought he’d have that.

The world didn’t appear to be moving fast enough for him to truly experience romance as most people did.

He had to remember that he didn’t have that.

“Eddie! C’mon you’re in the back with me!” Steve called from the garage door, behind which the car was rumbling, their bags packed into the back, Steve’s parents already inside, ready to go. The longest Eddie had ever been away from Wayne since arriving in Hawkins, was three days during a weekend trip to Indy with the band to play at a slightly bigger venue than the Hideout as a one off.

A favour for his favourite gay bar when a live act they’d scheduled pulled out last minute. It hadn’t gotten them a lot of exposure, but it’d been a fun and enlightening night for the band.

“Best get on, son, I’ll see you in a week. Call when you can alright? Don’t care if you wake me up or about no damn time zones, just call, I’ll answer, an if I don’t, you know the plant’s number.” Tight lipped, strained smile, Eddie nodded quickly then turned on his heel and graced Steve with a brilliant smile, game on.

“I don’t wish to alarm anyone, but... did we miss a turning?” Eddie may have been unusually quiet for the first leg of their journey, nerves having hit him like a truck the second they pulled out of Loch Nora, but he was paying attention to his surroundings.

And those surroundings, were all too quickly, Fort Wayne International Airport.

“You don’t honestly expect rich people to drive the whole way to Canada do you?” Steve’s voice was amused and came from so very close to his ear that he actually jumped, quickly turning in his seat, back plastered against his side of the back seat, eyes wide as he took in and processed what Steve said. “Plus, what would you rather do, spend nearly two days in a car with my parents—”

“We’d make wonderful road trip companions, don’t be rude Steven” came his mother’s interruption

Steve ignored it in favour of continuing his point “—orr… around ten hours in one of those with a brief stop off in Chicago.” Steve leaned inward, uncaring of personal space as he pointed to a plane, ascending into the heavens from the runway.

“I don’t—” he didn’t know. He’d never been on a plane before. Trips like that, across country, they were the stuff of road trip legend, but Steve had a point…

Two whole days of a trip stuck in a car. Or just ten hours. Eddie’s eyes skipped to the window again, to the plane now disappearing beyond the overcast cloud cover.

“It’ll be okay, Eds, I’ll sit right next to you the whole time, you’ll be okay.”

“What if we crash? What if it falls out of the sky? What’ll you do?”

“My best to keep you safe.” It was so earnest, coupled with Steve gently taking his hands and giving them a squeeze, eyes so full of raw honesty, of understanding, it hit Eddie directly in all his soft gooey bits. “I’ll hold your hand through the whole ten hours if you want.”

“Even during the stop in Chicago?”

“Hah, yeah baby, even during the stop in Chicago.”

“They’re a lot more openminded in Chicago too!” Lynda spoke up without turning her head, allowing Eddie to not get stuck on baby for too long “might get a few looks from people passing through the airport but nobody will say anything, and if they do, they deal with us.”

“If we had enough time during the stop we’d have taken a trip around the city, let you boys see some of the sights we’ve seen, but alas, our connection gives us an hour at most depending on everything being on time, and that’s just enough time to get us from one gate to the next.” John added as he pulled into the long stay parking lot. “Maybe some other time, some other family trip, eh Eddie?”

Eddie’s wide eyes turned to the front of the car, then back to Steve again, lips parted ever so slightly in surprise. Not surprise over the words used, but the feeling those words caused. Family trip. They were including him on future family trips.

Steve’s eyes quickly snapped from him to the front of the car and back again, then a warm smile blossomed on his lips. He lifted his hand and ever so carefully brushed a stray curl back behind Eddie’s ear, and asked so softly as his thumb lowered to brush along his jawline. “Right, Eddie?”

“Y-yeah… yeah I’d… I’d love that.” He turned his head fully toward the drivers seat, he’d never been too good at hiding his emotions, so maybe he was just a little choked up when he accepted the offer “I’d really love that.”

“Great!” The car came to a stop in one of the many parking bays, ignition off, driver side door opened “It’s settled then.” Settled. Eddie would privately mourn the knowledge that it’d never come to fruition, but… on the surface he could pretend he was excited for a future trip for the sake of the ruse. “Now boys if you could get the bigger bags out the trunk that’d be a big help! This back of mine isn’t as sturdy as it used to be.”

“You’re forty-six and go jogging almost every morning, don’t be stupid John.” Lynda whapped her husband with her handbag in gentle, semi-amused admonishment before getting out of the car.

Followed by her husband who, in a hushed tone replied with “don’t tell them that, Lynda, save us the work.” Leaving the two boys to breathe soft laughs between themselves before they too joined the older couple out in the parking lot.

“Steve...” Eddie hissed as they neared check-in.

“What?”

