#to full-on violent and cruel and fucked-up in the head

[cosmogyros]

.

[nereidprinc3ss]

you know the killer doesn't understand

in which spencer is so terrified he's going to hurt you after he gets out of prison that he can barely touch you. an argument ensues.

angst (+ comfort) warnings/tags: established relationship, fem!reader, mentions of violent intrusive thoughts (non-specific), arguing, yelling, use of the word rape, nightmares, happyish ending, mention of showering together, it's a bad time but it's also a good time for us woo i love angsty angst a/n: i miss posting for real so bad i dug up this draft which was mostly finished and polished it up. i think i really like this one and it was based on a request but i lost it:( i hope u guys enjoy this, pls lmk<3

Spencer is by no means happy with his sudden fear of touching you—it makes everything in his life significantly harder and less convenient and he hates that he’s constantly afraid he’s going to break you. He hates watching you hold back from attacking him with a hug when he enters a room like you used to, and he feels terrible every time you ball up on the opposite side of the couch as he reads, waiting for an invitation into his lap but too scared to ask for one (he’ll always hold out his arm for you, though—he’s not cruel.)

You’re adorable in the way you stand at the foot of the bed in your pajamas, arms behind your back like it’s not your bed too, but it makes him feel terrible. This isn’t at all what he wanted for you, and in all honestly he’s thought about ending the relationship because he knows he’s being an absolutely awful partner—but he just can’t bring himself to. Instead, he gestures for you to get into bed, and you curl up under the covers close to him but not against him, and he’ll play with your hair and read for a while because he can’t sleep very well. Eventually he’ll assume the position of sleep, but some sick part of him doesn’t know what to do with the sounds of the city and the fan instead of the sounds of a hundred men rolling and sniffing and shuffling around their echoey cells. He doesn’t understand warmth anymore, or softness, or nice pajamas or fluffy pillows. He’s starting to think he doesn’t understand you. And that’s the worst thought of all. 

So he essentially dozes for the first week, on and off, always exhausted in the mornings but what’s new. When he can’t sleep, he turns his head to watch you breathe—some beautiful, sweet creature dreaming in his bed, unwaveringly loyal to him even though he can hardly stand to touch you for fuck’s sake. You’re beautiful, and it makes him feel better to watch you, even if he can’t touch you. Not now that he knows what he is capable of doing to another person. What if he has some sort of PTSD—PTSS, thank you, Luke Alvez—induced dream and does something terrible to you in his sleep? It’s not like you’re tiny, but he’s stronger, he knows he is, and lately every time you get too close he remembers exactly what it feels like to exert the full force of that strength, and what it feels like when someone else unleashes their own onto him. 

They’re just intrusive thoughts, and in them he doesn’t hurt you intentionally, but he always feels a little bit sick now. He is so, so sick. A bull in a China shop. Spencer knows exactly how breakable humans are—it’s his job to know. If he left so much as one red mark on you by accident, he’s quite sure he’d drill down to a previously unknown rock bottom. And if he reaches that point, he doesn’t know if he’d ever deserve to come back. 

Every day it seems to become clearer that the only humane thing to do is break up with you. But for now he’ll watch you sleep—the delicate rising and falling of your chest, the way you curl in on yourself because you can’t curl into him. In sleep you look so peaceful and content. You never look that way awake, anymore. Not when he’s around, which is pretty much always. At least he can’t disappoint you while you’re asleep. 

Or so he’d like to think. 

Until one night, about a week and a half after he gets home; you whimper in your sleep. It’s so quiet he could’ve missed it, but he doesn’t, and then he watches your smooth brow furrow with worry and he knows you’re having a nightmare immediately. 

Spencer panics—before, he would have woken you up and held you and comforted you until you fell back asleep and it would have been so simple. Now he’s frozen, afraid to touch you but not sure if he can just lie there watching you so afraid and not do a thing about it. 

In the end, you choose for him—and it only takes a few moments. You’re close enough to him that it’s easy for you to close the few inches even in sleep, and maybe you’re slightly conscious but not enough to remember you’re not supposed to touch him. 

He stops breathing as you fold yourself against him, muttering worried nonsense—he catches his name, once—nestling against his chest, one searching arm gently draping over his waist. Every muscle in his body is rigid, and his thoughts—his mind goes… completely fucking blank. 

Suddenly, all he’s known, all he’s ever known, is the smell of your hair, the warmth of you seeping through layers of clothing, and the weight of your arm over him. Everything he ever was ceases to exist, and he’s just this, right now. The person you’d turned to unconsciously for comfort, so sure, so trusting that he would keep you safe. He can feel your breath for the first time in months. Slowly every tense muscle unspools. For the first time in a long time he doesn’t feel dangerous. He doesn’t feel like his entire body is spring loaded and ready to attack at the slightest provocation. Spencer allows himself to hold you, and part of it feels like betrayal because he knows how badly you need this from him while you’re awake but mostly he feels like he could cry. His thumb rubs circles into the middle of your back and your head tucks so perfectly under his chin while he studies the rumpled sheets where you’d been lying a moment ago. He almost feels like sticking his tongue out to gloat at your half of the mattress—haha, look who gets to hold her now—but instead he sighs, shakily, and squeezes his eyes shut. 

You don’t make another sound for hours. 

He’s reluctant to let you go when you begin to stir around six AM, but forcibly holding onto you is so far from what he wants to do that he manages. You roll back over to your own side of the bed, and he continues admiring you from afar until he falls asleep. It’s the best three hours of sleep he’s had in a very long time. 

Of course, you don’t remember it. When you wake up your sadness resumes, and so does the pretending like you’re not sad, but you’re a very good sport—and it helps that he’s feeling much better this morning than he has since he got back. 

“Good morning,” you whisper faintly, still blinking as you watch him longingly from your spot. 

Spencer pushes himself up onto an elbow, and you watch with big eyes as he leans over you, stroking your cheek with his free hand. 

“Good morning. You sleep okay?”

Your brow flickers, and he realizes it’s not a question he asks every morning, and you’re probably distracted by this overt display of affection, but you answer it obediently anyway. 

“I think so. I had weird dreams.”

He hums. 

“About what?”

It’s quiet for a moment as he takes in the exact spattering of microscopically fractured pigment over your irises. Your voice is small when you finally speak. 

“Do I have to tell you?”

That hurts. 

“No. But it might help.”

Coming from him? Ironic doesn’t even begin to cover it. 

You acknowledge him with a small hum of your own, studying him with soft, mistrustful eyes. 

He can’t help it anymore—Spencer leans down and gently kisses you, so tenderly, so chastely, it makes his own head spin. He hasn’t kissed you like that since you picked him up from Milburn. It’s long overdue. 

Which is why he’s not expecting you to start crying. He pulls back immediately, not far, just enough to assess your expression. 

“What’s this? What’s wrong, angel?” He frowns. Your lip quivers in a way that feels like a blow to the chest. 

“That’s not… you’re…”

“What? What is it?”

A fat tear finally traces a path down your cheek and when you speak your voice breaks in the most fragile, devastating way. 

“You’re not being fair.”

He has no neat question to summarize all the bafflement your accusation inspires in his lately cloudy head, but the wildly confused look on his face must be prompt enough.

“I’m trying really hard to respect your space and boundaries and not upset you but my feelings are hurt, Spencer, I don’t know how they couldn’t be. I feel like you don’t even like me anymore. I’m embarrassed around you because I feel like I care about you so much more than you care about me. And then you—and then you wake up one morning and you think it’s okay to act like you love me again but I can’t—I c—” you stop, obviously frustrated—now crying in earnest and lacking the words. “You can’t be mean to me. I know you’ve been through a lot and I’m sorry but you can’t treat me like that. I’m a person, too.”

His chest aches and he swallows down barbed wire.

“I’m not acting like I love you. I do love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything in my life. That’s not an act.”

It’s not an adequate response, but your words are still spinning in his head until he can’t keep up with them. He’s not used to this, anymore. The language you two had developed is so foreign now. 

Maybe he just doesn’t know how to talk to you. 

Resignation—a too-calm recognition softens the stormy look that has brewed on your face. As soon as it’s gone, and you’re looking at him placidly, he realizes he’s afraid. 

“Well, that’s not enough,” you whisper. 

Spencer feels like he’s been shot as you push the covers aside and slip out of bed. And he knows what that feels like. 

“Where are you going?” And then louder, when you don’t hear him because you’ve already left the room, “Where are you going?”

He follows you through the apartment as you march purposefully for the door, slipping shoes on and grabbing your keys and coat. 

You barely look over your shoulder as you leave, slamming the front door behind you. Things shake from the impact. A mini earthquake. 

Spencer is too stunned to follow you. 

It’s not until a few minutes later when he goes to call you that he realizes your phone is still sitting on your bedside table. He stares at it, tasting metal, because he has absolutely no way to reach you or guarantee your safety. There’s no way for you to call him, or anyone, if you get in trouble—and he fears that you’ll retaliate against him by doing something stupid and dangerous. 

He only just manages to stop himself from calling the police and asking them to start looking for you. Only just recognizes it to be an overreaction. 

Besides, he’s not feeling particularly fond of the criminal justice institution these days. If it came down to it, he’d trust himself and his team over the cops any day.

The team. They’re always a resource. If worst comes to worst, he thinks, robotically making coffee as he tries to talk himself down, and she doesn’t come home before dark, I’ll call all of her closest friends. If she doesn’t come home before the morning—the thought makes him feel sick—I’ll deploy every fucking resource at my disposal. 

Maybe that’s an overreaction, too, but he has to find a way to self-soothe somehow. Planning makes him feel better. Being prepared for the things you never see coming makes him feel better. It’s impossible, of course—but the illusion of control is stubborn and so seductive. 

Thankfully, it doesn’t come to that. 

At around 2 PM, he receives a couple of texts from Garcia that are a massive relief. 

Penelope: She’s at my apartment

Penelope: BE NICER TO YOUR GIRLFRIEND!!!!!!!

The series of emojis that follow (including an octopus?), he doesn’t even try to decipher. He simply drops his phone and sighs deeply into his hands, releasing an extreme amount of paranoid tension that had been tying him into knots. Lately, he’s had this sense that everything is fleeting—that the things he takes for granted are painfully, violently impermanent. It doesn’t take anyone with a degree to figure out why he’s been feeling that way, but it’s so all-consuming he’s not sure how to cope with it. Just a few days ago, he’d been wondering how to break up with you. Now he’s asking himself how the fuck he thought he’d be able to do that when he’s barely functioning after a few hours without you.

It’s a question he still hasn’t answered by the time the front door opens at 10 PM. It’s clear by the deer-in-headlights look on your face that you hadn’t been expecting him like this—leaning over the counter, half-empty mug by his hand, staring at nothing in particular and waiting for you to come home. Neither of you have changed clothing since this morning—not that you could—but you look apprehensive as you close it behind you, never facing away from him. The whole thing is like a teenager being caught sneaking back in by a weary parent. 

For a moment the silent confrontation stretches into the horizon, a non-specific point as neither of you seem inclined to be the first to talk. You just watch him watching you—leaning against the door rigidly as if you can’t get far enough away. But he’s too tired for this. Too worn out. 

“How’d you get home?”

You swallow. 

“Penelope.”

Spencer nods slowly, rolling his bottom lip between teeth and finally looking away. 

“You really should have brought your phone.”

You scoff, peeling yourself from the door. 

“Of course that’s what you’re worried about.”

It’s the same situation as this morning, but in reverse—him following after you down the hall as you storm toward the bedroom. 

“Wh—should I not have been? You scared me—” he says your name, barely catching the door before it can slam in his face. “I was worried about you.”

“Why?” you face him, laughing bewilderedly as if the situation were at all funny. A kind of manic energy crackles from the surface of your skin and in your eyes that renders him unable to think of a reply. “Because you thought I would get raped and murdered and then you’d be sad?”

“Yes!” Spencer yells, eyes widening as he fails to contain his frustration any longer. “That is fucking exactly why I was scared!”

You step forward, getting in his space. It jars him, momentarily—he wants to get away from you. Being angry and so close to you is terrifying. What if he lashes out? What if he hurts you? He’s seen crimes of passion. His blood is freezing in his veins. 

“Of course you didn’t give one single fuck that I left you. You didn’t think for one fucking second that I might be tired of this. That wasn’t what you were scared of at all.” For every inch you near, he backs away. Another scorned, bitter laugh from you that feels like poison coursing through his entire circulatory system. You notice everything, eyeing him up and down as he cowers from you. “What is this, Spencer? If you hate being near me that much, just fucking break up with me.”

You’re close enough that he can see the tears welling in your eyes, but he’d know they were there even if he couldn’t observe them. He would hear it in your voice. He would feel it. But he can’t do anything about it. Right now, he’s paralyzed. 

“If the only thing holding you back is wanting to spare my feelings, just fucking do it. This isn’t better. I don’t give a fuck if it’s hard for you. It’s hard for me, too, but I’m not just going to ignore it anymore.”

There’s no more room. The wall is at is back. 

“Honey, please back up,” Spencer breathes. Last time his back was to a wall, he’d been gagged and beaten. Don’t lash out. She never hurt you. It wasn’t her. 

“Don’t tell me what to do!” you shout, as tears begin to spill over your cheeks. “Either break up with me or stop telling me to go away!”

At that moment, as you break down and your words become muddled with sobs, you raise your fist. 

Spencer watches it approach his shoulder as if in slow-motion. 

On instinct, he catches your wrist.

There’s a lull as he waits for something to explode, for something to go terribly, deeply wrong—

But it doesn’t. 

He realizes his grip is gentle. He realizes you’d never actually hurt him like that. He realizes how little resistance he’d found when he stopped what was sure to be nothing more than a petulant, petty bump against his shoulder—a maneuver that wouldn’t have hurt in the slightest. It was nothing more than a desolate, childlike display of feelings bigger than you know what to do with. 

In the second that it takes him to realize all of this, to realize he is not endangering you in the slightest, nor you him, you’ve begun to truly sob. Standing just inches from him, head angled down as he holds your wrist carefully, you are the picture of a girl who has been running on empty for a very long time and has nothing left to give. Spencer twines his arms around you, tucking your head under his chin and slowly rubbing your back like he’d never forgotten how to hold you. It stuns you, and the tears pause for just a second—before you’re wrapping desperate, weakened arms around him and sobbing even harder, albeit silently, into his shirt. 

“I don’t want to break up,” he whispers, his own voice shaky with understated emotion. “I’m sorry. Please don’t say that. I don’t want that.”

“What’s wrong with you?” You cry, a desperate plead caught between sobs that wrack your body against his against the wall. And he knows it’s not an accusation. It’s not an insult. It’s a question borne of confusion and fear. It’s what a child might ask a sick dog while tears stream down feverish cheeks. And it’s completely appropriate, considering he never tells you anything anymore and he’s only just realizing how scary that must be. Spencer is back from prison but you may as well still be living alone for all that you know about him. He tangles a hand in your hair and holds you against his chest, breathing you like nitrous oxide. 

“I don’t know,” he whispers. The room beyond blurs as he stares at nothing, focused only on the tingly euphoria of feeling you under his hands clashing with the ever-present and crushing shame that he couldn't do it sooner. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you—to be sorry.” Shuddering breaths and gasps still cleave your sentences in half, and Spencer listens so intently he thinks there might be harmonics hidden in the layers of your voice. He clings to every syllable like you’re wielding the word of god in a five-foot-something body. “I just miss you so m—much. I want you to—to love me.”

