#v: storms and chaos

[imminent-danger-came]

thinking about how Macaque usually smiles when being more aggressive. Thinking about how monkeys usually ‘smile’ to show aggression. Thinking about MK smiling a shit ton durinf the Azure fight. THINKING ABOUT THE WARRIORS AND MKS REPRESSION GODD

Watching MK go completely unhinged while fighting Azure moodboard:

[whenwewereyoung97]

I thought it would be a good idea to map out all of the books I have preordered.

Spoiler alert: it was not a good idea. This is torture.

I will be checking this every day.

[ghetsis]

Fusing Raging Blaze with Kyurem proved to be no easier than it had been with Iron Storm. It was worse, in fact, for the way the primal beast lashed out over the attempt, forcing Ghetsis to recall it to his Master Ball to avoid drawing even more attention to Plasma's activities in Alola.

He rubbed his brow in frustration. The Tao Paradoxes were formidable in their own rights and their power, along with Kyurem's, may well be enough to secure domination over any region he chose. It would not be enough to keep it, however, and he knew this. Especially not when Zekrom and Reshiram were in his enemies' possession. If they had the second Kyurem, they very well could fuse the Tao Dragon and Ghetsis would have nothing powerful enough to oppose it. He was not short sighted enough to enact his plans with such a glaring vulnerability left unaddressed.

Were the genomes of the Paradoxes too different to be fused successfully? Was Raging Blaze too primitive and Iron Storm too synthetic? The fact that they had both reverted to their stone forms when Kyurem attempted to absorb them suggested that fusion was possible and analysis of their genetic codes showed no obvious incompatibility. So what was different?

The Tao Trio all shared the Dragon type whereas the Paradoxes did not share any type at all. Perhaps changing their typing would make fusion easier. Lucky for Ghetsis, there were two known ways to do this: Mega Evolution and Terastallization. Mega evolution was an inconvenient and unlikely solution, but he did have Terastal Orb in collection from when he first traveled the world. A shame the phenomenon seemed to only work in Paldea.

Perhaps another business trip was in order.

[bruiisedpetals-a]

SAVAGE  love . . .     did  somebody,  did  somebody  break  your   heart ?    you’re  looking  like  an  angel  but  you’re  savage,  love.      when  you  kiss  me,  i  know  you  don’t  give  two  fucks.                  ....      @stormslady  +  @bruiisedpetals​ 

[mtreebeardiles]

Chasing Storms, pt 16 & 17

Part 16 here

Part 17/Epilogue here

To be continued in Starting Fires

It was raining the next morning. 

A rare enough event out here, surrounded by dust and rocks and the sort of hardy plants that could handle an overabundance of sunlight and a lack of moisture, and Kerry found himself wondering how long it would last. All morning? All day? Would it sizzle in the air once the clouds had moved away, steam in the return of sunlight? Was it less toxic, less prone to causing irritation than the sort of rain they got back in the city?

Hard to imagine, and he knew he was only focusing on these questions he had no real interest in to avoid thinking about anything else. 

A shift on the cot beside him and his fingers resumed their motions on the expanse of bared back beneath them. Let his eyes flutter shut when V snuggled closer, felt his warm breath against his neck in rhythm with the rise and fall of his chest, and decided he was…grateful. Grateful that his partner had gotten any sleep at all after his revelations, after his stunted attempts to explain himself. 

As if he owed Kerry any explanation. 

He could see it, he guessed. Could trace V's logic, knowing as he did the way Kerry felt about Johnny, their history, the things they'd shared. Maybe didn't have the whole story, maybe only really had whatever he'd gleaned from Johnny's engram, but he knew enough. 

Knew enough to know he'd loved him, to know at least a little how it must've felt to lose him. 

"I lost him long before that tower went down, V."

"I know."

Kerry bit at his lip, holding back a laugh as his eyes stung. Hadn't thought he'd have much left to give, after last night.  Couldn't remember the last time he'd cried like that, hard and messy and embarrassing if he hadn't been so caught up in the moment. Not that V would've judged him any -- then or now. So maybe that was why it was easy to let go again, to stop fighting it, though he did try to keep it down for V's sake. 

"Hey."

Well. 

"Hey," he replied, voice thick, and he swallowed hard. 

V didn't say anything, just shifted against him until he could cup his cheek with one hand. 

"D'you wanna talk about it?" he whispered, and this time Kerry did laugh. Because the fact was? They hadn't talked much, last night. Kerry couldn't find his words, couldn't translate all the things he'd been feeling into something coherent, and V, V was never one to push. Had just held him close and let him get it out, that inarticulate grief, wave after wave, kept him steady through the torrent. 

"I don't know what to say," he admitted, reaching up to swipe at his eyes. "I don't know how to say… to even begin…" He shook his head, biting his lip again and taking a deep, shuddering breath. "I'm just… I'm so fucking angry, V. I'm so angry with him. And I have been for such a long time, and it never seems to make a damn difference, whether he's there or not." 

Fresh tears hot down his cheeks and V patiently wiped them away, rough pad of his thumb somehow soothing against his skin. Familiar. Grounding. 

Affectionate.

Freely given, no games or gimmicks, the way love should've been, the way Johnny could never have managed even if he had admitted to some sort of non-platonic feeling for him. 

[stormvanari]

anyways: md characters, but they’re in a yuru camp au

Uzi is rin, and N is nadeshiko (no pun intended); V, as aoi, and J, as chiaki, run the outdoor activities club, and CYN (her own self, not affected by the eldritch powers of the Solver in this AU like uzi and doll 👍) is ena

the real Tessa is alive and serves as the club’s advisor

Thad is mei and Lizzy is ema

i could say Doll is ayano...? but she’s way more associated with Uzi than N in this AU

[bal-kote]

TMW you wake up to a gov alert on your phone bc your local SWAT is doing urban drills today.