“I have weed” said through his teeth.

“What?” Steve paused.

“I have weed… I have weed in my suitcase.”

“You have what?!” Steve rounded on him, sentence ended with a pointed hiss

“I didn’t know we’d be flying to Canada, Steve, maybe you should tell people when you’re planning on launching them into the troposphere in a death tube!”

“Why would you bring weed on a holiday with my parents, Eddie?!”

“SHHHH, be quiet. I thought I might need it to chill out if I was freaking out at some point during the week like right now, I could really do with it right now.”

“Oh my god.”

“Steven? Is something wrong?” Lynda’s voice had them both snapping to attention, eyes wide, caught in the act. Luckily she had no idea what that ‘act’ was.

“Nope! No, uh, Eddie’s just gotta… use the bathroom real quick.”

“Well, there’s bathrooms in the business class lounge he can—"

“No! It’s uhm, it’s urgent, can’t wait, he’s uh…”

“Nerves, it’s uh, it’s nerves, I think imma hurl” she looked between them with a small frown on her face, assessing them both, it seemed like whatever she found wasn’t worth arguing about though, because she waved them off with a quick flick of her wrist.

“Alright fine, hurry up. Steven you know where the closest ones are go on now quickly before we’re late for check in, we’ll double check everything here.” John was already pausing to check through all their documents like a regular airport dad, it was the third time he’d done it since entering the airport.

“Alright let’s go, Eds, lets deal with your little problem.” At least he was soft-handed when he manhandled Eddie to the nearest bathroom, patchy suitcase with a squeaky wheel wobbling away behind them. Once inside, he checked each stall individually, before quickly turning on a wide eyed Eddie. “Where is it?” Eddie pointed down at the suitcase, and Steve snapped to action, lifting, and placing Eddie’s suitcase down on the slightly damp row of sinks. “Did you pack any liquid soaps?”

“Uhhh…” Eddie was too busy staring at the flex of Steve’s arms as he just. Lifted that whole very packed suitcase in one hoist. Fuck.

“Any shampoo? Conditioner?”

“I—I feel like my answer is going to make you mad so I’m just not going to answer.” Which on its own, was a pretty damning answer, and Steve’s expression told him as such “I don’t have a twelve step hair care routine like you do, Steve! I just… I have drug store shampoo and conditioner and that’s really only when it’s on a two for one sale! Usually I just—"

“If you say you water it down to make it last longer I’m going to throw the first thing I find in this suitcase at you.”

“Shutting up. I just thought I’d buy it there if I needed it, or just borrow yours, I know you brought some, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well then, I figured that… if I borrowed yours it’d make it seem like I just… wanted… to smell like you?”

“You just made that up.” Eddie just smiled, all teeth and dimples, scrunching his shoulders inwards in an unfairly cute display of mischief. “You’re a menace, Munson. Get your stuff out of there for me. Don’t ever put weed in checked luggage.”

“But—”

“TSA does random checks on checked luggage all the time, an while they’re not usually looking for weed, it’ll get launched and you might get fined. Whereas you can hide weed in just about anything in a carry on, just shows up as vague blurred shit on the x-ray scanners. Just be cool when you shove it through.” Steve was rummaging in the front of his own bag now, “be cool, and act natural.”

“You sound like you’ve done this before.”

“Mn once or twice, Tommy was a dick, but his cousin worked for the TSA for a few years, gave us all kinds’a neat tricks to get things through the airport.” Tommy’s cousin had gotten fired and a year inside for attempting to smuggle narcotics out of the confiscated items lock up, but that was neither here nor there. “Gimmie what you have.” Hand outstretched, Steve waited until Eddie placed the single baggie containing three roll ups and a few loose buds “Christ Eddie.”

“I knew I’d be nervous! Stop being mean to me!” Steve rolled his eyes before taking the three roll ups out of the baggie

“Your smokes, give em.” Plenty of room in the pack to slot the three roll ups, and as for the buds, Steve emptied out his travel sized bottle of hand lotion into the sink and stuffed the whole plastic bag into the little bottle, then screwed the lid on tight. Nobody would look twice at a rich kids hand lotion. “Now wet the ends of your hair.”

“What?”

“Your hair butthead! Wet it, we told my mother you’d be in here hurling your guts up, so… you got some in your hair, it’s a good extra to add to the ruse, now do it.”

“So my own boyfriend wouldn’t even hold my hair back if I threw up? Where’s the romance, where’s the commitment, where’s the care and—”

“Dude you have a lot of hair, I doubt I could get it all in my hand at once.” Although now that thought was in his head… could he? Could he get a good fistful and hold it there? Not important. “I’d drop bits.” A flimsy argument, he wouldn’t drop anything.