“I do,” he promises immediately, lips pressing to your ear. “I do love you. So much. So much.”

When you don’t respond, he’s not exactly surprised. He almost asks what he can do, what you need—but is quite sure that’s not the right move. Instead he doesn’t say a thing. Only holds you.

Later, you’ll pull back and he’ll swim in your teary gaze, and then kiss you. He’ll trace silent apologies into every inch of your skin under the torrent of the shower, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make you understand. But for now, for the first time in months, you’re holding each other, and that’s all either of you need.  

[chxrryhansen]

౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐑𝐘

Pairing; Dark!Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings; smut, dark themes, non con, breeding kink, oral- both receiving, degrading, size difference, unbalanced power dynamic, huge daddy kink, choking- to the point reader can’t breathe, dumbification, dacryphillia, spanking, steve is very dark in this, no aftercare!! i think thats it? Minors please DNI!!!!!

Summary; Steve Rogers, your boyfriend, the man everybody loved, his soul soft, standing against all evils. Until he got a taste of that sweet power. He became hungry. Now, you have no choice but to obey his rules. Can you bring him back to the light? Or is it too late? (it’s definitely too late)

here we have my first ever full fic! firstly i would like to give a huge thankyou to @dbnightingale24 for giving me the confidence and tips to write this! and another big thankyou to @evansbby and @hansensgirl for inspiring me in the first place for begin writing💘it’s around 3k words and i really put my all into this so please don’t forget to comment and reblog, i would love to hear all of your feedback!🫶🏻 much love, cherry.

₊♡₊˚ 🎀・₊✧

Steve Rogers, the man everyone respected, the man everyone believed in, looked up too. The man you used to cherish, his sweet boyish nature drawing you in from the moment you met. His pearly blues that used to soften as they fell on you, his gentle touch as he caressed your hair, the tender, loving kisses he used to leave all over your body.

Until Fury resigned that was.

Steve was officially the new director of shield, to which nobody opposed, i mean, who would right? He was Captain America, the man out of time. He was perfcet for the role. Strong willed, commanding yet understanding, he had respect for those beneath him and most of all he was compassionate, something that was hard to find in a good leader. This didn't last for long, of course.

Steve shortly became power hungry, his morals became more sick and twisted as his methods became more sadistic. He was violent, cruel…volatile. There was no bringing back Steve Rogers. The problem was he dragged everybody else down with him, nobody dared to stand up to Steve, too frightened of the consequences.

Tony couldn't talk Steve down, he tried for a while, attempted to reach out to him, guide him back to the light...but nothing worked. Tony couldn't do it, nor could you, not even his best friend of over a decade could sway his newfound mindset. You all figured it was best to keep your heads down from now on and follow Steves orders, no matter how out of line they seemed.

Not that you had a choice anyway.

Bucky was short to follow in his footsteps as his second in command. Both cruel and unforgiving. Your friendship with Bucky was practically non-exhistant, you no longer had movie nights together, giggling with big buckets of popcorn.

A simple nod of his head as he passed you down the hall was about as much as you would get. Steve wouldn't allow it now anyway.

Steve's display of affection changed alongside him, the love he made was no longer passionate, or gentle. In fact, he didn’t make love at all anymore… what he made was simply rough, hard, fucking.

The marks he left behind were no longer loving hickeys while he whispered in your ear, moaning sweet nothings as he gently thrusted his hips into your own. His eyes, gleaming with nothing but pure devotion.

They were bruises... bruises from how hard his hips slammed into your ass from behind, his grip tight on your hair, pulling and tugging as your skin became flustered at the impact of his thrusts. You missed the man he was. You often thought about that life while his cock was busy destroying your cunt. He didn’t care about your pleasure anymore, you were nothing but a hole for him to fuck.

From a distance you could hear Steves heavy boots storming down the coridoor. The sound was instantly unsettling. Your body recognising the noise as a trigger for an oncoming threat, sending you into alert mode.

You stood from your office chair on shaky legs, your posture rigid as he turned the corner to enter. His 6'4, stoic figure coming into view, casting a shadow that filled the room. His broad shoulders spread wide, his presence making your tummy tighten with unease.

He said nothing as he stared down at you, your fingers tugging at your short pink skirt- which he had chosen out for you this morning, the same way he customised your figure every morning. Claiming your dumb, baby brain was incapable of choosing an outfit that proved elegance and professionalism. In reality it was the complete opposite.

He liked to dress you in short skirts, ones that left little to the imagination, your asscheeks peeking out most days and revealing blouses, your tits practically spilling out of your shirts. You were highly sought after by the males at the compound before he came and scooped you up a few years ago.

They knew you were his, i mean he was your boyfriend for several years, you were what the female agents used to coo at, naming you as "couple goals". Where Steve went, you went, and vice versa. You were always seen smiling and giggling together, tag teaming on missons and holding hands as you explored the compound.

But, as steves power grew so did his insecurity. His possesive nature grew strong, wanting, no, needing to show other men you belonged to him, and only him. And you always would, whether you liked it or not.

"Get on your knees."

"Wh-What?"

"Get on your knees. You know i don't like to repeat myself." he growls while pushing your office door closed with one arm from behind, not daring to take his eyes of you.

You gulped as he stepped forward, caging you inbetween his thick biceps as you lean against your desk. One thing he was always good at was making you feel small. Even before all of this. Of course it wasn't anywhere near as threatening as it was now. He used to joke about how tiny you were compared to him, how he could pick you up with one hand, it was cute how big and protective he was of you.

Now, he used it to his advantage. He knew you feared him. He knew that you knew, you would never be able to run from him. He would overpower you every damn time with his brute strength.

There was no running from Steve Rogers. His thick beard scraped against your sensitive skin sending shivers down your spine as he groaned into your neck, your scent driving him wild.

He whispered darkly in your ear "Final chance. Get on your knees. Now, or you won't like what'll happen if you refuse me again."

You inhaled sharply, goosebumps spreading across your body in pure fear, or ecstacy. It was hard to tell these days. Steve had conditioned you so well to his own liking that even your body reacted to him in ways you would never fully understand. Or so he says.

Slowly you inched down towards the floor with your knees bent. The cold, rough flooring instantly proving to be uncomfortable as you figited. But Steve didn't care about that, why would he? His thick hand gripped your chin, forcing you to look up at him through hooded eyelids.

His thumb swipes across your bottom lip, he then pushes further, massaging your tongue as saliva begins to pool in your mouth. Removing his thumb slowly, he tugged on your bottom lip with pinched fingers. Before you even realised what was happening he shoves two fingers down your throat.

You sputter and gag around his thick digits, drool leaking out of the corners of your mouth, dripping onto the hard floor. Your eyes squeezed shut in pain as tears began rolling down your flustered cheeks.

His other hand is quick to grip your hair, tugging harshly. "You fuckin' look at me while daddy gags you with his fingers. Actin' like you don't get off on this shit. You love it. Say 'thankyou daddy'." he mocks with a high pitched tone.

Desperately trying to get the words out, you mumble around his fingers, seeming incoherent. He laughs darkly at your poor attempt, shoving his fingers deeper down your throat, gagging you one last time before pulling out.

"You gonna' be a good whore n' suck my dick? Huh? You fuckin' slut." His hand reaches down, pulling your shirt to the side, making your tits spill out. You hear him let out a loud groan, his pants tightening at the sight of your bare chest. He pinches your hard nipple roughly, rolling it roughly inbetween his index finger and thumb as you cry out, tears continuing to stream down your cheeks.

He shushes your cries gently as he begins to massage the same spot he previously assaulted making you keen with pleasure.

He had a thing for associating pain with pleasure, confusing your silly little brain into thinking the hurt he put you through was a good thing since pleasure soon followed. That he was rewarding you.

"Unzip me. Cmon' you dumb baby, take daddys fat cock out."

Listening to your own heartbeat in your ears, your head pounding with adrenaline, your fingers itch towards his pants. Which was apparently too slow for his liking as his grip on your hair tightens, making you sqeeze your eyes shut briefly before opening them, not wanting to anger him further.

You hurridly unzip his pants, reaching into his boxers and pulling out his cock. It's angry head pointing towards you as he grips the base with his other hand, slowing pumping his shaft over your face.

He pushes his bulbous tip into your closed lips, smearing his hot precum all over them. When you refuse to open your mouth he growls, pinching your nostrils closed. Feeling the air begin to leave your lungs, you gasp for breath and he's quick to shove his dick down your throat.

Gagging at the intrusion you cry harder, your lips stretching to fit around his thick length. his hips thrusting into your face as he fucks your throat harshly.

"That's it, you whore. Take daddys dick all the way down your throat. You fuckin' remember this the next time you try to refuse me."

His hand which was previously tugging at your hair moves towards your throat, holding you in a tight grip.

"Fuck... i can feel my fuckin' cock in that tiny throat of yours. Love it when you cry f' me, just makes me want to fuck you even harder, sweet girl." he grunts loudly over the sound of your gagging. Steve swiftly pulls his dick out as you keel over, coughing and sputtering, your throat sore from his brutal assault.

Before you even have a chance to gain your breath, his thick hands grip your shoulders, pulling you upright, bending you over your desk. Your legs shaking as he positions you so your ass is sticking out.

Lowering himself to the ground, he grips the flesh of your ass, squeezing roughly as he lifts up your skirt, briskly pulling your panties to the side. He shoves his nose into your pussy, groaning in delight at your sweet scent.

"Fuck i could live inbetween these slutty legs, your cunt's always ready for daddy, huh? Trained you so well." Your sticky juices smeared across your legs, dripping with desire, his facial hair bristling against your thighs making you squirm.

He mercilessly pushes his tongue as deep as it can go into your hole. You whimper as he laps up your wetness, his tongue prodding at your insides. Your arousal soaking his beard while your pussy clenched around his tongue. He pulls away for a moment, “God, how do you taste so fuckin’ good.” he groans.

Reaching back to grip his hair in your small fists, you go to push his face back into your cunt, completely overwhelmed with pleasure. His hand grips your wrist tightly, pining your arm to the desk, a sure reminder of who's in charge, seeming as you had forgotten your place. “Stay fuckin’ still or i’ll stop. Don’t you ever pull that shit again.”

You moan lewdly as he moves to latch onto your clit, sucking and swirling his tongue around your sensitive bundle of nerves. Groaning into your pussy as he fists his cock.

Your eyes begin to roll back as your orgasm itches closer. Steve, realising this, pulls away once again. Your juices stringing from your clit to his lips as you cry out, your orgasm beginning to fade.

"Stop with the fuckin' whining. Daddy's gonna' fuck you now. Tell daddy how much you want his cock...Cmon. No need to act all innocent now." he pressures at your hesitation.

"P-Please daddy wan' you to fuck me."

"You can do better than that." Steve husks, giving your ass a harsh smack from behind, knowing your skin will blister from his force.

Your lips quiver as you cry, "Please! N-Need your cock inside me so badly, wan' you to destroy me for anybody else. Wanna' feel you in my cervix daddy, Jus' wanna make you feel good. Love how full you make me feel. Please...I-I'll die if you don't fuck me. Pretty pretty ple-."

and before you can finish your sentence your cut off by your own scream, his cock dissapearing inbetween your folds as he bottoms out with a singular thrust. Your legs become slack as your body spasms at the intrustion, his hands grip your hips, keeping you in place as you squirm, instinctively trying to escape his hold.

"F-Fuck, Y-Your so big daddy. It hurts so bad, p-pull out!"

"Shut up." he groans as his thick hand covers your mouth from behind. “Gonna fuckin’ dog fuck you til you can’t think of anything but this fat fuckin’ cock you dirty little slut, you hear me?” he practically growls as he begins to fuck you.

The sound of clapping skin begins to fill the room, agents around the compound sure to hear the way his dick bruitalises your cunt.

"Such a filthy girl i have, always so desperate for daddy to fuck you, even when you try and deny it, i know this sweet pussy would never lie to me." He coos in your ear as you sob, your face wet with tears and saliva.

"My messy whore, see what happens when you don't listen to me? You see what a mess you become? Fuck. You look so pretty like this, this is how you should always be, filled to the brim with my fat dick.”

Steve had always loved fucking you braindead, watching as your eyes glaze over and your tongue begins to hang out of your mouth, drooling all over yourself. It made him feel powerful, like you were dependent on him. Which you were in a sense, always so needy and desperate for him to fuck you.

The impact of his animalistic thrusts turn your skin raw as he speeds up. His arm wrapping around your waist, pressing you close to him as he spreads his legs further apart, hitting a new angle inside your pussy. You let out a loud wanton moan as his balls slap against your clit.

“F-Fuck yes! H-Harder daddy.”

“Yeah? You like that? I know you do, it’s okay. Is my little girls brain goin’ fuzzy? Huh? Poor girl.” Steve mocked, amusement clear in his tone. "M' gonna' cum. Daddy please can i cum?" you whine, the knot in your stomach tightening, a warning that your orgasm was near.

"Yeah baby? You gonna' cum for me you dirty whore? Go ahead, cum all over my dick. Can feel you clenching around me, grippin' me like a fuckin' vice."

Your cream coats his length as you let out a muffled cry, biting your lip harshly as you cum.

"T-Thankyou daddy. Feels s-so good..." you babble, your thick cream creating a ring around the base of his cock. Your weight giving out once again as Steve holds you, smirking as he watches you come undone, giving you no escape from his relentless thrusts.

His thick shaft pummeling your insides as you scream with ecstacy, your pussy throbbing as he fucks you through your high.

"F-Fuck look at that... love watching your cream leak around my cock, taking this dick so good for me. Gonna' cum inside you...yeah? You want daddy to fill you up?" he groans as his own orgasm nears, talking himself through it.

"God, this cunt treats me like a fuckin' king. It's coming baby, daddys gonna cum, Oh fuck fuckkk." his hips twitch and his balls throb as his load begins to fill you, shooting out thick ropes of hot cum into your pussy. Moaning at the sensation of his warmth inside you.

“Take my fuckin’ cum. That’s it, good girl. Love watchin’ your pussy swallow my hot fuckin load, bet you love it too, hm? You slut.” he pants, exhausted from the brutal fucking he just gave you.

He snaps out of it almost instantly, pulling out without warning and tucking his softening cock back into his pants.

Giving your ass a harsh smack, he steps back. You turn to look at him, your eyes glazed over. He stares at the ground with no emotion as he combs his locks with his fingers, making himself seem presentable.

Hope fills you, your heart races as you lick your lips in anticipation, wondering if he will stay to comfort you and hold you the way he used to many months ago.

But he doesn't. You get nothing but a short glance as he turns to exit your office, slamming the door shut on his way out. You slump down against the floor, a complete mess.

Your soft cries turn to sobs, breathing rapidly, your hands gripping your hair as you raise your knees to your chest. It was almost as if he had you in a trance when he was burried inside your cunt, as soon as he was done it was like the fog in your brain had cleared.

People told you there was no bringing the old Steve back, that your sweet, caring boyfriend was gone. Replaced by a monster.

You didn't want to believe them... but maybe you should've.

[gothamhappiness]

You are my heaven (Bruce Wayne x f!reader) Part 1

It was supposed to be a little imagine of a dark and lonely Bruce Wayne switching place with another Bruce Wayne from a parallal universe, but I wrote more than I thought. It'll be into 2 parts, except if you ask for more. <3

Warnings: no proof reading, sexual activities, language, neglecting husband and father, kinda angst/comfort

Imagine Bruce Wayne with no child, no wife (you), no friends and no more Alfred. He was all alone, making his life even harder, more cruel, more violent.