[gothcsz]

imagine moving into your new apartment and finding out that javier peña is your next door neighbour 🤭

tags: f!reader, friends to lovers i think, sprinkle of angst, mutual pining, alcohol consumption, throwing up/vomiting mentioned (if you're squeamish to that kind of thing), javi being javi, untranslated spanish, smut, p in v sex, overstimulation, there are feelings involved, unbeta'd, no use of y/n, if i missed any other tags pls let me know ok thx.

~ 4.2k w/c - gif found on pinterest - masterlist

a/n: i just want javier peña to look at me... is that too much to ask for?! this is tropey asf and not what i was initially thinking of writing when i got this ask—but i like how this lil one shot turned out. i hope you do too, bestie! 🖤

You’re in the middle of unpacking boxes in your new apartment, surrounded by a mess of your own doing, when a sharp knock on the door startles you. You weren’t expecting anyone.

Wiping your hands on your jeans, you head to the door and swing it open to reveal a striking woman. Auburn hair, sharp eyes—she’s undeniably beautiful, but her expression is less than friendly.

Her eyes narrow as she sizes you up. “¿Y tu quien putas eres?” she demands.

Before you can get a word out, she’s already pushing past you into your apartment, not waiting for an invitation. “¿Donde esta Javier? Malparido tramposo. ¡No te escondas de mí!” she continues, storming through your space like she owns it.

You stand there, dumbfounded at the absurdity, watching her move, her fury palpable. Your Spanish is still novice, at best, so you don’t really understand what she’s saying.

“Uh, I think you have the wrong—” you start, but she cuts you off again.

“Wrong, my ass.” She replies, her Colombian accent thick. “I know he lives here. All the Americans do—”

Your brain finally catches up and puts two and two together. She’s looking for Javier Peña. Your colleague and now, apparently, neighbor.

You’ve been quietly, hopelessly crushing on the agent since you started working at the embassy. And now you’re standing in the middle of your half-unpacked apartment while some furious woman is ranting about him.

You’re about to speak again when, as if summoned by the chaos, Javier himself strolls past your open door in the hallway. The woman halts, her eyes following him like a predator tracking its prey.

You see her face shift from righteous fury to utter confusion. It hits her finally—she’s in the wrong apartment, like you tried to tell her.

She mutters something you can’t understand, barely meeting your eyes before storming out, slamming the door behind her.

You stand there, blinking, still processing what just happened. If that was any indication on how things around here will go, at least you know you won’t be bored.

It’s later in the evening when there’s another knock at the door. You’re almost hesitant to answer, unsure if you’ll be met by another beautiful woman scorned, so this time you make sure to look through the peephole before blindly opening it.

It’s Javier.

You glance down at your clothes, suddenly self-conscious. You’re not exactly at your best, sweaty and disheveled from moving all day. Definitely not how you pictured running into him outside of work.

You take a deep breath, trying to pull yourself together, then open the door, “Hey.” You greet him, a little shy.

He leans casually against your doorframe, that signature smirk playing on his lips. “Sorry about earlier,” his deep voice sends a shiver down your spine. “Not the best way to be welcomed into the neighborhood.”

He glances past you, noticing the half-unpacked boxes scattered around your apartment, and you’re mortified for a second, wondering how messy everything must look through his eyes.

You laugh, though it’s a little shaky. “I, uh… didn’t know you lived next door.”

Javier grins, giving you a devastatingly handsome smile that you’ve only seen when he tries to bribe his way through some of the other girls at the office. “Yeah, been here since I moved to Bogotá,” his eyes linger on you, but you don’t notice with how you’re focused on not making a fool out of yourself. 

“Well I hope you and your… friend worked things out.”

He exhales through his nose in an amused laugh. “Somethin’ like that,” he says, sounding almost entertained by the whole thing. “I owe you for that inconvenience.”

Your heart stutters and you hope, no—pray, that your eyes haven’t morphed into hearts with the charming way he’s looking at you.

“It’s fine, really—“

“No, no. I insist. It was rude. The least I can do is make it up to you.”

Knowing he wasn’t going to back down, a stubborn man through and through, you give him a slight nod, trying to play it cool even though your nerves are buzzing. “Okay… sure, fine. You owe me.”

His smirk softens into a half-smile, a little less cocky. He pushes himself off your doorframe, straightening up. “Alright, cariño. I’ll see you around.” The word rolls off his tongue as if he’s said it a thousand times to you, but it lands right between your legs, sending warmth to your cheeks.

“Have a good night,” he adds with that enamoring gravelly voice of his.

You manage to mumble a goodbye, watching as he walks down the hall, his presence making the air feel electric. You’re left standing there, alone with the heavy realization that your harmless work crush just became a lot more dangerous.

Living next door to him is going to be torture.

Months go by, and torture would be an understatement.

You’ve developed an odd, friendly relationship with him. It’s not exactly what you imagined when you first laid eyes on him at the embassy, all brooding intensity and effortless charm, but it works.

You exchange casual greetings in the hallway, little snippets of small talk when you bump into each other at work. 

It’s... normal. Comfortable, in its own way. But every time he says your name, with that gravelly edge to his voice, something flutters in your chest.