“Uh-huh, sure you would, big boy.” Eddie quickly dampened the tips of his hair, and ran a wet hand through his bangs quickly in a bid to fake flop sweat, theatrics over and done with. “Zipper-up, let’s get this show on the road, shall we?”

Part 13

[cheolhub]

HEAD — CHOI SOOBIN ࿐

summary. soobin goes down on you for the first time.

wc. 1.1k

warnings. [PLEASE READ] sub!soobin, oral (f. receiving), grinding into mattress lol, dommish?reader, heavy praise (use of good boy), c*m eating — MINORS DNI 18+

note. based off a req from a very long time ago… if u saw the first post, pretend u didn’t lol. i revamped a little :p likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

soobin is eternally grateful for you, really. you’re his first everything. first partner, first kiss, first fuck— his first love.

now he’s going down on you for the first time after hearing from his best friend that eating pussy is the closest thing to paradise. when he asked to so meekly, you were shocked to say the least. the mere thought of his mouth on your cunt had heat spreading from your cheeks to the tips of your ears and you instantly felt arousal pool in your panties.

“can i try eating you out?”

you could see in his face that he wanted it. almost like he’d die if he didn’t get the chance to bury his face in between your thighs. and with a face like that, who were you to deny him?

that’s why you’re on you elbows, legs spread open as you guide him in between your legs.

“okay, baby, just do what feels right. i’ll let you know what feels good.” you tell him sweetly to which he nods eagerly.

he dives in, tongue pressing flat against your wet core and, immediately, his eyebrows knit together. he let’s out a loud moan, the noise vibrating your entirety. he holds his tongue there for a few seconds, relishing your taste.

you shudder out his name, eyes fluttering and his body fills with a sudden… urgency… to hear you call out for him again. his tongue moves again, lapping up your honeyed arousal.

and he does it over and over and over, naturally becoming an ace at eating pussy.

“feels good, angel, just like that.” you moan when his mouth trails up to your clit. “suck right there—yeah, just like that, good boy.” you praise breathily, head falling back as his mouth suctions around your sensitive bud.

the praise causes a short circuit in soobin’s brain and, all of a sudden, it’s like he forgets about everything except how to make you feel good. he’s digging his face into you deeper, tongue flicking at your clit faster, hands squeezing your supple skin harder— he needs more. more of your words, more of your cunt, more of everything.

he’s so lost in your pussy, he doesn’t even realize he’s grinding his messy, aching, incredibly-hard cock into the mattress.

you’re shocked by the sudden onslaught of pleasure that it has you wondering if soobin lied about his pussy-eating experience. “slo-slow down, ‘bin.” you attempt to tell him, feeling your mind slowly escape you.

but your words fall on deaf ears because soobin can’t hear a thing. he’s in heaven, he fucking swears. the friction on his cock and his mouth sucking up your arousal are validation that he is, indeed, in paradise.

when a loud whine rips through his body and vibrates yours, you realize you actually can’t take it anymore, just about ready to combust on his face. “okay— fuck, baby— okay!”

your hand finds his head, tugging at the dark locks to pull him off of you. he resists at first, not wanting to part from what he believes is the best thing he’s ever had in his life, but eventually, he comes up for air.

he whines softly, still fucking himself into the bed.  “lemme keep going.” his fingernails bite into your skin and you’re honestly in awe.

no man has ever begged you to eat you out like this. no man has ever been this desperate for you. ever.

“just let me catch my breath, ‘binnie, was gonna cum too fast,” you pant, pushing his slightly hair back and basking in his beauty.

his swollen, wet lips turn pouty at your words, “w-want you to cum quick, please. p-please, i wanna taste it.”

your pulse accelerates, eyes nearly rolling at his desperation. all you can do is give him a wordless nod, hands coming back to fist at the bedsheets and letting him continue his assault on your cunt.

and that he does, quickly diving in and slurping you up, nose digging into your clit to further stimulate you. his tongue then drags from your drooling hole all the way back up to your swollen bud and that’s when you know this isn’t his first time.

there’s no way. there’s no way choi soobin, a virgin to oral, eats you out better than men with experience. there’s no way he has you this close to cumming this quick.

“fuck, ‘binnie, you’re so fucking good. eating me so fucking well. good boy, you’re so, so good f’me.”

at this point, he’s whining uncontrollably, making the entire experience all the more pleasurable. you swear he’s mumbling “‘m your good boy,” into your cunt, but your jumbled mind could easily be making it all up.

you can feel the bed rocking faster and faster and you can tell he’s close. you are, too, so you urge him.