He didn’t adopt any child - not even Dick - because Alfred died quickly after Bruce became an adult. Thus, Bruce needed to take care of himself, and he didn't feel like he could look after a child. He was too tired and too depressed. He didn't want to bring any child into such a dark life.

His hands were full with Wayne Enterprises and his Batman way of life, so he also didn't make time for the Justice League. He sometimes helped them when it was about Gotham but nothing else.

And he never succeeded in getting you. He knew you. Oh yes, he knew you. He always thought that Batman would be his sole obsession, destroying him and his body. But then he met you, and he grew half insane. He needed you in his life so badly; he didn't care about anyone else. You were such a ray of sunshine in his dark existence. But you didn't want him. He was too desperate for you. You were scared of the darkness surrounding him, and you hated that rich man who wasn't trying hard enough for Gotham's poor people. He would have loved to cover you in affection and gifts, but you always escaped him.

Imagine this same Bruce Wayne being switched from places with another Bruce Wayne from another universe. This other Bruce had children, was married to you, and was friends with the Justice League. Alfred was still around. But this Bruce was neglecting everyone a little bit. This man thought he was entitled to get everything. His relationships were just alright with everyone. You more than once thought about getting a divorce actually, but you loved your life too much to let it go, even if Bruce could be a disappointment.

Imagine the lonely and desperate Bruce Wayne waking up one morning with you in the same bed as him.

At first, he believed it was all a dream, so he happily pulled you against his chest and snuggled up against you. He kissed the top of your head. When his alarm sounded out, he simply turned it off and hugged you tighter. He felt good and warm for the first time since his parents died. He completely melted in pure joy when you gently kissed his chest and neck, stroking his scarred stomach. He leaned into all your touch. He had no idea when he was going to wake up, so he wanted to enjoy this as much as possible. He didn’t want to think of the cold and empty bed that was going to greet him soon enough. He just wanted to stay there forever, cherished by you. Your scent was bringing him such comfort. He was relaxed, feeling safe and at home. This was what heaven must look like, he thought.

"Not running to work already?" You softly asked, a little bit surprised you didn't have to beg your husband for morning cuddles

"I'm good here," Bruce mumbled into your hair, his eyes closed in bliss

"What have you done to my husband?" You laughed as you straddled the man, looking down at him.

Husband? Fuck, it sounded so sweet to his ears. Bruce opened his eyes, drinking into your form. He loved how the sun was softly shining against your skin. He moved his hands on your thighs and stroked your skin. You were a goddess to him

“You’re beautiful” He whispered

You hummed and leaned to hungrily kiss him. He almost moaned against your lips. He had dreamt so many times of the feel of your mouth against his. But it was different than usual, it was better than he expected. He felt so whole. You were his soulmate. He always believed it. And feeling you like that… He promised himself that once he would be back to reality, he would find a way to seduce you. He needed you. You teasingly bit his bottom lip, and he smiled. Bruce's hands greedily moved around your body before settling on your ass. He gently squeezed it.

“Naughty” Ypu giggled, and he smiled even more

“Not my fault. You’re a goddess of love and light” He whispered

You didn’t reply. You weren’t too used to your husband talking to you like that. Your Bruce was good to you, but he never called you such things. He never watched you with such devotion in the eyes.

You sightly moved away to remove your nightgown under his watch. This Bruce had no idea how gorgeous you were naked, on top of him. He realised it was his favourite sight from now on. Gosh, what he wouldn’t do to be allowed to be greeted like that every morning of his life? He had dreamt so many times to be allowed to see you like this, to touch you like a lover and to take care of you. He was happy he was shirtless when you leaned back against him so he could feel your skin against his. He gently switched positions with you so he could get down on you. He kissed your neck, breasts, stomach, and inner thighs before settling in between your legs. He would have taken the time to kiss your legs and feet if he hadn’t been so hungry for you. It was such a vivid and nice dream. And he wanted you so badly. The way your fingers moved into his hair and tightened their hold whenever he was making you moan in pleasure became his favourite sensation. After the second orgasm he gave you this morning, he started to wonder if he truly was dreaming. You felt so real. 

He didn't have time to think more about it as you brought him closer to you. You were softly panting, as he was happily kissing and stroking your skin. You were made to be worshipped, he thought. And he would love to be your most obedient and caring servant.

A soft knock at the door startled the two of you.

"Master Bruce, do I need to cancel all the meetings you had this morning?" Alfred's voice sounded out.

Bruce froze for a few fractions of seconds before regaining his composure. Was it truly Alfred? His dream was getting nicer and nicer. However, it was hard to think when you were affectionately kissing his skin and playing with his hair, looking at him with such tenderness in your beautiful eyes. He needed all his willpower to answer Alfred back.

"I'm on my way to Wayne Enterprises, Alfred," He finally replied, and you laughed because he really didn't look like he was. 

The sound of your laughter made his chest blow with a warm feeling he didn't know. He was so deeply in love with you. He was so happy. And yet, the word “happy” didn’t feel strong enough to describe how he felt in this instant. He leaned to kiss you with pure affection before getting up, even though he would have loved to stay in bed with you.

You decided to be a good wife who cared about your husband’s work and duty, so you didn't follow in the shower, knowing Alfred would indeed need to cancel all of the meetings. You wondered what you did last night for Bruce to treat you with such passion and love this morning. You wished things would be more often like that. 

You were still lying in bed when Bruce came out of the shower. Before looking for some clothes, he went back to you, like a magnet attracted to you. He kissed your naked back before kissing your lips.

"Time for some lunch with me, hon?" you asked, clearly pushing your luck, but Bruce seemed in a very good mood today.

You were ready for him to say no, though, like he always did.

"Of course, anything you want," He whispered, smiling.

He was excited you seemed to want to spend more time with him.

You didn’t add anything, truly wondering what you did last night. He kissed you again before dressing up. You enjoyed the view from the bed. Bruce loved the warm feeling of your eyes on him. He couldn’t get enough of your attention.

He reluctantly left the room after having stolen another kiss from you. He couldn’t get enough of you.

He properly greeted Alfred and thanked him for having checked on him.

Bruce was a little bit surprised to discover so many young adults and teenagers eating breakfast in his living room, but it was giving some life to his old manor. And in a dream, you couldn’t expect everything to make sense, right? So he simply greeted everyone and asked if they all slept well, like his father did when he was a child. They all seemed stunned by the question, but they still answered. What amazed them even more was that Bruce actually listened to their answers. He waved them all goodbye, wished them a good day, and went to work.

It was time for lunch, and Bruce hadn't woken up yet. His meetings were now done, and he could take some time to think. Everything felt so real so far. Usually, in dreams, when you read something, lines are blurry or the words mean nothing or the words change all the time... But it didn't happen. Apart from the people he didn’t know in his living room, everything seemed to make sense?

He typed away his name on his Internet browser and started to read about how he was dealing with Wayne Enterprises, how he was married to you, how he adopted or took under his roof many children. Bruce Wayne seemed quite… popular. He looked for Batman's work as well. It seemed he was often with the Justice League, and he had some vigilantes under his lead. He started to think about what happened last night - before he woke up with you in his arms.

He could now remember a very bright light engulfing him while he was fighting off some criminals.

"Where are we going for lunch?" You texted him, and the notification brought him back to the present

"That Italian restaurant near Wayne Enterprises?" He offered.

He always wished he could invite you there because he quite enjoyed this place. He hoped the place existed here, but with your answer it seemed it did.

"Oh yes, it's been a while!" You quickly replied. "I'll meet you there in a few. Love you <3" You added

"Love you too, wife" Bruce sent back.

Gosh, he never thought he would be allowed to send you such words and it was making his head spin.

But Bruce was a smart man, so he started to understand that he must have taken the place of the Bruce Wayne of this world. It couldn’t be a dream because it was too detailed and realistic. It couldn’t be an illusion, because something would have felt off to him. It wouldn't have been the first time he was trapped in an illusion, he would have been able to feel it. This place... everything felt true, real.

There were only two possibilities: someone brought him to a parallel universe or he died and went to heaven. 

He hurt one of his fingers to draw blood. He couldn’t be dead if he was still bleeding, could he? So if he was going with the parallel universe, it meant… It meant that the other Bruce Wayne had this perfect little life. Fuck, he felt a deep and raw jealousy stabbing his heart: why didn't this Bruce suffer like he did? Why did this version of himself get everything he ever wished for himself? Alfred, children, you? Even Batman seemed to be doing better here. Wayne Enterprises were thriving, the biggest and most powerful firm of Gotham. 

He needed to understand what happened... So he could forever stay here. There was no way he was going back to the Hell that used to be his life. He would kill himself at the instant he would get back. How could he survive being alone again? The other Bruce was a problem because if he was alive, he would want to get back here. But fuck him. Everyone seemed so surprised by how he was acting, so he was certain that the Bruce of this world didn’t deserve their love. And he would do anything to deserve it. It was his chance to finally be happy and he wasn’t going to fuck this up.

--

Part 2

[eccentricallygothic]

Coy

Pairing: Daddy!Steve Rogers | Shy Gf!You.

Description: Steve makes his shy girl call him Daddy <3

Warning(s): Stevie is lowkey a lil mean, m!dom, f!sub, size kink, unprotected p-in-v, missionary, doggy style, dick riding towards the end, spanking, hair pulling, age gap bc it's me, slight bondage idk, choking, humiliation, dumbification, dirty talk. MDNI.

Type: Request for my lovely @chxrryhansen, here. 

MASTERLIST

❤️

“C'mon, just say it, baby” Steve wasn't sure if the annoyance in his voice was unclear or if you were just that stupid. 

“Nooo, Stevie!” You giggled even though you had been whining just a few seconds ago because of how much strength he had had to use and the endurance that had been required of you to withstand the entering of his monstrous cock in your tight little pussy. Yes, Steve had indeed fingered you before that. And yes, it still hadn't been enough to open up your tiny hole. 

Not for Steve, anyway.

“Oh—” he stopped to keep himself from saying something hurtful because you were too sensitive for your own good. “Just… fuck!” He abruptly cursed as your pussy responded to the twitching of his dick by clenching around it just when he was balls deep inside you. “Just say it for me, yeah, baby?” You were choking his dick out and his dick was in pain too. 

Only, your tightness and his girth made up a pain too nice for either of you to want to stop. 

Your face was flush and your heavy breaths were labored, the weight of his massive body pressing yours down into the mattress. “B- But it's wrong, S- Stevie…” It took him all his strength to not scoff at your words so he took his ire out on your poor little nipple that was trapped between his cruel fingertips. 

“Why?” Steve's hips nearly collided with yours when he gave you yet another heavy but speedy thrust. 

“B- Because you're not actually my Daddy, S- Steve— hnng!” Your eyes rolled to the back of your head when you felt his breach intensify, the pangs that were being caused by the vicious jabbing of his hard, thick tip against your innermost spot on the brink of reaching your cervix. 

Steve's nose flared and his blue eyes suddenly flashed you an icy look. “Yeah?” His eyebrows went flat but the violent rocking of his body against yours didn't. The room was full of the gut-wrenchingly obscene sounds of skin slapping against flesh. “Who do you think I am, then?” 

It was getting harder to form proper words the more his cock caused for the burning knot to tighten between your hips. “Y- You… You're… AH!” Your arms that were coiled around his broad shoulders tightened against his neck to withstand how his huge hand rudely was squeezing your boob. “You're… b- bofi…” Steve's strength was no joke.

“And who says bofis can't be Daddies?” The golden haired man expectantly peered down at you for an answer but you were too busy moaning and rocking yourself against his cock as much as his heavy body allowed you to do so. 

“B- But…” Your small protest told him all he needed to know.

Steve didn't have time for this nonsense. 

A loud plop! sounded in the air and you blushed a deep shade of red despite your worked up state. Before you could word your complaint about why Steve had suddenly pulled out of your weepy cunt, the older flipped you onto your chest and roughly pushed what remained of your shirt -the beast had a thing for ripping your clothes off, good thing he made up for it by buying you prettier compensations- up your arms and around your wrists until they were bound above your head. 

New slick bubbled out of your opening as you whimpered and felt your hole blink in sensitive realization of the fact that now he wanted you to lay your face down and keep your ass up. Fuck. When he took you like that, there was absolutely nothing he couldn't make you do or say. 

After that, Steve had your throat in one hand and your boobs in the other, his muscular thighs fished their way under your trembling legs to collect them out of his way. His tip that had cooled down a bit made you jump when he entered you again and though the penetration was somewhat easier this time around, you couldn't help but whine from the stretch again. 

And then, Steve went into a crazed jackhammer mode. Your throat tickled and ached from the deep groans that crawled up your vocal cavity, ones that your position was forcing you to stifle into the mattress. The temperature of his cock easily returned back to its previous warmth. 

“Say it” he demanded as he squeezed your windpipe. 

All you could let out was a humiliating, breathless and incoherent guttural ‘aaaaah~’ as your body began to slide off his due to the force of his brutal fucking. The tip of your nose hurt from how it rubbed up and down the bedding.

“Tsk, messy little kiddie brat” his hand abandoned your boob to firmly claw around one of your thighs to hold you in place to ensure a smooth pounding. “Needs Daddy for everything but acts like she doesn't” you could deny it to your heart's content and be as shy and ‘innocent’ as you pleased, but the way you moaned, messed yourself up and clenched when he said the dirtiest things was not lost on him.

Steve knew you liked it all just as much as he did. 

“Oh, my God—!” Steve squeezed your throat again because he did not like what he was hearing. Your lungs ached from the strain he was putting them under.

“Now that's a bit far, baby” before he shook in mirth and the vibration of his body shook your squishy walls, the sensation causing your eyes to roll until their undersides burnt. “But I guess that's okay too” your fucked out mind felt somewhat relieved. Maybe this would satiate him and you would not have to— “But that's not what I want to hear you call me tonight” your chest ached from the wheeze you let out when he finally let your throat go to smack your ass and you could breathe again. “Come on, now. Chop, chop” you cried out from the frustration. 

He was so mean.

“After all, Daddies take care of their kids. And I take care of you, don't I?” There was something in the way he worded it. You moaned out loud. His balls began to penetrate your stubborn opening. 

And then he crept his fingers between your legs and against your cunt. The grainy digits stroked your hardened flesh. And you knew at once, you had lost. 

It was impossible to hold back now. The taut dam of your building orgasm came undone and your toes curled as bittersweet relief exploded between your hips and down your legs.

“DADDY! OH, DADDY! OH!” You began to chant uncontrollably, feeling your knees shake as cold sweat trickled down the back of your thighs. 

“Now that's more like the dirty little slut that I've raised on this cock” when Steve really got into chasing his own orgasm, and he always did that after yours, the most obscene and sodomous things came out of his mouth. “Tell me, brat” since you were going through a mind melt, Steve smacked your ass to redirect your attention to him. “Will you ever try to deny your Daddy again?” His hand wrapped your hair around it and your body curved in a humiliating angle as he pulled you up to bounce on his cock now.

“N- No, no, Daddy, no! Never!” Your orgasm was turning into overstimulation and there was not a damn thing you could do about it.  