He’s even taken it upon himself to help you with your Spanish, which is as endearing as it is embarrassing. On the days when you can steal a few moments to talk, he’ll have you practicing phrases, repeating them until he’s satisfied with your pronunciation. Sometimes, when he’s feeling particularly amused, he’ll leave a sticky note on your door with a new phrase scribbled on it for you to learn.

It’s become part of your routine. Him giving you little bits of language, you trying to impress him with how quickly you can pick it up. You tell yourself it’s just a… fun thing, nothing more.

Then there are the nights when you’ve made too much dinner. You know that man doesn’t eat. Not properly, anyway. So you bring over a plate, standing awkwardly at his door until he opens it, shirt half-buttoned and hair tousled, like he just rolled out of bed.

“Brought you something,” you say, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickens as his eyes flicker to yours, a mix of surprise and amusement.

“Thanks, cariño,” he takes the food from you with that half-smile that makes you feel like a damn schoolgirl.

But it’s not always like that. There are times when he’s away for days at a time. Out doing who knows what—your level of work doesn’t intersect with his at all. 

His return comes with whispers around the office or in the form of news broadcasts that seem to be reporting nothing but atrocities as of late.

In the dead of night, you’ll hear the sound of his boots echoing through the enclosed hallway, a sure sign he’s finally back. You wonder what he’s seen, what he’s done while he was gone. The thought keeps you restless sometimes, but you never ask. He doesn’t offer, either.

And then there are the women.

You hear them through the thin walls—his low voice, their laughter, the unmistakable sounds of them fucking. The rhythm of their pleasure reverberates through your apartment, impossible to ignore.

Every time it happens, you’re reminded of the rumors you’ve heard around the office. The whispers about Javier Peña, about how good he is in bed, about how women fall over themselves to spend a night with him. Now, you know firsthand that they’re true.

It stings more than you’d like to admit, considering how you feel about him but knowing that he doesn’t see you as anything but a friend. 

You’ve caught glimpses of him after his flings, too. You kind of wish you could wipe from your memory, if only to keep your sanity.

It’s during different times of the day, really, when he’s leaning casually against his doorframe like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He’s shirtless, skin still damp from a shower or maybe from the sweat he’s worked up, and his jeans hang sinfully low on his hips. The soft light from the hallway casts shadows over his golden chest, highlighting the faint beauty marks that map his body.

You do your best to keep your eyes averted, pretending you’re not affected, pretending you don’t notice the way his muscles flex as he stretches, or how his dark hair is tousled in that perfectly messy way. But your throat tightens every time, your stomach flipping at how effortlessly good he looks. It’s not fair how someone can make post-coital exhaustion look so damn attractive.

He’s usually saying goodbye to one of the lucky girls, tossing a wink their way, or brushing his fingers through their hair as they share a final kiss.

You tell yourself it’s just Javier being Javier, but it’s impossible to ignore the way jealousy twists in your chest when you see them, all blissed-out and satisfied, practically floating down the hallway after a night with him.

You turn your head, pretend you didn’t just catch a glimpse of him looking like some kind of god, and hurriedly unlock your door before he notices you staring. 

And sometimes, when you least expect it, he catches you.

You’re fumbling with your keys, doing your best to mind your own business, when his voice cuts through the silence. “Hey,” he calls out, casual as ever, and you freeze. Your hand stills on the doorknob, and you force yourself to look up.

Javier is standing there, half naked, leaning against his door as if he has all the time in the world.

You try to swallow the lump in your throat, “Hey.”

“You alright there, cariño?” he asks, voice low and rough, like he’s barely holding back a laugh after watching you struggle with your keys.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just had a long day.”

He hums, his stare lingering on you, and your heart pounds in a way you can’t quite control. But then, as if nothing’s changed, he shifts back into that familiar, teasing grin.

“Okay, don’t work too hard. Can’t have you burnin’ out before me.”

It all comes to a head one night at the bar near your place. You’re out with a secretary from a different department, downing margaritas like they’re water. You’re tipsy—no, you’re drunk, and the world is spinning just a little too fast.

That’s when you see him. He walks in like he owns the place, scanning the crowded space until his eyes land on you. He acknowledges you with a jut of his chin and you smile drunkenly at him, waving, before you’re brought back to the conversation with your friend.

He’s here for work, meeting one of his informants—a very pretty, very obvious, working girl. You hate how seeing him with her swirls the green in your drunken heart.

Maybe it’s the tequila talking, maybe it’s the months of pent-up frustration, but when Javier approaches as your coworker excuses herself to the bathroom, checking to see if you’re alright, your mouth runs faster than your brain.

“Don’t worry about me,” you slur, waving him off. “I’m sure you’d have more fun with her,” you add, nodding toward the woman with a sharp, sarcastic edge. “Probably more your type anyway.”

Javier raises an eyebrow, his expression shifting into a playful uncertainty, head tilting slightly. “What?”

You don’t know how to respond. Honestly, you’re not even sure you can form a coherent thought right now. All you know is that you’re in way over your head, and he is standing way too close.

But that liquid courage surges through your veins and the words are tumbling out of your mouth.

“It’s obvious, Javier,” your frustration is crystal clear, despite the way your words run into each other. “The kind of company you keep. They’re more fun,” You gesture vaguely toward his booth. “I’m just… here. A bore that’s drunk on a Wednesday night. It’s why you came to check on me. Why you’ve been overly nice.” Your words sting, even as they leave your lips.

The alcohol amplifies every insecurity you’ve kept buried.

The playful look on his face vanishes, replaced by hardened disbelief. His brows furrow, and for a moment, he just stares at you, like he’s trying to figure out how you could possibly think so little of yourself.