“‘bin— ‘binnie, keep going. fuck, if you keep going, ‘m-m gonna cum.” you promise. “y-you want that, right? wanna be a good boy—my good boy— ‘n make me cum, yeah?”

you think he nods, but his change in pace confirms that he’s most definitely heard you. he’s erratically tonguing in and out of your cunt while his nose sloppily rubs at your clit. it gets you where you need to be— breathily moaning and tummy tightening while your brain fogs over— you’re going to cum.

and so is he.

it happens for you before you get a chance to warn him. you clench tightly while his tongue wanders and the knot in your stomach unravels. you cum hard. harder than you ever have during oral. white spots fill your vision and your back arches off the ruffled bed sheets while you cry out his name.

it triggers his own orgasm. he's filling up his boxers while he sobs into your pussy, continuing to eat you out through both of your orgasms.

the come down takes awhile for you. soobin insists on licking you clean which slightly overstimulates you, but you let him do so anyway because… well, he claims he needs it.

but when the two of you slowly— but surely— come down from your intense highs, you look at him bewildered.

“soobin, i thought you said you hadn’t done that before?”  you ask, still a bit breathless.

he furrows his eyebrows, “i haven’t! that was my first time.”

“liar.”

“i’m not lying!”

it’s true. you see the genuine look on his face and you can tell it really was his first time.

he smiles cheekily, your arousal still dressing his lips and chin. “does that mean i did good?”

you scoff loudly at the praise-seeking. “you could use a little more practice.”

“okay, no worries. lemme try again, i bet i can make you cum faster this time.”

© cheolhub — all rights reserved, please refrain from copying, reposting, modifying or translating my work on any platform.

[ovaryacted]

Damnation Leon does something to me. Like? I want this man to be below me while I’ll ride him to multiple orgasms. Something about this guy crying from overstimulation then babbling about how he loves me makes my brain go BRRRR

Even though Damnation Leon is a version of him that I personally don’t vibe with (he scares the shit out of me sometimes okay!), I get it. It’s probably because he’s so pathetic and depressed and just completely messed up that it makes you go “yup, I want that one!”.

He just gives oily puppy dog vibes I mean, the scruff, he probably smells like vodka and gunpowder, and his bootcut wranglers really accentuates his thick thighs. I get it, sometimes I just wanna pull him to the side and force him into bed cause that’s what I think Ada would do in a heartbeat. Leon and Ada also technically slept together after Damnation (I forgot exactly when but I’m pretty sure they did), so giving this man any type of human affection will probably make him combust.

I see the appeal anon! Riding him until he cries, or pumping him so vigorously you’re practically milking him for what he’s worth. Leon will just let you take it, every orgasm you give him more intense than the last, and the release is so much better than anything he’s ever felt in his life. He feels like he’s high, the strength of your touch does more for him than the alcohol he carries in his flask.

He’s just so tired of not being wanted, not being cared for, and here you are giving him everything on a silver platter. You’re a god amongst men, bestowing him a bite of forbidden fruit he never thought he’d be able to taste. He whispers praises and *thank you’s* under his breath, saying your name in unintelligible mumbles mixed in with everything else that comes to his mind. He’s so far gone that his brain doesn’t have a filter, he can’t bring himself to care when you’re making him feel so alive.

“I love you…fuck…I love you”, Leon’s eyes remained unfocused and lined with tears, hands loosely holding on to your hips as you bounced on top of him like you’re depending on it. He’s not entirely sure if he means it, but he doesn’t give a shit.

You didn’t care how long it took, you were going to ruin Leon and mend the pieces of his broken persona. He thinks this is how he’d want to go, to die underneath your touch and overwhelmed by so much ecstasy his heart gives out. It’s the closest thing to heaven he’ll experience, so he’ll take as much as he can before he needs to wake up into the hellscape that was his reality again.

[requiemforthepoets]

CHARLES LECLERC 𖦹 CL16

main masterlist

always

rainy evening and impromptu italian date night with charles.

it hits different, ‘cause it’s you

you are never fond of changes, but charles is the biggest change that you’ll never get over from.

underdogs dance in the middle of the night (leclerc!sister series)

always being considered as an underdog, but the youngest leclerc is here to prove them wrong.

wired interview (leclerc!sister series)

you and charles had been invited by wired to do a interview, wherein you answer the most search questions in googles about you, and it is also your son’s debut.

paper crown of silver and gold (leclerc!sister series)

finally, it was your olympic debut—the one that you had been waiting for all your life. you had never expected that you’ll be advancing to the finals, battling for gold.

you’re the closest to heaven that i’ll ever be

the celestials are unseen guides who help souls cross the afterlife. you are bound to the earthly realm by your duty, and had formed a unique connection with charles along the way after he had caught a glimpse of you. charles can’t seem to get you out of his mind, so he began seeking for you, and you began to grapple with your duty and the growing attachment towards charles, realizing that the only way to truly be with him is to give up your immortality, experiencing human emotions, pain, and vulnerability.