“Really?” You broke into a fit of cries when Steve began to pat-slap your clit. “Doesn't sound very convincing to me…”

“No! No, Daddy! I promise! I promise! I promise I won't, Daddy!” You were curved so far out that your head collapsed on one of his hard shoulders. Your chest ached from how violently your tits bounced up and down.

“That's my girl” The baritone of Steve's voice drilled into your mind as he looked down at you before capturing your lips in a hungry kiss, one tyrannical paw settling on your chest to keep you from falling down, hips springing you up and down like a mindless little toy.

❤️

Everything tag 🩷: @rosecentury

I know it sucks, I am sorry. I have a very bad creative block these days but I am trying my best to clear out all requests <3 

[wildestdreamsblog]

Latibule Season 2: I

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader (Mafia/Detective AU)

Summary: In which he lost his latibule.

Warnings: Secret Identity, Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Violence, Mention of death, Disability, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: In the spirit of Christmas hehe

Masterlist, Prologue

He didn’t believe that you were gone no matter what anyone said.

Everyone was saying the same thing. You were gone and there was nothing anyone could do to bring you back. However, Min Yoongi didn’t like their answer and anyone who said that you had already passed on from this earth was met with his wrath that was communicated through his fists and weapons. No one could even tell him that he now couldn’t physically follow where you were. In his twisted mind, he thought that he could follow you because you never left this earth. Of course, he could follow. You did promise, after all, that you would never go somewhere where he couldn’t fucking follow. His angel would never lie to him, he thought. But your absence was saying otherwise. Your absence was too loud.

The days following the moment he opened his eyes and learned of your demise were bloody and dark. Everyone was on edge, and the traitors went to hell here on earth. They did wish they had died instead, but death was never quick when it came to them, nor was it painless. Min Yoongi made sure that they felt every ounce of pain he felt when you were taken away from him. His brothers could not even reason with the man. They didn’t know how to handle this Min Yoongi. It was as though he died there with you, and what was left of him was only his darkness. Agustd was already ruthless, but now he was just outright cruel, burning everything and everyone that crossed his path.

No one could even say their piece to him-well, all except Kim Seokjin. Despite Jin choosing the less violent life and despite him spending his days treating people in the hospital, no one could deny the power he naturally excluded. It was the power that was inherent to him when he was unfortunate enough to be born to a father that was the previous mafia king. Kim Seokjin may possessed the face of an angel, but he was the most dangerous of them all. It was just that he had a patience of a saint, and everyone fret the day someone snapped his patience. He was a dangerous, eccentric man. And he was a ticking time bomb in comparison to Taehyung who just kept on exploding without an end in sight. Min Yoongi, though, was known to be a reasonable man, his calm nature was never broken. It took losing you to break the calmness in him. The days after he woke up, he was seen back where he was the happiest. Day after day, Yoongi could be found there, leaning against the tree with cigarette in between his lips as he looked at the ruins of your house. The fire took everything from him. It was angry as it smoldered what once was his latibule to the ground, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake. Yoongi thought that the world was simply too cruel to him to strip away the only place he had of you. He couldn’t even smell you anymore, couldn’t even go to the place that was full of your presence.

How cruel was it to have you once and never again? How cruel was it for him to finally have found the warmth, to finally have basked in it for a moment too short, only for him to live in a winter forever after you? He would never admit to anyone that each time he closed his eyes, the only thing he saw was the moment you fell as the bullet pierced your skin. So, he had not been sleeping well. If you were here, he thought, you would chase away all the demons in his head. If you were here, you would put your arms around him, rub your hands on his shoulder in a soothing way only you knew how, and you would silently tell him that everything would be okay, that he wasn’t as bad as he thought he was. Yoongi couldn’t do anything. All he did was to go to the place where he found and lost you.

He was always there, Jimin noted. He made this place your temple, mural and shrine. However, never once did he visit where you were finally laid to rest. Never once did he even acknowledge your death. It was like not seeing it would make your death untrue. And so, day after day, hour after hour, the man could be found there as though he was waiting on a miracle, as though if he waited long enough then you would return, as though if he stayed long enough, you would walk back and smile at him, all while calling him a fool for looking too sad.

But you never did.  

And after a whole year, Min Yoongi never uttered your name again.

---

“Y-you’re supposed to be the good one! W-what is the Chief of Police doing here?!”

Yoongi watched in boredom as Jungkook pushed a man to kneel in front of him. The warehouse was quiet, well, save for the screaming of the traitors. The other brothers were busy with torturing the remaining traitors they kept alive. And today, he was faced with the last remaining traitor they had yet to kill. See, this asshole was so below the rank that he didn’t know that the Chief of Police was also the same Agustd, the leader of the mafia.

He was nothing, Yoongi thought. And yet, he was the one who blew up your house. He could almost laugh if he still knew how.  “T-the public will know! I’ll tell them that you’re the d-devil!”

Yoongi blew the smoke on his face emotionlessly, a strand of his dark hair falling on his face. “You’re not an intelligent man, are you?” he asked evenly before pulling the cigarette in between his lips and onto the idiot’s eyelid. He heeded his screams no mind as he removed his jacket with his badge on it. Someone from his right stepped in to carefully fold his jacket. Yoongi folded his sleeves to his elbows and without any warning, punched the man on his face.

The man proved to be an even greater fool as he laughed in false bravado, blood a stark contrast against his crooked teeth, “Is that all you can do? You don’t have it in you to kill. You’re a civil servant!”

“Is that so?” he asked in a conversational tone as he picked up a knife, putting it up over the light to inspect it before turning to the buffoon. “Which hand burned the house?”

“What?”

Yoongi looked at Jungkook and the latter manhandled the man near the table, flatting both his hand on it. “Which hand should I cut?” He walked nearer to them as though he had all the time in the world. “This one,” he stabbed the table, missing the man’s hand by a centimeter. “Or this one?” he repeated the action for the right hand, except that this time he intentionally stabbed the knife through his thumb, severely cutting it. “Oh no,” he said in a deadpanned voice before looking directly at him. “Guess my aim got bad.”

“W-who are y-you?!”

He smiled at him; his eyes remained emotionless. “Hi, I’m Agustd. Nice to meet you. So which hand?”

“N-No! No, please! I’ll give you what you want-“

Yoongi sighed, already losing his patience. “You do have to choose. We won’t stop until you only have one hand. Or do you want me to choose?”

“L-lef-“

Before the traitor could even finish sputtering what Yoongi deemed was bullshit, he buried the hilt of the knife into his hand. He didn’t even blink when he felt resistance from his bones, Yoongi merely kept on pushing, uncaring of the wailing man. He never stopped until he the knife finally touched the surface of the table.

And after that, he stabbed his hand again. He never ceased, not until the hand was completely mutilated. He never stopped, not even when the blood kept sputtering on his face from the man’s open wound, a stark contrast on his pale white complexion. He never stopped even when the man lost consciousness.

“He’s going to die, Yoongi,” Seokjin noted lightly from his seat. From outside looking in, he looked like a perfect image of peace, yet the hold he had on his phone was a telltale sign that he was far from pleased. He was not even phased by the violence around him, his focus merely on the whereabouts of his runaway sunshine. “I do not have the patience required to revive a dying man tonight.”

Yoongi paused, leering at the man who was slipping in and out of consciousness, before heeding his hyung’s statement. He did not want to test Jin’s patience tonight when it was apparent that he was barely holding on to his control.

He didn’t want to kill this man tonight. No. He planned on keeping him alive for years and years to come. He planned to give him hope, only for him to squash it away like he did his. As long as Yoongi shall live, then he shall suffer with him. As long as he was living in this fucked-up nightmare where you weren’t by his side, then so should he lived his very own crafted nightmare.

If he wasn’t happy, then why should anyone be?

---

“That phone looks like it wants to rest,” Jimin observed lightly as he and his hyung visited another crime scene that was definitely not because of them. It was three hours away from Seoul, the travel time giving him headache, similar to what Jimin was giving him. He watched as Yoongi ended the call before glaring at him.

“What about my phone, Jimin?”

“It looks like it wants to retire. Please, for the love of all that’s good, let me buy you a phone.”

“No.” It was the only thing he had of you.

“Whyyyyy do you love that phone so much, hyung? Our enemies would think our business is not doing good that you cannot even buy yourself a phone!”

Yoongi just shrugged his broad shoulders before walking out of the police line and through the busy market. He nodded at the policemen as they acknowledged him. His watchful eyes observed the chipper attitude of the marketgoers, chatting among themselves. He wondered how people could wake up this early and yet looked so alive. He hadn’t felt alive since that night. However, he thought that had you been here, it wouldn’t matter. Nothing would. He would wake up at an ungodly hour for you.

He could hear Jimin chatter beside him as they navigated their way out of the busy street when it happened. Until it all turned into a white noise when it happened.

When he saw you.

He halted his brisk walk, his eyes following as you walked away yet again from him.

 For a brief moment, he believed your eyes met. For a brief moment, he felt his heart beat again. Yet, your eyes seemed to hold no recognition for him as it only passed through him. You didn’t even stop. It was as though he was merely a stranger.

On the other hand, he thought that you looked different, but he knew in his dead heart that it was you.

Or was it his mind finally crumbling on him, reveling on his insanity?

He blinked once and you were gone.

Jimin, suffice to say, was shocked as his hyung ran back. He never saw him moved that fast, uncaring of the people who he would runover from his haste. His dark coat trailed behind him as he moved, a touch of desperation evident, compelling Jimin to reluctantly trail after him. Yoongi forcefully cleared a path, parting the crowd with determined strides. His singular focus was on reaching you, leaving his mind devoid of any other thoughts.

It was you, he was sure. It was his angel.

He was almost sure.

But when he reached where he saw you last, you weren’t there.

Jimin was breathless when he finally reached his hyung who was looking around the crowd like a lost child. His hands were on his waist as his desperate eyes searched for…who, exactly?

“What happened, hyu-“

“It was her, Jimin-ah. I saw her.”

He blinked, following his hyung’s shifting gaze. “Who?”

“My angel. She’s alive."

Latibule 2.II

[cleoluvrr]

high school sweethearts (rafe cameron x reader) - prologue

these are the requirements, if you think you can be my one true love

WARNINGS: mature content; dark!rafe, domestic violence, substance abuse & addiction, coercion, manipulative behavior, stalking, toxic relationship, attempted suicide, kook!reader

masterlist

series masterlist

“get the hell out of my house, rafe! i don’t care!” your voice was raspy with anger and frustration as you yelled in rafe’s face. your skin was damp with fresh tears, neck covered in the salty trail leaking from your eyes. “i’m not doing this shit with you anymore!”

your boyfriend, now ex-boyfriend, was at the foot of your bed, burning eyes glaring down at your seated frame. you know why he came over, but seeing as the two of you ended on bad terms just a couple weeks ago, you were less than pleased to see him. it wasn’t really a mutual separation–it was more one of force. you told him you were leaving him–and you did–but in rafe’s head, he never left you.

rafe wasn’t a nice guy most of the time, not even to you. you knew that when he pursued you, but you still gave him the benefit of the doubt. you told yourself that it was just a defense mechanism, that he would get nicer the longer you two were together. when the cruel behavior continued well into your relationship, you realized just how wrong you were.

the name-calling, the violent behavior directed towards both you and others, the raging cocaine addiction that he wasn’t even trying to overcome; it was all too much for you. hence, why you broke it off after years of trying to find a more sympathetic side of him. he had one, you knew that for a fact, but it wasn’t enough to ignore all of his shortcomings.

“that’s not how that works, y/n. are you fucking stupid, or something?” rafe looked at you incredulously, top lip flipped up in an almost disgusted snarl. 

“what do you mean ‘that’s not how it works?’” the frustration you felt was only amplified, face screwed up from being unable to process the gall he possessed to let those words leave his mouth. “i said that we’re done. over, finished. i explained to you why we’re finished very simply–you’re a piece of shit, rafe. and until you’re not, we’re going to stay finished.”

the chance that he would ever stop being a terrible person was minimal. it had to run in his dna–maybe it skipped sarah and wheezie, but the trait definitely passed from ward unto his son. 

you’d seen the way his father spoke to him. you were the one he came to late at night when he’d storm off after an argument, drunk, high, or crossed out of his mind. you nursed his bruises, bloody noses, and sore knuckles after their physical altercations. he never had someone truly care for him growing up, and being raised by a monster only turned him into one.

it was easy to look at the broken boy and have your heart ache for him. how could someone be mad at him for lashing out when that was the only way he was taught to express his feelings? it was even harder to nurse your own bruises that resulted in his unhealed, internal ones. which is why you had to put an end to it in the first place.

“there’s no way you think i’m letting you leave me, y/n,” he says dryly. “after all the investments i made in you? you might be crazier than me.” the taller man lets out a humorless laugh as he rakes his nimble fingers through the blonde locks atop his head.

“what fucking investments, rafe? the jewelry?” 

you push yourself off your bed and shove past him, the dresser behind him becoming the new target of your rage. yanking open the jewelry box neatly sitting atop the piece of furniture, you ravage it for every ring, necklace, and pair of earrings rafe ever gifted you. turning around to face him, you toss it at his feet in a messy pile, the metal scattering around the floor and knocking against his shoes noisily.

“there you go, rafe! do you want the clothes, too?” you go to your closet door and rip it open, the box full of clothes that rafe bought you sitting neatly in the corner where you left it a week ago after packing it all away. the box scrapes against the hardwood floor as you pull it out of its hiding spot. “here! take it! take all your ‘investments’ back! ”

“y/n-” rafe tries to speak but he’s cut off by the sound of your phone hitting him square in the jaw. he bought that too, and he could take it for all you cared.

“there’s your phone, too.” it took everything in you not to smirk in satisfaction at seeing him wince in pain from the heavy object hitting him directly in the face, but it only lasted a second before you realized it was a bad idea. escalating to physical violence was never a thing you did. “now take your shit and leave.”

a few months ago, you would have never thought of doing anything like that. in fact a few months ago you were too scared to even raise your voice at him, let alone throw your phone at him with intentions to harm him.

it took you two months to even find the courage to break things off with him. you feared what was to come if you were to do something as drastic as that, but you knew that it had to happen eventually. even then you weren’t this bold, and the way rafe remained deathly still in front you stood as a reminder why you never were.

“i know you didn’t mean to do that…” rafe trails off, eyes closed as his tongue pokes though the side of his cheek in poorly hidden vexation. “you’re just angry, so i’m gonna pretend you didn't do that.” he squats down slowly to examine the jewelry laid out at his feet.

he pokes around wordlessly, the sound of the collection softing scraping against the floor taking over the silence of the room. you observe as he picks up a familiar silver piece, blinking rapidly as he rises back to his full height with it pinched between his fingers.

the square-shaped mark on his face where the phone made contact with him appears to be a deeper red as he approaches you, the few feet between you crossed in seconds with his long legs. you swallow the saliva collecting in your mouth, breath hitching nervously when he reaches for you. the feeling of the cool metal of the necklace falling into the dip of your clavicle makes you flinch instinctively as rafe clasps it behind your neck.

“you are my shit, y/n.” the taller man hums as his fingers adjust the pendant resting against your chest. “i invested my time, money, and energy into you not only because i love you, but because i expect a return on it. so, unless i’m leaving here with you, i’m not going anywhere.”

rafe’s hand so close to your neck had you frozen in place, unsure of what his next move would be. even after years of being with him, he was still far too unpredictable and unstable to feel easy around when you could feel the agitation dripping from his pores. 