Instead of giving you an answer, he just reaches for his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans. “Come on,” he mutters, “I’m taking you home.”

You snort, shaking your head, another wave of dizziness washing over you. “See? Taking pity on me. Again.”

He rolls his eyes, unfazed by your drunken resistance. “That’s not what this is,” he pulls out a wad of cash and drops it on the bar top to settle your tab.

He makes sure your friend is taken care of, telling the bartender to call a cab for her. Then he goes to dismiss his informant—a woman he definitely had plans to sleep with. She seems surprised, but Javier brushes her off and hands her some money. 

Your drunken mind can’t quite comprehend that he’s choosing to deal with you instead. As he guides you outside, you make it difficult, stumbling and resisting as he tries to steer you toward his car.

“I can walk, Peña,” you grumble, though your legs aren’t exactly cooperating.

“Sure you can,” he says dryly, his arm wrapped around your waist to keep you upright. “You’re making this real easy.” He comments sarcastically.

You’re so going to regret this tomorrow when you’re fighting a hangover at your desk, thinking of how you just fucked up this friendship.

But right now, you can’t focus on anything but how warm his large hand feels against your side as he helps you into the passenger seat.

Your head lolls against the window, and you groan softly. “You didn’t have to do this, you know. You could’ve stayed with her.”

Javier slides into the driver’s seat, glancing at you as he starts the engine. “Everything you said back there was bullshit,” he says bluntly, pulling out of the parking lot. “You think I pity you? That I only talk to you because I feel bad? You really don’t know me at all.”

His words are cutting, but not in a cruel way. He sounds… disappointed. “I like spending time with you,” he continues, quieter now, more serious. “It’s not some charity case. You make me feel normal. When I’m with you, it’s like the rest of the shit I deal with doesn’t exist.” The faint hum of the radio fills the sudden silence.

“You… you’ve got this smile that makes me feel a little better about myself.”

The sincerity in his voice sobers you up just a little, enough for your foggy brain to process what he’s saying. You turn to look at him, eyes wide, but before you can fully grasp it, your stomach lurches.

“Oh no,” you groan, clutching your middle. “I’m gonna be sick.”

He glances at you, and in an instant, he’s speeding up, making it to your complex faster than you would’ve thought possible. He parks hastily, helps you out, and practically carries you to your apartment. The second the door swings open, you make a beeline for the bathroom, barely making it in time to empty your stomach into the toilet.

You hear him lingering by the door, then the sound of running water as he fills a glass in the kitchen. You hate that he’s seeing you like this—pathetic, drunk, and embarrassed.

When you finally sit back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, Javier is there, handing you the glass of water. His expression is soft, more concerned than anything.

“Drink,” he orders gently, crouching next to you. His voice is soothing, and for a moment, the embarrassment fades under the warmth of his presence.

You sip the water, avoiding his gaze, but he’s not letting this go. “You okay?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

He sighs, settling beside you on the bathroom floor. “You’re not a bore. Don’t say that shit.” His voice is firm, but there’s an undercurrent tenderness beneath it.

Your head is swimming—not just from the alcohol, but from everything that’s happened in the last hour. 

You lean your head back against the wall, the glass of water in your hand almost empty. With a soft sigh, you begin to speak, your tone hesitant.

“Sometimes… I just feel average, you know?” you admit, glancing at Javier from the corner of your eye. He’s sitting quietly beside you, his long legs stretched out in front of him,  gaze focused on some point on the floor. “Like there’s nothing more to me than this mediocre job, answering phones, filing papers. I mean, I didn’t move all the way to South America just for that.”

You pause, trying to organize your thoughts. “That’s why I transferred here. I thought maybe… maybe I’d find something more. Maybe I’d find me.” You laugh bitterly, shaking your head. “But ever since I got here, it’s been nothing but monotony and homesickness. I don’t even know if this is where I’m meant to be.”

The words hang between you. You’ve never said this out loud to anyone, never let yourself be so transparent.

Javier doesn’t say anything right away, and it makes you think that maybe you’ve said too much. But then, you hear him sigh softly, his shoulders slumping as if your rambling has hit something deep within him.

He’s silent as he digests your confession, and you’re about to apologize for oversharing when he finally speaks.

“I get it,” he replies, low and rough around the edges. He shifts beside you, resting his arms on his now bent knees while he stares at the floor. “You’re not the only one feeling that way.”

You blink, slightly taken aback by his agreement. You hadn’t expected him to relate—the sharp, confident DEA agent who always seems so sure of himself. He glances at you, offering a wry smile. “You’re not average,” his voice is firmer now, like he’s trying to make you believe it. “It takes time to figure out who you are, what you want. And if it feels like you haven’t found that yet, that doesn’t make you less than.”

There’s an irony in his words, and he lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “I should probably take my own advice,” he admits.

Your heart flutters at his reassurance, but you can see it in his eyes—there’s more. Something heavier sits in his chest, pulling him down.

“What about you? What’s weighing on you?”

Javier sighs again, leaning his head back against the wall like you. “This job,” he says simply, but you can hear the exhaustion in his voice. “It’s… confusing. Difficult. Half the time, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore. I thought I’d come here, do some good, but it’s just…” He trails off, his jaw tightening. “I’ve lost myself in all of it. The work. The women. Because I don’t know what else to do.”

Your chest tightens as he speaks, hearing the vulnerability in his words. He’s always seemed so unshakeable, but now you can see the cracks in his armor, all that he’s been carrying. And then he turns to look at you, his expression softening.

“But you,” he says quietly, “you’re the one thing that keeps me grounded in all this shit.”

You look down, not believing that he’s actually saying this to you. You have to be dreaming. 

“Your smile, the way your eyes light up when you’re happy. Shit, even the way you butcher half your Spanish words with that accent of yours.” He chuckles, and despite the heaviness of the moment, you can’t help but laugh with him.

The tension breaks for just a second, and when you finally meet his gaze again, your breath snags. He’s already staring at you, his beautiful brown eyes gleaming.

You quickly look away out of habit, your heart hammering in your chest, but then he calls your name softly. “Mírame, cariño,” he says, all gentle and insistent.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to do so.

“I’m not just telling you this to score. I mean it.”

And you don’t doubt it for a second. However, the moment is too heavy, too intense for your tequila-soaked brain to handle. You can taste the lingering bitterness of the alcohol, your throat feels raw, and your head is already starting to pound. You’re too disoriented to fully process this moment that’s happening.

“I know,” you nod, picking at your cuticles, “I just don’t think right now is the best time to have this conversation.” Your words are punctuated by a hiccup and you bring your hand up to cover your mouth in fear of accidentally throwing up again.

Javier’s lips twitch with amusement, but he works his jaw, nodding in agreement. “You’re right. Not the best time,” he concedes, though the way he says it tells you he wanted this conversation to happen—needed it to.

“I just had to tell you. And if you genuinely feel like you don’t belong here then go home.” He tells you softly, though his cadence and the softening expression on his face say otherwise.

You glance at him, your lips curving into a weak smile. “While I do feel lost, I think half of all this is the margaritas’ doing,” you admit, your voice a little hoarse.

“Tequila’s dangerous like that,” he agrees with a small laugh, shaking his head. 

You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to push through the embarrassment still swirling around inside of you. “I’m sorry about what happened at the bar,” you say quietly. “I didn’t mean to be so self deprecating.”

He waves off your apology, his expression relaxed. “It’s no problem.”

“Thank you for bringing me home, and for… opening up like that… I know it wasn’t easy.” Your voice softens as you say it.

He gives you a small smile, but his eyes linger on you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “You make it easy,” he says finally, the words leaving his mouth like a confession.

You sit there on the cool bathroom floor, your heart stumbling all over the place. Leaving isn’t an option anymore. Not when Javier Peña looks at you like this. Not after realizing that you mean so much more to him than you could have ever thought possible.

Javier hovers above you, his gaze locked with yours, filled with desire and adoration. Your legs are tightly wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper, feeling every inch of him as his hips move suavely while he fucks you. 

His breath is hot against your neck, biting and licking at your skin. You can barely keep your thoughts straight, your mind clouded with the pleasure he’s stirring in you, the rhythm of his body guiding you to that edge again and again.

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, his voice a low growl, “You feel so good, baby. I can feel how close you are... all for me.”

Your body clenches around him in response, a soft whimper escaping your lips as the pleasure tightens inside you, building and building. It’s the fifth time tonight he’s coaxed this out of you, and you don’t know how you’re still holding on.

His weight presses against you and your nails dig into the broad expanse of his broad shoulders, pulling him impossibly close. His chest, warm and slick with sweat, crushes against yours, and the hairs at the base of his cock graze your swollen clit with every thrust, sending shockwaves through you.

You gasp, your voice trembling with each word. “Javier... I can’t... it’s too much.”

But he doesn’t stop, doesn’t relent, instead he grins down at you, a wicked spark in his eyes, pressing his lips against your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth—kissing you everywhere he can reach while his other hand keeps your jaw locked in place, fingers denting into your skin.

His lips finally find yours in a messy, urgent kiss, swallowing your moans as your body tightens around him again. You’re lost in what he’s giving you, your world spinning as your orgasm tears through you, leaving you a trembling mess beneath him.

His hips stutter as he groans your name, his cock twitching inside you while he comes. He stays there, still buried inside, his body heavy and comforting as the world fades back into focus.

When he finally pulls away, his touch softens. He’s gentle as he plants tender kisses on your forehead, your nose, your lips. His hand caresses your naked side, soothing you as your breathing slows. He shifts then, pulling you close into the safety of his arms, his body wrapped around yours.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. Just relax.”

He stays with you, his hand tracing lazy circles on your back, murmuring soft reassurances until you’re completely at ease, your body melting into his.

started a tag list for my works here, so if you're interested— pls check it out 🖤

🏷️ : @almostempty . @persephone-girl . @magneticecstasy . @miss-oranje-disco-dancer . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @maiyart . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @sunshinefive . @dinanabuu . @angiewatson .

[that-sarcastic-writer]

Hi can u please write about domestic life with Bills Eric Draven? Can there be fluffy and smutty moments? Tyyyy

Boy can I??? I’d be DELIGHTED. His domesticity is all I think about. He’s the sweetest, kindest and most loving bf and you can’t change my mind. I got a little carried away! Hopefully this is what you were wanting! Enjoy doll!

Bf!Eric x gf!reader. Explicit sexual content under the cut, minors dni, oral (f receiving), p in v. brief mentions of drug use, mostly fluffy relationship stuff

It wasn’t entirely easy. You and Eric. The circumstances under which you met and the nature of the both of you was quite dysfunctional. You were chaos, and he was a mess. But it worked. The two of you. You worked perfectly. You weren’t sure what it was, you had never been able to maintain a healthy relationship with anyone. But it was almost like you were meant to be together. If you didn’t believe in the whole soulmates thing, you started to believe it when you met Eric.