“on our first anniversary, i told you i couldn’t see myself with anyone else. on our second anniversary, i gave you a promise ring–” his free hand reaches down for the hand still adorned by the diamond studded ring he gifted you almost a year ago. you never took it off, but right now you wish that you had the strength to. “and i promised that i was going to marry you one day. you were going to be my beautiful wife, you would have my beautiful children, and everyone would wish they were us.”

“why are you–” you abruptly go silent when you catch the look he gives you, blue eyes dark with a calm rage that you’d learned to fear the most over everything. you shut your mouth immediately at the wordless instruction.

“you promised to love me.” he holds up his hand to show the matching promise ring wrapped around his own finger. “you promised to accept that i was fucked up. you promised that you would be there to wipe my tears, and that you could handle all my shit, even if it hurt you. if you think i’m gonna sit here and let you fuck me over–let you waste my time? let you just–just leave?”

he shakes his head at you, both of his hands reaching up to plant themselves on the sides of your face. his palms are warm against your skin, the feeling of his thumbs smoothing over your cheeks leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. you blinked up at him, eyes wide as your heart pounds against your chest. his own eyes were still dark and angry, but you could see the pure love pouring out of them though the seam between his blown out pupils and the blue of his iris. 

you inhaled deeply when the blonde leaned in to place a gentle kiss to your mouth. it was hard to remain stoic in your reaction, especially when he pulled away with your sticky, pink gloss coating his plush lips.

“you’re not leaving me that easy.” he whispers softly into the little space between your faces. it was instinctive to gulp out of fear–the barely contained, frightened whimper pushed back down your throat with the action. “if i lose you, it will be by my own hands. it won’t be because you get a little scared when shit gets real.”

rafe is granted silence as you continue to stare up at him with your lips drawn together tightly. he sighs heavily, sensing the fear radiating off of your body. you feel his hands pull you into his chest, one of them dropping to your waist to hug you close to him as he rests his head on top of yours. 

“i will fucking kill you before i ever let you leave, y/n. do you understand that?” you say nothing in response, sure that your voice will tremble more than you want it to. you believed every word that came out of his mouth deep down, and the seriousness of his demeanor only justified your sense of foreboding. “answer me. do you understand?”

you remain silent for a heavy second, mouth completely devoid of moisture and heart pumping too rapidly to speak steadily.

“yes, rafe.” you nodded against his chest and you felt him exhale, almost in a way that resembled relief. “i understand. i’m sorry…” you weren’t sure what you were even apologizing for, but it was something you were so used to doing to save your own ass.

“it’s okay, baby, i know.” he plants his lips to your scalp sweetly before pulling away just a couple centimeters. “i know it gets hard sometimes– i know i’m hard, and i’m sorry for that. i’m really trying.”

“i know.” you say weakly, the words all but muffled by the shirt your face was buried into.

you felt him nod above you before he placed another kiss on your head. 

“i love you so, so much.” rafe whispers into your hair, the air of his words against your scalp sending chills down your back.

you nod in response, submitting to the silence that weighs heavy on your tongue.

[cleewii]

rating: R (18+ content)

cw(s): fem!afab!reader, sub!bakugo, horribly edited

thinking about punishing KATSUKI by making him fuck a toy when all he really wants is to fuck you.

“s’not the same….” he’d groan. His jaw clenched tight as he grits his teeth, willing away the sniffles and whimpers that threaten to slip past his lips.

The blatant disappointment stings in his chest.

“maybe if you’d been good you’d have gotten the real thing.”

he may be complaining, about how it feels different, about how it’s not you, but he greedily allows himself to fuck deeper into the toy.

“f…fuh—fuck you!” he gasps into your shoulder, the heat of his breaths billowing across your exposed skin.

“nuh uh, no whinin’. don’t have anyone to blame but yourself, honey.”

“i hate you…hate you so—hah!”

Your hands squeeze tight around the silicone toy; the tip of his cock going through different shades of pink, then red, desperately angry, starved of real attention, begging for something more. Pearls of white bead up and meld with the copious amounts of lube and pre already gumming up the insides of the toy; that ‘schlick…schlick’—ing rhythm filling up his head. He’s already starting to feel foggy; you’ve been denying him for hours, teasing and picking away at his resolve, and it seems you have no intention of giving him what he wants.

each time he fucks into the toy the tip of his cock just about kisses your naval. your smooth skin beneath the silicone tube makes his head go a little fuzzy.

oh, how he’d be dying to touch you, to feel you, but you wouldn’t let him, you’re smiling so mean as you deny him, and he just—

‘can’t take it. I can’t take it. I cant take it. I can’t take it—!’

“Fuck!” He gasps. “c—c’mon! don’t…fuck…don’t do this to me…” he’s already choking over his words, taking up big heaving breaths of air like his lungs are starved of it.

“you already know what I wanna hear.”

“s’not fair….you’re bein’ fuck—fuckin’ mean!”

“i’m not asking for much katsuki, really. just wanna hear you say it and i’ll start being nice. isn’t that what you want?”

“but i didn’t do—!“

“don’t lie, baby.” you’d cup his cheek, leaning up to whisper into his ear, “you know exactly what you did.”

“fuck!” he groans, and he realizes he really can’t escape from this. “m’sorry okay!”

you slowly drag the toy off of his dick, relishing in the way he squirms when the air touches the bare skin. The bare weight of him would lay across the length of your pelvis, hot, sticky, and full of need. you could feel his aching on top of your clit, could feel the heat of him envelop your skin with the way he’s draped across you, and that look in his eye, just seeing your pussy beneath him is driving him crazy.

“see, that wasn’t so hard now was it?”

he shakes his head no, swallowing down his own voice to stare at your glistening cunt, thoughts drifting to the slick feel of it around him once you finally give him what he wants

“please,” he breathes. “please.”

“one more time for me, honey.”

“i’m sorry….”

“for?”

“for bein’ a…a fucking’ brat…for n—not bein’…bein’ good….” the spit starts to gather up in his mouth, brain going foggy. just the thought of being able to feel your cunt has him damn near drooling, and when you look at him like that, like he’s perfect, like he’s everything you want, it makes his cock ache with a need so violent he’d do anything to make it better. “please, baby. can i….?”

“of course you can.” you smile. a sweet and soft, almost cruel, smile.

he moans in response and buckles in worship.

“t—thank you….thank you…thank you!”

[honey-on-your-tongue]

want jake sully to just fuck reader over and over, he can't get enough with that filled up messy wet pussy, even after all night 🥺👉👈

😩😩😩😩 sloppy rounds all night??? Yes please 🥵🥵🥵🥵

The night is dark and warm. The plants around you cast a soft glow on your sins with each movement your bodies make.

Jake holds onto your hips with a fierce grip, keeping you on your knees, your chest against the ground as he fucks you from behind. You're mewling and crying, eyes rolling into the back of your head.

You've lost count of how many times you've come, how many times you've squirted all over Jake, how many times he's filled you with his thick load.

The sound of your squelching pussy is so loud. Between your slick that's smearing on your thighs and Jake's hips, and Jake's cum that drips out of you, you're a mess. You drip everywhere, soaking the ground below with your slick. Your drool trickles out of your mouth and down your chin while tears cascade down your face.

“Daddy!” you whimper, weak and only half-conscious. “Daddy.”

Jake spanks your ass, making you jolt, and he orders, “Shut it. You wanted me to fuck you, and that's what I'm doin'.”

He's not wrong. You were begging him to fill you, to fuck you over and over. You just didn't think he'd take it so literally. It's like he can't get enough, like no matter how many orgasms he has, he still has more to spill into you.

You whine, your cunt raw from his thick cock, your cervix bruised from the bulbous head. Even your folds are swollen from his heavy balls crashing into them with each merciless thrust.

You can't distinguish pleasure from pain anymore. Are you in so much pain that it's pleasurable? Or are you in so much pleasure that it's painful? You can't tell. You don't care. You can't do much but take Jake's assault on your body; you just let him fuck you.

He's using you, rutting into you like you're a toy, like you can't feel what he's doing to you. And that's the problem. You love it. You love the way he treats you like a plaything, how he uses you to get off. It drives you insane; and what's worse, Jake knows that.

His predatory amber eyes are locked on your pussy, on the way his cock slips in and out, covered in his cum and your arousal. The sounds you make drive him insane. Every little moan and gasp, every whimper, every time you call him Daddy.

Fuck, it makes him pound you harder, makes him dizzy with lust, his fingers digging into your hips, his cock bruising your gummy walls.

“My fuckin' girl,” he groans, dragging his canines over his lower lip. “This pretty pussy so wet f'r me. So fuckin' full.”

You mewl, body trembling, yet another orgasm building within you. “Please, Daddy,” you beg, sobbing. “Please! Can't 'nymore!”

“Yes, you can,” Jake replies, squeezing your ass. “You will.”

You shake your head, hiccuping. “'s too much!” you insist, the pleasure within you building like a flash flood, eviscerating everything in its path, growing suddenly and without warning until you're coming again, squirting onto Jake.

You whimper, nails digging into the soil below, body shaking violently.

Jake groans as you soak him yet again, the feel of your gushing arousal making his cock twitch inside you. “That's my girl,” he grunts, spanking your ass, watching it bounce from the force. “My fuckin' baby, always such a good slut.”

You sob, trying to move away from him, but you're weak and his hands on your hips hold you in place. “Daddy,” you gasp, crying. “Daddy! Please!”

“'m not done with you yet, sweet,” he says, his swollen balls aching with another nearing orgasm. “I won't be done for a long while.”

You shake your head, crying, desperate and pathetic. “'s too much! I can't!”

“Shh,” Jake coos. “Trust me, baby, hm? Just lemme take care 'f you, alright?”

“No!” you whine, mouth saying one thing while your throbbing pussy says another. Your body loves this, loves how cruel Jake can be. Even if you wanted to, you know you'd never stop him. You're too hooked on the pleasure to actually want to stop. It's not so much a matter of wanting Jake to quit his brutal fucking; it's more the loss of power you feel. You adore the fact that he's so much stronger than you, love that he's mean enough to use his strength and prove how weak you are for him.

Jake spanks you again. “Quit your whinin',” he hisses. “Y'already know things are done my way. I'll fuck you until I want to, until I decide you've had enough, hm?”

You gasp, another orgasm rising to the surface, your overly-sensitive body on the verge of breaking. “Daddy!” you whine, half-warning, half-begging him.

Jake chuckles. “Already?” he mocks. “You're losing your touch, sweetheart. You used to take my cock for hours, kid.”

But it has been hours, and Jake knows. He's never fucked you this long, never been this insistent on leaving you trembling and gasping and weak. He just likes to tease you, likes to degrade you only to praise you afterwards.

You cry out as you come, your limbs shaking, body going limp from the excessive pleasure. You're seeing stars; they dance behind your eyelids, make you silly and incoherent as you blubber out sentences. You mix your words, starting your sentences with begging Jake to stop and ending them with pleads for him to keep going.

Jake feels your cunt tighten around him, and he decides it's enough. He's fucked you dumb already, and his guilt is starting to take over.

His thrusts grow sloppy as he feels himself closer to the edge, as his cock twitches inside of you in warning.

“Fuck,” he groans, throwing his head back. “Last one, baby. Give me one more and we're done, alright?”

You nod, eager, trying to push your hips back to meet Jake's thrusts, but you're too weak to do anything but let him use you. “Daddy!” you cry, your pleasure scratching at the insides of your womb, dark corners forming at the edges of your vision. “Oh, Daddy!”

And then you're tumbling over the edge, orgasm bursting through you as you squirt for what feels like the millionth time. And it's the final straw for Jake.

He grunts, body shuddering as he comes inside you, his load spilling into you and then dripping out from how stuffed you are. “Goddamn,” Jake groans, his hips finally ceasing their cruel thrusts, his body finally giving yours a break.

Jake pulls out of you and you just about collapse on the ground, body trembling with the aftershocks of your pleasure, your eyes fluttering shut as exhaustion takes over you.

Jake chuckles softly as he lies beside you. He presses a kiss to your shoulder, his hands finding your body and caressing all the sore places he's been abusing for hours.

“You good, angel?” he asks, kissing your temple.

You nod, weak, sleep taking over you. “'m fine,” you tell him.

Jake smiles down at you, his eyes studying your gorgeous face, his heart racing out of his chest at the knowledge that you're his. Mind, body, and soul, you're his.

Just like he's yours. Just like he always will be.

-----

@kamcrazy123 @yagirlheree @sweetllamaparadise

-----

Blog masterlist

[opal-orchard]

warmth & respite

18+ mdni!!! • fluff, smut (oral/face-sitting receiver!Ellie)

———

Ellie’s had a difficult day, only you can give her what she needs.

1.5k words

———

a/n: hi i’m nai! please accept this as my offering to the tlou community. i’m not new to writing or tumblr but this is my first tlou work and my first time writing a full smut so pls be nice lol. if there’s anything you want to see me write my ask box is open :)

i hope you enjoy it and if you do pls reblog and follow, i rlly want to make moots on this side of tumblr, you all are so unhinged and gay (my kind of people!)

The door to your shared studio slams shut, you don’t need to guess who it is —you could tell by the sound of her footsteps approaching the door. But you look up anyways and watch a disgruntled Ellie throw her dripping backpack onto the ground, her face twisted into a scowl.

“Patrols have been fucking insufferable lately,” she groans bitterly to no one in particular, removing her gear from her backpack and thigh holster.

You set your novel down and prop yourself up on your elbow, watching her intently. You know when she’s like this all she needs is you to listen.

She’s soaking wet, making her muscular arms glisten, and her tight black jeans and tank top press against her body. You salivate looking at how the fabric of her jeans hug every curve.

“I keep getting assigned to train Evan,” she continues, still fixed on putting away her gear, “He thinks he knows Every. Fucking. Thing!” She slams her drawer shut with a groan.

“And he’s so fucking annoying. Keeps trying to ask me stupid questions cause I like girls, and of course we had to take the river trail today, so that dick had to make sure I got all fucking wet!”

She glances over at you for the first time, and her demeanor softens. “Hey you,” she exhales.

“Hey. Sorry about your day,” you respond back.

“I need a shower, I’ll be back,” she says, heading towards her bathroom, peeling off her top as she walks, making you revel in the sight of her wet back muscles.

——

She emerges from her bathroom with a towel wrapped around her body, her short hair damp and a little messy. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, she softly rubs her hand along your leg, as if to remind herself you’re tangible and alive.

“Hey babe,” she says with all the gentleness she can muster, a soft smile on her face. Your eyes meet hers, and time stills. You’ll never grow used to her calling you that, no matter how many times she does. Warmth spreads through your stomach anytime her voice is this soft and raspy.

“Sorry I was …like that earlier. Just had a bad day.”

Wordlessly, you crawl behind her and wrap your arms around her bare shoulders, pressing soft kisses along her neck and cheek. Her skin is soft with a tinge of lemongrass from her soap.

“No need to apologize, my love,” you say, pressing your face against the curve of her neck, “I’m just happy you’re home safe.”

“Me too,” Ellie whispers, planting a kiss on your arm.

You two revel in this moment—in the relationship you’ve built, full of warmth and respite from the violent, cruel world you live in. You think of all the ways you want to make Ellie feel good.

You turn her face towards yours and press your lips against hers. Ellie’s lips are soft and she opens her mouth to let you take the lead for a little before she kisses you back with intensity. It makes you moan into her mouth and she takes that opportunity to plant open mouth kisses against your jaw and neck.