He was so unreal, so out of this world. He was always by your side, fingers laced with yours, arm thrown over your shoulder. He always had to be touching you, whether it was something as little as holding your hand, or going as far as putting you in a matting press when he fucked you, because he hated the idea of not being as close to you as possible. He never meant to, he didn’t even know what it was. He just did it one day. Your knees damn near next to your head, your body nearly folded in half as he draped his body over yours. You didn’t even know your body could bend this way. But god this you like it. How deep he could be this way. And you had him so close you could hear his little sounds, his hard breathing and his soft grunts.

He always felt a little bad, manhandling you around like you were nothing. If he wasn’t bending your body in ways you didn’t think were human, he was putting you in a headlock as he took you from behind, one arm draped around your neck from shoulder to shoulder. He just wanted you close, afraid you’d run away. But he sometimes forgot to take it easy on you. You always assured him you were more than happy with him, that he wouldn’t hurt you. Deep down it made you all kinds of earn to know you could arise such passions from him. For someone so morbidly quiet and nonchalant, Eric was very intense and passionate lover.

“It’s okay, baby. I got you. You’re doing so good.” He would tell you, his voice soft and quiet in your ear, grounding you as his cock fucked you into nothing. “I just want to make you feel good, hm? Just want to make you feel good. That’s what you deserve.”

“I don’t deserve this. You’re too good for me.” He would say, his lips on your cheek as quiet moans spilled from your lips. “You’re just so… I can’t believe you’re all mine.” His name falling from your lips would be the end of him. So soft and desperate for him. He didn’t have much experience before you, but now he just can’t get enough of you. He wanted to be all over you at all times it actually upset him when you had to leave or when he did.9

But he was also oh so kind, so gentle and patient with you. He always followed you around like an oversized puppy, quietly listening to whatever tangent you would go on about. You could be cursing up a storm (albeit not directed at him) and he would take it with a straight face and big eyes. And it was often that nothing more but his presence would calm you down, center you.

“How do you do it?” You asked him one day, hot tears staining your face after a day of one stressor after another. Eric had managed to get you on the couch where he silently sat you down on his lap. You almost immediately curled up into his lap, legs tucked under you and your head on his chest. You felt an almost instant sense of relief and peace fill you, and you were sighing deeply, feeling your heart slow its fast beating.

“Do what?” He asked you softly, his fingers massaging your head calmly. You rested your hand on his chest, eyes closed.

“This. You calm me down. I was crying two minutes ago and now I feel… okay.” You felt him shrug under you and when you looked up he had a smile on his face. That smile could make you forget any grief or sadness you might have, because none of it really mattered.

But it wasn’t just him who could bring you peace, you were his, too. His lows weren’t as intense or visible as yours, but when he was at his low, he was at an all time low. He wouldn’t speak, he wouldn’t eat, he would just go about his day like a corpse, eyes dead and empty and his mind elsewhere. You understood he had his issues too, so you tried to be there for him without pushing him. You were more subtle. You’d make him dinner, you’d invite him to watch a movie with you. And you’d tangle up with him on the couch as you all but forced him to eat, and you’d talk to him about your day. But something so small always meant so much to him. He couldn’t help the way he felt, he couldn’t help his negative thoughts that drove him to do drugs in the first place, but having you around to remind him someone in this world loved and cared for him, it made it all a little bit easier.

Eric started to bring you flowers one day. Every week once a week, he could come home with your favorite flowers. He alternated colors. With a sheepish smile he’d stand in the doorway with his hands behind his back. And the way he would look at you when gushed about how pretty they were was like he was looking at the most beautiful thing in the world, the only one that mattered. And to him you were. Seeing that smile on your face was the only thing he ever wanted to do.

“You like them?” He would ask as if it wasn’t obvious, but he’d do it just to hear you giggle and watch you all but skip to put them in water. “Yeah? I saw them and thought about you.”

He always thought about you. There wasn’t a single waking second where he didn’t. You were good for him. And he knew that. He didn’t need anything else to fill the emptiness in his chest because he had you. You had filled that hole and he made sure you knew that everyday.

Eric had many ways to show his love and devotion for you. He wrote you poems, he drew for you, you had so many sketches you have started to run out of places to hang them, but this one was by far his favorite. He could spend literal hours between your legs. He absolutely loved it. He was absolutely obsessed with it.

“E-Eric.. Please.” You were shaking, sweating, incoherent as his tongue circled on your clit, his long fingers fucking you through your, fourth, fifth? You stopped keeping count. He had been down there for an eternity. He just kept asking for one more, just one more and he’d leave you alone. But it wasn’t enough. He was quite obsessive with the things he wanted.

But he figured he’d have to give you a break eventually. He was also painfully hard.

“I’m sorry baby.” He muttered softly as he crawled up your body, using the back of his hand to wipe the mess you had made, but his plush lips were still bright red and glistening. “You know I get carried away sometimes… You’re just so..”

He would kiss your face, brush your hair, soothe you back into a functioning human being. It wasn’t often that Eric vocalized his thoughts, but in moments like this when he felt safe and comfortable enough to be vulnerable, he would tell you all about how pretty you were, how talented you were, how much he loved you.

Eric was always full of surprises. He was quiet and nonchalant, but he was impulsive. You learned that very quickly.

“Baby?” You heard Eric call out to you as he came into the loft. You sat on the computer as you listened to one of his recordings. He had asked you to help him out since he really wanted to start pursuing his music and art now that he actually had someone that supported him.

With a smile, you took your headphones off and went to greet him, but you immediately frowned when you saw him hold something wrapped up in his hoodie.

“Hey, whatcha got there?” You stood up, approaching him with narrowed eyes as he broke out a smile.

“I’m sorry. I just found it, I just.. I felt bad.” He pulled down his hoodie to reveal a precious little kitten. A black ball of fur coating its little face. Your heart immediately sank and you wanted to cry.

“Oh my god, Eric.” You took the kitten into your hands and your eyes started watering as you hugged it. Eric wasn’t sure what to make of your reaction. Did you hate it? Were you upset?

“No, baby, I’m sorry. I found it outside, it’s kinda cold and it was drinking from a puddle. I didn’t want a car to hit it. We don’t have to keep it if you don’t want to, we can take it to a shelter or something.” He started to mumble, a hand coming to rub the back of his head and his lips fell open when he saw a tear fall down your cheek. He approached you, reaching to grab your face. “Please don’t cry.”

“No… No Eric I’m not..” You sniffled, laughing softly through your tears as you leaned into Eric’s chest while still hugging the now purring black ball of fur. “I’m not upset at all. It’s just… I’ve never had my own pet before. And it’s so cute, can we keep it, please? It’d be our little child.”

The way you looked at him with big pleading eyes made him feel so warm, he never thought he’d feel something like this. He smiled, nodding as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Of course we can keep it. He’s kinda cute, right?” Eric chuckled as he scratched the little one’s head.

“Or she.”

Your little ball of fur wasn’t the only thing you and Eric shared. You got so many matching tattoos it was concerning. Your friends and family had even told you it was odd to get tattoos with a guy you had been dating for only a few months. But it didn’t matter to you. You didn’t know why, but deep down you knew your connection with Eric was out of this world. So what were a couple tattoos? You loved that you had a physical reminder of your connection with him. The feelings deep within your souls were forever marked on your skin, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Truth was, Eric loved tracing each and every one of your tattoos. He traced his fingers over the fine lines, traced the words, he traced his lips over them too. He particularly loved the ones on your back and on your stomach, the ones no one but him could see. They were his little secret.

You matched each other perfectly, in every way.

[studiopeached]

THREE, TWO, RUN. ft. Peter Dunbar

♡ SUMMARY: After fleeing from your boyfriend, it isn’t long before the two of you reunite, against your will or with it.

♡ CONTENT WARNINGS: pwp, afab, fem!reader, ex-boyfriend!peter x reader, peter being a serial killer, moderate description of gore, NONCON/DUBCON, fingering, oral (fem receiving), big dick peter—not great prep, p in v sex, rough sex, biting/marking kink, fear play, predator/prey dynamics, size kink, bondage

♡ WORD COUNT: 2.4k plot, 1.9k smut. 4.3k total

♡ STREAM NOTE: SMUT BELOW THE SECOND NSFW BANNER. this is a spin off from my @peachedtvs blog called 'Til Death Dont We Part'

♡ MASTERLIST. cumming soon! Main blog @peachedtv

Peter felt you were quite silly, even from when his eyes first laid upon you through the windows of your diner.

So silly, in so many ways.

You were silly in the way you spoke. Expressive, lively, words filled with kindness and rhythm. Words Peter wanted to lock away for only him to hear. Your voice always melted into his mind like honey. Soothing, calming, just like the music he’d hum to silently as he got rid of your recent obstacles. A heavy saw in his hand slashing back and forth, splitting bone into two before stuffing remains of human flesh into a black tarpe—or when he'd bring the nuisances back alive. Screams of pain, terror, and torment vastly contrasting a smooth melody muffled through his earbuds.

Your smile was silly too. Loud, boisterous laughs pairing with it each time as you’d close your eyes tightly, breaths jagged as you’d brace your stomach from the joy. Your smile so mesmerizing Peter wanted nothing more to lock it away behind a key. To melt away in the melody of your laughter, to spread it across his lips and adorn the smile as sweetly as you do.

What was even sillier was how silly you made him feel. On the surface, the twist in his stomach was sweet. An admiration, an appreciation of something so pure. Although,

Peter always fell apart.

Even in the room of his own heart.

Every silly thing had something inside of him twist. A strange twist, a bubbling feeling that had his gut wrench around itself—curling around and laying discomfort deep into his heart, where it stood mockingly. Unable to be buried beneath other thoughts, placed behind distractions, or replaced with another. And this bothered him.

Peter was always in control.

Control of his job, control of his victims, the police, his therapy, the growing police patrols in your city. So why couldn’t he control this?

What were you doing to him?

He thought it was uncomfortable at first. But that strange feeling was quite addicting, stacking tenfolds in intensity ever since the first time he felt it with you.

“Are you okay?”

By now, this memory had occurred over 3 years ago.

The first day you two had met, Peter was not in a good mental space. His family was in ruins, the relationship between he and his mother deteriorating until he had finally decided to storm out of the house and leave for good. Leave his home for good.

With nowhere to go, and a rumbling stomach, Peter decided the best course of action was to first fuel his appetite. Damn Diner was loud, painstakingly so. There was a mess of voices, the clash of plates, cutlery, dragging of chairs against tilted floors, chaos that hummed against a muffled out melody of tunes through the ceiling speakers. Everything was so loud. There was a child in the booth next to his. A mess of ketchup and mustard spraying everywhere, a glob falling onto his cheek as his eyebrows knit together in annoyance. There was a couple in the booth across, arguing over the cries of their child whining for a crumb of their attention. There was yelling from the kitchen, scolding as a worker had done something wrong and sent an order to the incorrect table.

And then, there was you.