The sensation leaves you breathless but you gently push her back before you’re too far gone. “Wait— Ellie, I— I wanna— can I eat you out?”

She bites her lip, and a playful smile forms, “Can you?” before returning to your neck. A challenge. You make your lips meet hers again for a sloppy kiss and undo her towel; Ellie gasps into your mouth at the sensation of the cool air hitting her exposed skin. A string of saliva connects your mouths when you pull away and she’s flushed, the skin under her freckles a dusty rose.

You wrap your arms around her back and press your clothed chest against her bare breasts, it’s your turn to leave her breathless with open mouth kisses. “Mmmm you feel good, babe,” she purrs, her head tilted sideways from bliss. Ellie grips your shoulder and presses your head deeper in the crook of her neck.

Growing needier, Ellie rubs her chest against yours. The sensation of her bare nipples against the fabric of your top making her breaths more erratic. You lean down to take one in your mouth and she whines, gripping you tighter. “Ooh shit!”

Kissing the space between her breasts, you let your hands roam her body and her skin is hot to the touch. Liquid pools on the tips of your fingers when you reach down to touch her pussy, her swollen lips spreading with so much ease. She’s soaking wet and scorching hot, and the contact makes her jolt with pleasure.

Ellie watches, transfixed as you put those fingers in your mouth with unwavering eye contact. “Shit,” she grits, in this moment, something snaps— and you both know what’s about to happen.

Ellie shuffles off the bed and stands in front of your face. She loves being above you when you eat her out. You pause and marvel at her curves from her chiseled shoulders down to her hips, how her figure widens and narrows, then widens again. How her taut stomach leads to her most intimate spot that’s hovering right before your mouth. You scoot to the edge of the bed and Ellie props her leg on it to give you access.

Bound by the urge to be more intimate, you wrap your arm around Ellie’s thigh and pull your bodies closer. Looking up to meet her affectionate eyes you’re overwhelmed with a desire to savor her, to pleasure her. No one else has ever made you feel desire and warmth as searing and intense as she has.

Dragging your fingers from her belly button to her labia, you use your index and middle finger to open her lips, and a swollen sappy clit greets you. You take it into your mouth to suck—your lips between her lips and moan at the sensation that runs through your body.

Ellie’s mouth falls agape and her eyebrows contort in bliss, “Oh you good girl, oh fu— just like that!” She cradles the back of your head and rubs your scalp affectionately.

You grip the flesh of her ass and thighs tighter and swirl your tongue around her clit and suck on her folds. “Ugh just like that,” she rasps, her bottom lip stuck between her teeth, her hand gripping your hair a little tighter. You lick laps from her clit to her entrance and she bucks against your face.

She can get a little bossy when you fuck, you love when she tells you what to do, “Put your tongue inside,” she commands her voice raspy and breathy, she spreads her leg a little farther and pushes your face deeper in her pussy. You oblige, swirling your tongue around her swollen entrance before pushing inside. Ellie tilts her head back and releases a loud, guttural moan, so unfiltered and unafraid. You’re french kissing her pussy now, your lips pressing against and sucking her entrance to get your tongue as far inside.

Her juices are all over your lips and nose and cheeks, some beginning to drip down your jaw and chin.

“F-fuck, I need more,” Ellie gasps and with a swift motion she pushes you flat on the bed. She’s positioning her pussy on your face before you can ask questions, and she continues grinding into your mouth and nose. Your arms are awkwardly suspended in the air before you settle them on her waist.

You’re transfixed by her taste, her scent, her lascivious sounds filling the room, the sight of her head tilted back in bliss and her stomach flexing as she gyrates on your mouth. “Oh babe—oh babe!,” she moans, her face contorted and eyes completely glossy with pleasure.

She’s practically using your mouth and nose as she sloppily grinds her folds over them. Your mouth is growing sore but all you care about is getting her there, you stick your tongue back inside her, and she’s gone.

You grab her hips to help her ride through her orgasm. She releases a lascivious moan and bucks her hips one last time before she melts, her body limp and her chest heaving, her pussy sopping wet and throbbing. Creamy white sap oozes onto your lips and you lick it, savoring her taste.

You watch her stomach muscles flex as she lifts her leg to dismount you, and in this moment you realize just how dazed and aroused and transfixed you are. But content more than anything, that you could give the girl you love so much pleasure.

She collapses beside you and grabs your jaw, kissing you with tongue. “I needed that babe. I love you… so much” she says softly and licks her lips. She languidly wipes her thumb along your cheeks and puts it in her mouth.

You watch her and you both lay there motionless, placid from bliss, but it’s getting harder to see her clearly with the room growing darker. You peek out the window and the sun is setting in the summer sky, “Ugh, it’s getting late, I should head to Tipsy Bison and get you something to eat befor-“

Ellie grabs your arm and firmly pulls you back onto the bed in one graceful, effortless motion. She’s still laying there blissed out and it reminds you just how easily she can overpower you if she desires.

“I’d rather skip to dessert.”

———

a/n: in retrospect i don’t think this position would work unless ellie’s bed is really short…

i’ve read this over so many times i’m starting to hate it, so if there’s a mistake i apologize lmao. my goal is to not be so hard on myself and just write more lmao

[laurasimonsdaughter]

It took a full minute of struggling before the vampire finally gave up and held still, going mostly limp under the tangle of briars.

“Alright,” he said, rolling his eyes at them. “You’ve made your point.”

“Have I?” they asked menacingly. “Because that’s what I thought last time.”

He looked up at them. “Oh come on—”

“I told you,” they snapped, “that if I tested one more giggly person with inexplicably low haemoglobin, I would fucking find you.”

The park was badly lit, but they could see the vampire’s face well enough to see that he wasn’t taking this anywhere near as seriously as he should be. Ballsy, considering they had him fully immobilized at the moment.

“Clearly you can’t actually be trusted,” they added. “So now you’re stuck with me.”

Dull light glinted of the vampire’s teeth as the corners of this mouth twitched. “That really isn’t the punishment you think it is.”

They stared down at him, baffled. “What—?”

The red shine in his eyes was almost amused. “You’re the only person around here who knows what I am, who I don’t have to pretend for. You know how tiring it is never to smile?”

The cool night air suddenly didn’t seem as cool anymore and they bristled with indignation. “There’s plenty of slayers in town all of a sudden who seem to know exactly what you are,” they replied sourly. That pissed them off too. Slayers were a brutish, self-absorbed lot. They had one or two violent encounters and suddenly felt entitled to harass innocent people just because they had a bit of trouble around the full moon.

The vampire grimaced. “Correction,” he said smoothly. “The only person who knows and is nice to me.”

“Nice to you,” they choked.

“Come on,” he grinned, fangs sparkling. “I could be lying here choking on garlic, or burning with silver! But instead...roses?” He gave a half-hearted tug on the bloom and thorn covered branches. “You could have done far worse…”

A loud, thoughtless rushing filled their ears, their face flushing with confusion. That was not—

“On that note,” he continued conversationally. “Why are you still here?” He gave them a curious look. “Why not just leave me here?”

“I—”

His grin returned. “You don’t want the slayers to find me, do you.”

“Shut your fanged face.”

“Ouch,” he winced, but not in a way that anyone could possibly interpret as painful.

They were too annoyed – too angry – to think straight. “I could be asking you the same fucking thing,” they snapped, recollecting themself. “Just passing through, you said last time. So why the hell are you still here?”

His expression changed, just a fraction, and for a moment it looked like he had an answer for them. Then he shrugged, shifting uncomfortably on the grass, and looked away.

That, at least, was better. Slightly. Probably. “Well,” they said after a brief silence, folding their arms. “If you’re sticking around, you better keep your fangs off my patients. You can go right back to stealing the lab’s medical waste.”

The vampire made a dismayed noise, his gaze snapping back to their face. “You expect me to survive on nothing but dead blood?” he cried.

“I expect you not to trick innocent humans!” they glared.

A sly look passed across his face. “So the slayers…?”

Well, if they kept bothering Mrs. Lupus… They gave a sharp shake of their head. “No! No biting any humans!”

“Unreasonably cruel,” he muttered sulkily.

“You—” They raised their head with a start, glancing in the direction of a sudden sound.

“Speak of the devil,” the vampire breathed, eyes darting in the same direction.

Damn slayers. They grimaced through their frustration and drew their pocket knife. It glinted in the dull twilight and the vampire’s eyes were on it instantly.

“Now hold on, there’s no need for that!” he protested nervously. “I agree— I agree to your terms.”

“You better,” they hissed, kneeling beside him with the knife. It wasn’t silver, but he couldn’t have seen that immediately they supposed. They deftly snipped through the briars and cut him loose. “Go on, get out. And I better not have reason to bother with you again.”

The moment he was free all the vampire’s speed and grace returned. He was on his feet in a moment and smiling brilliantly down at them the next. “Well, that’s highly unlikely,” he grinned ominously. “You’ve just turned your place of work into the only place in town where I can get a bite to eat.” He winked, and fled.

They watched him disappear, their hackles raised as high as their heartbeat, and swore into the dark.

[kometqh]

Return pt.2

╰┈➤ Ethan Landry x Female Reader

╰┈➤ Warnings: mentions of murder, blood, cursing, breakup, angst turned to fluff, ghostface! au, not explicitly following the events of the movie (Scream 6), alcohol, mean and sad ethan :(

╰┈➤ Summary: Ethan has to break up with Y/n, but regrets it instantly. Why? Because to him, she's the love of his life.

╰┈➤ Word count: 3,609k

╰┈➤ Part one

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀

He'd done this before; same thing over and over. One victim after another. Something in him twisted and churned at the stranger's screams, their begging, their cries, but a more cruel, a more violent part of Ethan supressed that twinge of guilt. It's not like he could do anything anyway – his dad would skin him, and his sister would take it upon herself to make his life more miserable.

"Please no! Stop I beg you." A voice screeched in his ear, begging for mercy, bloodied hands grasping his own. They were in hysterics, using all their strength against him but to no avail. His mind was elsewhere, the screams becoming white noise as he continued to drive the knife up. Agonisingly slow, too. He could feel the skin cut beneath his fingers, the blade never stopping. "I don't want to die..."

Their voice became all but a whisper, their hands losing the strength they had just a moment ago. He chuckled quietly, before abruptly pulling the knife out, his chuckling turning into a full-blown laughter as they screamed, body twitching against the wall behind them.

"I'll make it quick buttercup, yeah? Would you like that?" He whispered into their ear, holding the knife too close to their neck for comfort. He could feel them tremble, even in their half-passed out state, their fear too overwhelming. A slight nod followed shortly after his words, and he tutted in disapproval, moving away to take in the sight, his work.

"Please- if you're going to kill me, do it quick!" They exclaimed.

"So much demand from someone in your position..." He wasn't impressed, nor was he content. He didn't like being told what to do unless it was coming from Y/n. Speaking of which, he looked around the room for something. A clock.

"Shit."

His eyes caught sight of the moving handle, it was coming close to 8pm, in 15 minutes he was supposed to meet Chad.

"Look buttercup, I would love to drag this out, but I'm running low on time-" He muttered, more to himself really, whilst flipping the blade in his gloved hand, the sound of his footsteps bouncing off the walls as he stomped towards his victim – a fellow student – plunging the knife into their chest repeatedly, choked stutters and gagging resonating within the room, followed by pure silence just a few short moments after.

"Fuck."

He wiped his knife clean on their clothes, turning to a window. His bag was there waiting for him, ready with his awfully stupid costume that Chad would force him to wear later on.

He heaved a heavy sigh and shook his head, muttering curse words under his nose as he awkwardly exited through the window and onto a rusty staircase.

Taking his mask off, Ethan inhaled a deep breath of air, shoving the damned thing back into his bag and instead placing on the wretched cardboard cut-out.

What even was it? He had no idea.

Down below, his bicycle was waiting for him, luckily it hadn't been stolen by some drunkard. Everyone seemed to be drunk and gone by this time, celebrating Halloween.

His feet moved quickly, the tyres spinning aggressively as he swerved to the left, narrowly avoiding a car. "Watch where you're driving dickhead!" He shouted, flipping the driver off in a fit of rage. After a couple of minutes, he could see heaps of students cluttering the streets, all dressed in silly, sexy or actually well-done costumes.

Some hollered at him as he hurried past, others swore as he swerved, his eyes finally settling on the half-naked figure of Chad, sported in some shorts and a cowboy hat, waiting outside their shared dorm building.

"Ethan what the fuck?!" Chad shouted, prolonging the 'fuck', flailing his arms in the air as he approached the teen, "You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago! Where were you?" He continued, his arm wrapping around Ethan's neck as the boy put his bike away.

"Sorry Chad, I was in the - uhm, library?" Ethan said slowly, though it sounded more like a question rather than a statement. It wasn't questioned by Chad though, who seemed like he already had a few too many drinks for the hour it was. He was already swaying as he walked alongside Ethan, tripping over his own feet - earning a few giggles from passing ladies - winking and blowing kisses, flashing his pearly-white teeth in a boxy grin.

In all honesty, Ethan didn't expect to get away with his lie so easily, but Chad was such a frat boy he couldn't keep his hands off alcohol until they got to the party. He let out a relieved sigh as he heard music blasting out of a specific home - the 'go to' for everyone.

There wasn't a single week without at least one party, and that added onto the ease Ethan felt any time he had to go and slash someone up.

Because nobody would even notice he was gone. Not even the people that called themselves his 'friends'.

Okay - that wasn't the whole truth. There was one person that truly did care for him. A small smile tugged at his lips as he thought of her - her beautiful, soft and shiny hair, that smile that made her look like an angel sent by God himself - no, not even that, she is a literal Goddess - he thought, those little crinkles under her eyes as she smiled, the few tiniest freckles scattered across her cheeks. The way she would always lead him to the dance floor, enticing him, bringing a smile of his own to his face. His heart pounded, no, it clawed at his chest whenever she was around. She was his whole world, and she held his heart in her grasp. He was at her mercy.

But their relationship wouldn't last.

As much as Ethan loved Y/n, he would eventually be forced to kill her. She was heavily associated with the 'Core Four', as Chad liked to call it, being present at the Woodsboro event. She was there when his brother was brutally slayed by none other than Sam Carpenter.

A string of curse words fought to escape his mouth, but he fought against it as Chad pulled at his bicep, leading him away to a group of dancing girls - who in his mind - were the most awkward dancers possible.

"Ladies, meet my bro Ethan." Chad introduced, slinging one arm around Ethan's shoulder and the other around a blonde girl's waist, "Ethan, these are my classmates. They're all gorgeous aren't they?"

Ethan grinned at the group, doing his utmost best to look sweet, innocent and convincing. Chad wasn't aware of his current relationship status, and that was okay. Neither Ethan nor Y/n were bothered enough to tell anyone; they'd figure it out on their own.

"Hey there, nice to meet you guys!" He shouted over the music, lightly nodding in greeting as his cardboard helmet slid down and blocked his vision. He was about to move it out of the way, but a smaller hand did the job for him. He looked to his side, and was met with a big cheeky grin. The one he adored.

"Y/n? It's good to see you!" Chad erupted, arms raising high as he embraced her in a suffocating hug. Ethan's heart twitched, his stomach twisted with a tinge of jealousy. He did not like the sight of Chad acting all touchy with his girl - did he need to do so?

The answer was a simple no.

Y/n's hands awkwardly patted Chad's back, her eyes nervously moving from the other girls to Ethan's, though his seemed to have a darker look in them - he wasn't happy, "Alright Chad I think that's enough." She said quickly, clearing her throat whilst backing away from the taller male, and joining Ethan at his side. 

She turned to Ethan, her gaze meeting his lovingly, "Hello stranger."

"Hey there, fancy seeing you here." Ethan said, clearly pleased as he bit his lip lightly, his hand itching to reach out for her own, and it would have if it wasn't for another body crashing into Y/n's back, arms slinging over her shoulders as lips entered Ethan's vision, a sloppy wet kiss was planted on Y/n's face.

"Mindy?! Ewww your breath stinks!" Y/n exclaimed exaggeratedly, fanning the space before her face as she moved her head away. Mindy chuckled at that, attempting to gift her with another kiss whilst fluttering her eyelashes and puckering her lips in, what she thought was, a seductive manner, "Oh come on! My kisses can't be that bad!"

Ethan looked to her, a questioning eyebrow raised, "Are you sure?" He scratched the back of his head, purposefully looked around the room to imply Mindy was, in fact, a bad kisser. Though he couldn't know really. The girl in question smacked the back of his head, a nasty snarl gracing her features, rolling her eyes in the process, "Thanks Ethan. At least I can pull the ladies, unlike someone..." A couple of 'oohs' and 'ahhh's' left the small group, and Ethan could almost feel the sting - only he didn't, because in his mind he did pull the best girl possible.

And she was standing at his side, stifling a couple of giggles.

"Come on Y/n, let's get some drinks." Mindy said, taking a hold of Y/n's hand as she lead her away.

Ethan shook his head and chuckled, sending a slight wave at Y/n, who had turned back to say something, but was far too gone to be heard. He reached into his pocket, fished out his phone, and was greeted with the sight of two missed calls from his sister - Quinn. He sighed heavily and excused himself from the group, making his way outside as he attempted to ring her back.

The phone rang for a long while, and Ethan was growing agitated the longer it took.

"Ethan? Why didn't you answer?" Quinn's annoyed voice rang through Ethan's ear.

Clicking his tongue, he retorted, "I told you I will be busy. I'm at a party, why are you calling me?"

"You need to break up with that bitch. Plans have changed." Her tone was cold, and Ethan let out a scoff at the insult. How dare she insult the one girl he cared about? 

"Me and dad decided to let her live," She took a pause, awaiting any sort of reaction from her brother, but was greeted with pue silence as he anticipated her words, "If you break up with her, we won't kill her. We will only go after Sam, Tara, Chad and Mindy. Though I can't promise you that she won't be injured during the process."

"And if I don't? Maybe she can still be an asset." He argued, directing his attention at a stray rock on the side of the pavement, kicking it, "Then I will personally ensure she is gone. We need you to stay focused, Ethan." Quinn's voice sounded harsh, and it sent a chill down his spine, his eyes widening in horror. He never believed her threats were real; up until now. But she was giving him a choice.

"Ethan? Did you hear me?"

He took a moment to say anything, his attention shifting to how rapidly his heart was beating, how he suddenly felt so warm and self-aware, he felt as though he could feel every sensation on his body - from that miniscule itch on his thigh to the way his hair began to stick to his forehead unbrearingly.

"You'll let her live? If I break up with her?" He asked, swallowing down the invisible lump that had formed in his throat. He's never felt this way. What was it? Anxiety? Fear? Over the phone he could hear a male voice call for Quinn, and he visibly cringed, "I am very serious Eth. You think I wouldn't be up for the task?" She questioned, taking a puff of air, "Dad's getting impatient, and I'm being kind by giving you a choice. So act fast."

And with that, she hung up the phone.

His arm fell limp, and the blood pumping through his veins deafened him. His thoughts raced one hundred miles per hour, and yet did not come up with a single answer or solution to his predicament.

His sister, his own flesh and blood, was threatening what he deemed the 'love of his life', but was giving him the chance to save her life? He definitely needed a moment to think that one over.

A few minutes went by, the music coming from within the house never stopped. It worked as background noise as he pondered, talking under his breath about all the possibilities and pacing around, clearly anxious. Could he get out of this one? Was breaking up with Y/n really the ultimate choice?

He felt like falling in through the earth, down into its very core so that he did not have to make such a choice. He wasn't stupid though - he knew if he suddenly disappeared, that Quinn wouldn't hesitate for even a second - and Y/n's life would be in grave danger.

He couldn't let her do that. If anything, he would break up with Y/n, break her heart and have it crumble to pieces just to ensure her safety. 

"What's got your pants in a twist cupcake?" A soft voice asked behind him, at first he was slightly startled, but then realised who it was. His damnation, "Y/n? I thought you were busy partying?" He exclaimed, hand gripping his chest as a nervous, toothy grin creeped up his cheeks. 

The girl in front of him swayed a little, hands interlocked behind her back as she looked up, "Well I was, but you were gone for so long I started to think you snuck off."

He chuckled, shaking his head in denial.

"No, I wouldn't of left you here, alone." He said quietly, looking straight into her eyes cutely, "Chad would do anything for a chance with a girl as pretty as you." Ethan continued, now shuffling closer and closer, until their torso's were just a mere inch away from touching - so close he could see that dusty pink colour decorate her cheeks. That really did do a number on him. 

"Well, luckily for you, Chad isn't my type," A small smile tugged at her soft lips, and she fought hard to contain it as she spoke, moving her hand to trail her fingers down his chest, keeping her gaze locked on it, "My type are sweet, cute, nerdy boys, with adorable brown puppy eyes and soft curly hair. Specifically, brunettes." She shifted her gaze, now looking into his wide eyes, the street lights reflecting in her pupils.

That light dusty pink colour from earlier? It now turned into a full-blown crimson blush paired with a wide smile.

"Are you embarrassed?" 

"Why do you ask?" She looked at him once more, chewing lightly on her bottom lip, her blush intensifying further as she had indeed been called out. 

"You're blushing. So much. It's quite cute actually." Ethan teased, his hand slowly moving to grip hers, sliding down to interlock their fingers together, "I think we should get out of here." At that, his heart picked up the pace, and nervosity took over him. Should he do it now? Maybe that'll be for the best.

His mind rushed as Y/n pulled him along, into the crowded streets and through dark alleys. Their breaths matching in pace and heartbeats matching in rhythms, their hands interlocked and feet moving synchronically.

Cars honked at them, street lights flickered and light rain pattered down, drowning out anything but each other's presence. Ethan kept trying to think of the right things to say, but her presence overwhelmed him, tugging painfully at his heartstrings. He couldn't bear the thought of leaving her. But he had to, for her safety. And so, his mind made the unconscious choice to let her go.

Even if it hurt.

It would be like acting, he told himself. His ears could barely process the words she was saying, the blood pumping through his head deafening him. He was getting anxious and fidgety.

His footsteps came to a slow stop in an alley, his hand pulling her backwards. Her breath hitched, and she gazed lovingly into his eyes, but he could see the growing worry. How am I going to do this? He restrained a smile, and blinked away the tears that threatened to gather in his eyes, not looking at her, but rather off to the side.

"Eth? What is it?" She asked worriedly. He could hear her laboured breathing, and gulped down the lump that formed in his throat.

"I don't know if this is a good idea..." Ethan's eyes met hers, his heart beating loud against his ribcage. He fought hard against his urges to grab her hand from his shoulder, place a gentle kiss on it before embracing her and muttering sweet nothings and reassurances into her ear, that she shouldn't worry and it didn't matter. 

"You know what I mean," He continued, taking a deep breath, maintaining eye contact, "Us. This isn't working out."

He shook his head, seamlessly trying to rid his head of those thoughts, but to no avail. His heart panged with guilt at the sigh she let out, "Why are you doing this?"

"We both know this isn't working. It'll only end in us both getting hurt," He paused, taking a deep breath, an attempt to calm his racing heart before he blurted out, "I don't love you."

He put on a stoic face, letting go of her hand. Putting much needed distance between them. If he didn't, this simple task would become much harder.

"W-what do you mean? Just two days ago you were on about how you can't stand being away from me! What happened? What changed your mind?" A light smirk tugged at his lips, his nerves taking over every cell in his body - he was scared, terrified. That smirk was quickly wiped off as he saw the pain in her eyes - the one thing he never thought he'd be the cause of.

"Why are you doing this Eth?"

"I have to. It's best if we stop whatever this is."

"How do you know? Are you really thinking about what's best for me?" At that, his anger took over.

He was doing all this just to protect her. He was being selfless, and all that she was doing was making his life more difficult. He hated (loved) how she questioned his choices, never went down without a fight. His vein was visible on the side of his temple, and his teeth grinded on each other.

"Stop making this so difficult! I am doing what is best for me!" He shouted, breathing heavily, feeling his face became hot to the touch, he pointed to himself, but stuttered his words out as his hand almost slapped hers, "I-I don't give a fuck about what you want! Okay? This is over, we are over." Upon saying so, another lump formed in his throat. He wanted to take his words back so so bad. But how could he? 

She nodded her head at him, and pushed past him, bumping shoulders. His eyes caught sight of the first few tears, and his heart shred into bits. 

"Y/n! Wait!" He shouted after her, following in her footsteps, but she ignored him as though he didn't exist, "Come back!" With that, she entered the crowded streets and disappeared, from both his sight and his life. 

"No no no. What the fuck do I do? What the fuck did I do?!" He questioned himself, one hand gripping and tugging harshly at his hair, the other dragging over his face, and he wished this was all some sort of a sick dream.

He couldn't believe he just did that - abandoned the love of his life and watched her walk away. It's for the best. He shook his head, slapping himself lightly before rushing into the crowds, in hopes of catching up to her.

'She must have gone back to the party, right?' He thought, looking ahead into the crowd. Hoping to catch up. His legs carried him, they ran, and his mind pleaded whatever God was above them, whatever fate chose this. The house party wasn't too far, as the pair hadn't gotten far before he made his declaration. Within 15 minutes he was there, his height bringing an advantage to his speed. He pushed through and into the house, looking around in a panic.

"Where is she?"

Sweaty bodies and spilling drinks blocked the path, hands raised in the air and swaying to the sound of music. Ethan received a couple of (accidental) slaps to the face, which helped sober him up a little from his panicked state. He had reached the kitchen, an island decorated with red solo cups and empty bottles of all kinds of alcohol, stood in the middle. And on the other side of it was Y/n, busy talking to Tara and Chad, her lips trembling and hands shakily bringing an alcohol-filled cup up.

His heart broke into a million pieces, just at the sight of what he had caused. Was begging her for her forgiveness now a bad idea? Probably. He listened to his better judgement, swallowing the lump in his throat harshly, his Adam's apple bobbing as he did so. His hand wiped the forming tears away and he walked away, breaths heavy and trembling as his heart shook. He couldn't sabotage her safety - one which should have been guaranteed the moment those words left Quinn's lips. Though, his sister was renowned for being an immensely good liar - only that part seemed to escape his mind.

I just wanted to say a quick thank you, I am so grateful for anyone who has read Return, I'm thankful that you all enjoyed it and I really hope Before You is up to your guys expectations <3 For those who have read the pre-edited version, this new one has a few minor but important changes. Thank you for whoever reads this <3 - kometqh

Tags: @netey6m

[isalisewrites]

TERRIBLE, BUT GREAT - CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

SUMMARY:

“Harry Potter.” The cold burrowed into his flesh, the scent of cloying death and molding earth clogged his senses.

“The Boy Who Lived.”

A strange sense of loss and disappointment rose within him. That brilliant, yet cruel boy could’ve been so much more if he’d not stepped down this bloodied path.

Terrible, but great. He pitied this creature.

“Come to die.”

Harry Potter faced the flash of green light with the bravery of a Gryffindor and the broken heart of a Hufflepuff.

---

When Death gives Harry a third option, one that can save everyone he ever cared about, he takes it unflinchingly. Even when that means doing the impossible: falling in love with the enemy, Tom Riddle.

---

TWENTY-SEVEN EXCERPT:

The scars of a harsh life were branded into Harry’s very skin.

Rage boiled inside Tom. He strode towards Harry.

“Uh, Tom? What’re you—oh, fuck—”

Tom grabbed him by the upper arm and forcibly whirled Harry around. He couldn’t hear Harry’s protests or the endless string of profanity. No. He could only see the belt scars of many whippings. So many. The scars disappeared beneath the towel, hidden from view, but there was no doubt they continued downward. Some of the scars were faded with age, but a couple of them were far too recent for Tom’s taste.

“What the actual fuck, Tom?!” snapped Harry, trying to wrench away. But Tom tightened his hold, relentless and furious. He jerked Harry closer, who let out a strange, high pitched sound.

“Where did you get these?” demanded Tom.

Harry struggled, surprisingly powerful muscles flexing beneath Tom’s hand; he twisted and pulled against the hand holding his upper arm, almost managing to get away. Tom shook him lightly, wresting some of the control out of Harry’s fight; his free hand snapped out and gripped Harry by the face. His fingers pinched Harry’s cheeks.

“Who did this to you?” hissed Tom. “Tell me the name—their location.”

“Tom, stop!”

Those green eyes glimmered.

“Were these made by your parents?”

“N-no! Of course not—Tom, fuck—calm down—”

“Then, tell me who they are!” shouted Tom.

He would kill them.

Harry became frantic, squirming and jerking, but Tom wouldn’t let go. It was a violent dance, their struggle against each other, until Harry slammed into the tile wall and let out a cry of pain. His head whipped up with the beginnings of furious tears in his eyes and he glared at Tom fiercely. “They’re dead!” he cried. Tom stilled. The fight died between them and Harry sagged against the wall. “They’re already dead. They’re…” He squeezed his eyes shut.

Tom’s chest heaved and the hand pinching Harry’s cheeks loosened. His hands slowly dropped to his sides as the clouds of fury parted in his mind. Tom shook on the inside. He wanted to curse something into the oblivion, but there was nothing to curse here.

Tom met Harry’s eyes. His tears hadn’t fallen, but they still glistened, making the color glitter with the light. It reminded Tom of one beauty, the surface of the Great Black Lake as the full moon rose high above it, its waters rippling with the shimmer of moonlight. Harry shivered, drawing his hands over his arms. Droplets of water slipped down Harry’s neck over another scar - claw marks? - down his collarbone; they drew his gaze towards the burn scar there. 

Tom swallowed. “Pity,” he whispered. “I would’ve liked to have killed them myself.”

[awsydawnarts]

Just saw some posts defending and discussing Gale and felt like throwing some of my current thoughts on the topic out into the void

I feel like it’s unfair to be too harsh on him for the actions he took as part of the war effort. Yes, Gale invented an incredibly fucked up weapon that caused the deaths of many innocent people, not just Prim. Yes, Gale suggested strategies that would have caused undeserved mass death and devastation. Yes, Gale was angry and cruel and violent and ultimately a destructive force rather than a constructive one. But you cannot look me in the eye and say that after everything Gale has been through-growing up poor and literally starving, losing a parent and having to step up as the head of his family, watching the obscenely rich use his peers as entertainment in their sick murder games that his best friend was eventually sent to and ultimately lost to (even though she survived)-you cannot say that you or otherwise good people you know wouldn’t have turned out the same way when all was said and done. Gale lived a life ravaged by tragedy, and he did the best he could in the circumstances he was in. At the end of the day, we have no right to judge him because we will never be in his shoes and have to make the choices he made during the war.

Completely pivoting here. On the other hand, Gale was a terrible friend and love interest to Katniss over the course of the books and deserves our full judgment and ire for it. His choices about the war are not a real part of life that most of us will experience. His choices regarding Katniss are. Everyone will encounter people who are jealous, insecure, and entitled in the ways that Gale is towards Katniss. Gale isn’t a villain. Gale is, however, very toxic, and absolutely an unnecessary presence in Katniss’s life after she comes back from the first games and he starts being a little bitch about Peeta. I haven’t reread the books in several months so I can’t pull up specific instances with page numbers and everything but Gale’s behavior towards Katniss is really gross and demanding, and he prioritizes what he wants rather than what she needs, such as when he gets pissy that she won’t leave Peeta to get tortured for information after they survived the trauma murder games together. He sees their relationship as transactional and Katniss as a part of life that is “his”, shown by how he realized he had feelings for her-when someone else was flirting with her and he realized he was jealous. Gale feels like Katniss owes him a relationship when she owes him nothing. He operates with no regard for her feelings and no consideration of her PTSD and how important Peeta is to her, while Peeta uses Gale as a reason for Katniss to survive the Quarter Quell. Gale can’t acknowledge what a horrific experience Katniss has been through and how much it’s changed her, and his lack of empathy towards her trauma is what really pushes them apart in the end. Prim was just the nail in the coffin.

I could go on but this is not a love triangle post, I’m trying to make points about Gale. I know it’s fun to shit on him (I’ve done my fair share), but I think it’s important to acknowledge why he behaves the way that he does and offer him *some* sympathy for his actions. Gale’s story is ultimately a tragedy, and I pity him for being put in situations where he was able to act on his darkest impulses and desires.

(He deserves NO sympathy for Katniss choosing to save herself the headache of being anchored to his insecure, selfish ass for the rest of her life though, get fucked Gale)

[fernandopiastri28]

quand c'est? - part 4~ ln4 x op81

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

A red flag is called, and Lando hears repeats of ‘Lando, are you alright?’ in his ear over and over, Will’s fussing over the radio. Will fusses over him, Jon fussed over him earlier, Oscar always fusses over him.

Like he’s some sick, fragile, baby. 

warnings: major illness, cancer, sickness, major angst wc: 1985

Lando bites at the skin around his thumb, his right leg bouncing up and down as he attempts to stay still in his seat. The heat outside is worse than expected, so he has the hem fireproof shirt hitched up to rest just over his nipples in order to cool down before the race. He has a fan on him and a water bottle in his hand- even then, it’s pretty unpleasant. 

Oscar is busy off somewhere skipping, as he usually is just before a race. His stomach is growling, desperate for some food. He doesn't risk it though- he knows eating anything will make him feel nauseous again and he’lll just need to violently throw up.

He’ll tough it out until he gets back to the hotel, then at least he’ll have Oscar by his side while he’s puking.

“Lando,” Jon’s hand plants on his shoulder, Lando moving his head at the interruption from his blank out. “We really need to do some stretches before you get in the car- I don’t want you making one bad turn and fucking up your neck,”

Lando bites harder, a faint metallic taste spreading over his tongue. “Yep,” He pops the p at the end, trying to sound enthusiastic. He stands up, wobbly and shaking knees and ties the sleeves of his race suit tighter around his waist.

He follows after Jon, akin to a small dog, Leo, for example, to behind the motor home. Oscar’s just finishing out his skipping- his cheeks rosy red and his hair standing tall. “Hey Lans,” He fist bumps him as they walk past each other. “Feeling any better?”

Both Kim and Jon know they’re dating, so it’s not as if they have to worry about showing affection to one another in front of their trainers. It’s more that even though they’re somewhat hidden by the motorhomes, they are still technically in the paddock and can be seen by guests at any given moment. 

They’d learnt to not take the risk of being outed to the world for a single kiss when someone had snapped a photo of Max and Daniel kissing after Daniel’s announced break of McLaren contract back in 2022. It was before Oscar had even properly entered the F1 scene, yet he knew better to never take that risk.

“Somewhat,” Lando shrugs, giving Oscar a toothy grin. He still really doesn’t feel good, but he wants to prove to Oscar that he’s safe to drive, that he’s ‘got this under control’. Oscar’s eyes flicker down to where Lando’s tanned stomach is fully on display and his lips quiver, holding back a smirk.

“That’s good,” Oscar smiles warmly, tugging his suit up higher from where it’s been gradually dropping from around his waist to just below his hips, “See you soon, mate,” Lando gets squirmy whenever Oscar calls him mate. It’s fine when they’re at home and just talking casually, but when it’s used in the place of ‘babe’ or ‘love’, it just feels cruel that it’s their reality.

Being gay is difficult enough as it is, being a gay athlete adds a different degree of difficulty. Dating your teammate, who is supposed to be your most similar rival is downright awkward and stupid. All of that while being forced to remain closeted, it’s pretty much a full time fucking job.

Lando shuffles his feet, tugging his shirt down to get ready for the stretches. Usually, he just lays in his driver room and naps- maybe listens to music if he’s in the mood- he’ll have time for that later. 

First up is skipping. Lando bites the inside of his cheeks to stop him from crying out in pain as his brain rattles around in his head. He’ll be done with it soon, he just needs to calm down.

Jon allows him to stop when he looks on the verge of passing out, “Lando? Are you feeling okay?” 

Lando shrugs, weakly passing him the skipping rope, “Let's just go for the massage now,” He’s not up for a talk and based on how much tension has built up in his body, a massage is about one of the only things that he thinks might make him feel better right now.

Lando hitches his shirt back up, enough that Jon will be able to ruin his back with his ‘magical hands’. It’s cringey to call them that, but it’s so true. In another universe, Jon is a professional masseuse. 

He lays down on the massage bed, his face smushed in the head hole. They both just stay silent for the most part, despite a few groans and hisses coming from an over-sensitive and tense Lando. “How’re you feeling about the race,” Jon finally breaks the silence, his thumbs pushing hard into Lando’s shoulder muscles.

“Fu- good, I’m excited,” It’s half a lie. He is obviously excited to race, racing is his biggest passion in life, but he would be enjoying it all so much more if he felt good. Feeling ill after a race and feeling ill before a race are two completely different things- because he knew he would only go downhill from where he was at.

“How’s Oscar feeling about it?” Jon, always the instigator.

“He’s probably more excited then I am- he’s starting pretty high up,” Lando mumbles, the slow unload of relief through his body making him feel better than he has in days.

Lando closes his eyes, studying the red that swirls around on the inside of his eyelids. He’s in the calm before the storm right now- he needs to shut his mind off. It’s a task easier said than done, especially when all his focus is grouped towards just how fucking bad his head hurts.

“Jon?” A knock rattles the door, a pair of shuffling feet in addition. “Is it alright if I just hang out here?” If it was anyone else asking to just hang out In Lando’s driver room, Lando would be telling them to piss off and go to their own room- for Oscar though, anything that is his own is also Oscar’s. 

“F’course Oscar,” Jon hums, not even asking for confirmation from Lando. He doesn’t need it, he knows that it’s a given that the answer would be yes.

Lando pries his eyes open, looking straight down at the ground in front of him. A pair of big brown eyes stare back up at him. What a weirdo Oscar is, getting down and laying on the ground just to be looking at lando.

Lando is so in  love with him.

“Please tell me you’re feeling better,” Oscar pushes himself up on his elbows, his core tensing at the 45 degree angle he’s keeping himself.

“Somewhat,”

“Somewhat my ass. Do you genuinely believe you’re up for this tonight?” Someone’s feisty tonight.

“Yes,” The lie feels almost like the truth by how many times he’s promised it. “I’ll just… I’ll take it easy in the lead up to COTA,”

Oscar puffs out cold air onto his top lip, a wrinkle of distrust forming between his scruffy brows. Lando is not one for taking it easy- ever. “We’ve got a month until then- you better keep that promise,”

“I will,” It’s veering off a lie, but it still is one. He knows just as well as Oscar that he’ll allow himself to get up to 75% good health and then wear himself back out again. It’s just what he does. 

Oscar doesn’t look convinced. “I promise Oscar- on my life,”

“Don’t do that,” Oscar snorts, “I don’t want you dying on me,”

“Oh shut it you mupp-'' Jon shuts him up with an elbow digging into his ass cheek and he yelps out in pain. Oscar looks satisfied by getting the last jeer in.

Lando carded his hands through his curls, pushing them off his forehead to put on his balaclava. Even from inside the garage he could hear the endless screams of the crowd. Fuck, this was gonna be a long race. He was starting in between Stroll behind and Ricciardo in front- a true recipe for disaster.

WIth that combo, he’d be more likely to be getting backshots from Lance than Oscar.

No, don’t think about that Oscar. Don’t think about getting crashed into.

He considers the other thing a positive thing to think about. It’s a pleasant distraction.

He stands still, his feet planted far apart enough to make his stance into an upside down V. He pushes his hips from side to side, limbering up that last bit before he gets into the car. 

He tucks his bottom lip under his teeth, contemplating going and grabbing some painkillers last minute. He knows if he does, Oscar will see him and physically prohibit him from racing. Painkillers are pretty harmless, nothing to not race over, but to Oscar- it’s everything. If Lando feels the need to have painkillers to be able to race, Oscar doesn’t see him as fit to.

So he decides to go without. Clambers into his car, slides his feet in and lifts his hips up, trying to get comfortable. His helmet is put onto him by the help of two members of the McLaren pit crew, his steering wheel from another.

Hot streams of air push through his nostrils, trying to get himself to calm down. Holy fuck, clam down Lando. You’ve done this a hundred times before, you’ll do it a hundred more times- nothing is going to happen. 

It’s going to be a good race, he’s going to prove Oscar wrong. He’s gonna win, or he’ll get a podium.

When instructed to, he begins to drive up to his starting spot. There’s a buzz that starts in his head and travels down to his thumbs, one that isn’t from the rumble of the car. It’s another impending headache, one of the really bad ones. He’s had too many over the course of the past three days to the point that it’s expected- he just needs to remain collected.

First red light turns on.

Then the second.

Third, fourth, fifth.

Then they all go out and his foot stomps down on the pedal. It’s a good reaction, quick, he’s got Will in his ear telling him that. Around the first corner, he watches Daniel slow down, and he overtakes him. Hulkenberg was just in front of the older Australian, and now Lando feels himself just scraping past him. 

It’s off to a good start, and that’s expected. When Lando’s in the car, he’s no longer ‘Lando Norris’- he’s a Mclaren Formula 1 Driver. And that’s just what he does- drive.

By lap seven, he’s up four places, trying to get ahead of Alonso. Once that’s done, Russell is just in front with a quickly decreasing gap to Albon. He can easily take either of them once he’s at that point, both of their car’s pace look awful.

But by God, Alonso is proving difficult to get past. Lando swerves jerkily, trying to get on the inside of Alonso. As he does, it feels like he takes a knife to the head, a sharp pain shooting through the left side of his head. He loses the car, loses control, loses the race. He goes straight into a barrier, his back left wheel flying off. 

A red flag is called, and Lando hears repeats of ‘Lando, are you alright?’ in his ear over and over, Will’s fussing over the radio. Will fusses over him, Jon fussed over him earlier, Oscar always fusses over him.

Like he’s some sick, fragile, baby. 

Like he’s tragic and can’t take care of himself. 

Like he’s just made a silly little mistake for the first time in his career.

Like he’s not just an absolute fuck up who can’t say when. 

His vision goes first, then his hearing, then his ability to move. Then he’s out- like a fucking nightlight.

[twst-drabbles]

Floyd and Jade 9

Summary: Worry and abandonment manifests into agitation and anger with Jade and Floyd. It was entertaining, once, but now you’re bored of them and their strange affection.

(Man, my brain is refusing to churn anything out lately. Horrible!)

You will admit it was a bit of a gamble on your part, to switch back to treating those twins like strangers. You’ve been subject to their violent and viciously mocking tendencies a number of times, especially back when you were under Azul’s contract, but at that point in time, you were just an odd stranger in a college you clearly didn’t belong in. A fun target to mess with without having to worry about any sort of ‘friendship.’

But, of course, time has passed, things have changed, and your lack of mercy was something those two took an odd fascination with. Well, you suppose your own callousness was heavily responsible for Jade and Floyd wanting to float around you like little fishes. You couldn’t help it. Holding yourself back for the sake of being polite just wasn’t you.

Respect is something that must be mutually established and if one party refuses to even treat you like a human being just because they have been blessed with magic, then they don’t deserve to be talked to.

You have a body count, in the sense of how many people you’ve sent to the nurse. The number would be zero if those bastards didn’t “take it upon themselves to punish you and teach you a lesson.”

Fuck them.

Now, Jade and Floyd. Those two are strange. When they saw you dig your fingers into a wound you cut open in someone’s arm, Floyd was basically itching to join in on the fight while Jade was the calmest cheerleader you’ve ever seen.

It was a simple dynamic. Trouble would come your way, someone seeking revenge or whatever, and you would fight as dirty as you needed to so they would stop fucking around with you. And in the background, Jade and Floyd would just watch.

Their smiles were always at their widest when blood was spilled, no matter if it was yours or your opponent.

And one day, that irritated you. Maybe you were having a bad day, maybe you wanted to mess with them, but either way, you stabbed Floyd’s arm with a fork when he wrapped an arm around your shoulder. It wasn’t a light stab, it was something you drove in deep.

Floyd retracted, but he started laughing. A full, belly aching laughter like this was the best day of his life. And when Jade turned to you, to do what, you don’t know, you grabbed a plate a smashed it against his head. He fell, he covered his face, but the grin beneath his hands was manic. He was breathing heavily, like he was trying to keep from laughing as well.

It was… strange. Not unpleasant, actually. It was… fun. A different reaction from all the other expressions of anger and indignation you’ve seen.

It was fun, looking for ways to hurt them without sending them to the hospital, and they had fun getting hurt or avoiding getting hurt. A thrilling chase.

“I’m not interested today, Jade Leech, Floyd Leech.”

You got bored, plain and simple. There’s nothing to spice up the act anymore, and quite frankly, it gets too tiring trying to keep up with their enthusiasm. All the bullying that was once a constant had slowly filtered to a stop, so you weren’t as tense, as irritated as you were at the start of this college.

So you passed by them, telling them you’re not interested, again and again.

“Hey, Shrimpy,” Floyd bashed a leg against the wall, stopping you in your path, “don’t you want to play with us a little?”

There was a crack in the wall right under his heel. He was leaning far too into his leg, at an angle that would be easy to push him off balance. His face was grinning but the jaw was too tense. His fingers were gripping deep into his knee.

“Yes, you haven’t been keeping us company,” Jade pressed a hand against his mouth, turned away from you and gave a gentle sniff, like he was about to cry. “Are we so distasteful that you must treat us like strangers? How very cruel of you.”

There was tension in his hands, trembling only the slightest bit. Jade was right behind you and you could easily grab a hold of his face and poke out his eyes if you wanted you. And his tie wasn’t even properly tucked in.

They acted first, but your body remained untouched, like they wanted you to pounce first.

“I’m bored when I’m with you both,” you swiveled around Floyd, “and I’m not interested in being around boring people. Find someone else to play with, Jade Leech, Floyd Leech.”

You didn’t even wave them off. After all, they’re not your friends.