Timidly, you rushed over to his table. Clumsy and expressive as you stared down to him with empathy, apologizing profusely as you explained the mess around the diner. And there, all the loudness stopped. Your voice muffled, muffled until it became strikingly clear and the diner around him seem to slow. Peter's eyes traced your face, how you were out of breath, how kindly you looked to him, how you asked if he was okay. And in this world of distain, you were pure.

And there was the first twist.

Peter spent nights going crazy.

Absolutely insane.

When he had first broken into your apartment, his heavy steps drowned out by the moans of your roommate through the paper thin walls, he thought he would melt into the floor when he first inhaled the scent of you room.

It was a soft aroma, something that had his eyes rolling into the back of his skull when he saw you laying peacefully on the bed. Your head was smushed between a folded pillow, covering your ears as your face was scrunched in discomfort.

"Lucy's being so loud tonight, isn't she, Darling?" Peter spoke softly, the back of his hand gracing your cheek as he sat on the edge of your bed. Careful to dip your mattress slowly so as to not wake you. Carefully, his other hand trailed up the curve of your torso, hip to waist, before entangling with your fingers.

Your hand felt right in his.

Soft, smooth, and warm against his cold skin. And there, he knew even fate was in his hands the moment he had yours in his.

When Peter had mustered up the courage to approach you in the park, he felt his heart beating out his chest, his mind going hazy from everything he wanted to do to you—from hearing your voice up close again. It had been nearly a year since you two had first met at the diner, and it seemed as though you had forgotten him completely. Luckily, Peter knew enough about you through his year of...supervision, and was soon able to swipe you off your feet. There, he became yours.

Your boyfriend.

And you, his girlfriend.

Often the two of you shared late nights after your dates. The hum of cicadas drumming into the background as you'd lay into the grass of the park the two of you 'first' met in. Your hands would intertwine together as the other would hold the grass below. In this park, the two of you would often talk about your dreams, aspirations, or talk shit about whatever seemed to bother you in your life at the moment. And Peter always listened.

In other moments, the two of you enjoyed each other's company. A silence paired with the ambience of howling wind, crickets, and a glint in your eye from the reflection of the moonlight and stars twinkling above. And through this silence, your heart spilled.

“I want to be with you forever, Peter." You spoke softly, you eyes still stuck on the starlight above.

A twist, something twisted once more.

For the first time, Peter eyes looked away from you—a blush traveling to his cheeks, a pale red hue over his soft features.

“Forever, then, Darling."

And forever meant forever.

Years together flew by, and you both had your own jobs—despite Peter's insistence for you to stay at home and allow him to care for you. Although, you wanted to work. You wanted to experience the world. But what you didn’t want were the unreasonable hours of overtime your boss had subjected to you. Much to Peter's dismay, many late afternoons he would return to an empty home. Full of furniture, light, decoration, but never with the person he truly wished the presence of. Every evening, you would trail home hours after him. Enervated, dragging your feet along the floorboards as you slumped into his open arms.

“I missed you, Peter.”

Your voice was like honey.

“I missed you more, Darling.” Peter greeted you softly. There it was again. Something twisted. Peter looked down to your visage. Dark eyebags staining your soft skin, a pout dragging your lips, your eyebrows furrowed slightly as you sighed from exhaustion. His gut was twisting stranger than usual. A mix of annoyance for those who have exploited you, an annoyance that made his stomach curl inside.

Peter did not want you to continue working.

Your boss had gone missing for a couple days now.

The company was in disarray, having strangely lost employee after employee ever since you were recruited. The once bustling, lively atmosphere became quiet, dull, and empty. And with the new loss of your employer, there wasn’t an office cubicle you could return to. For the first time in months, you returned home before Peter.

Although, something felt off.

With Peter home, it was always lively. The ambiance of bustling trees against the wind outside, a hum of the dishwasher from the kitchen, a low vibrato of your home's ventilation system, and the comfort of your boyfriend's presence. He was such a soothing soul. Without him, the home felt strange. You felt the presence of another, many, an overbearing amount. As though invisible strings clumped together to weigh you heavier into the floor boards, creaking the dark oak louder than usual.

Without Peter, it felt as though something was calling for you—and curiously, you began to explore. Exploring the home you resided in, as this home empty of your lover didn’t feel like a home anymore. And that lead you to the door that stood at the far end of the first floor. Tucked beside the laundry room, you stood still and seemed confused.

Was there always a lock?

A sturdy lock it was. Heavy metal weighing it flush against the wood, holding the door firmly shut to keep everything in out. There was a strange smell, too. A scent that leaked from beneath the dark oak doorway, filling the air with a musk of cooper and spoiled eggs. Your hand reached for the lock, flinching when built up static pricked your skin. A warning. But you held firm. Giving a cautious, downward tug as the lock went slack. It was open. You pushed the door back slowly, a low creak humming your presence, a flood of a strange meat stinging the view in your eyes.

Firmly, a familiar hand held your shoulder.

The hand of your boyfriend.

You were terrified.

“Darling, what are you doing?”

You couldn’t think.

Not with the view of mangled flesh, the smell of copper and iron so strong your head began to haze strangely. No, you couldn’t think. Even more so with scattered limbs decorating the floor—being the remainder of the morbidly intact heads of your former colleges and employer, of your missing boss. Pieces of them did not fit like a puzzle. Limbs, skin, so much of their bodies were missing.

What was that dinner Peter served these passing evenings?

And it seemed as though fate enjoyed sparking your memory.

This time around, nearly three years later, it was not scatttered corpses, blood, or flies that greeted you. You stood before the door of the fourth apartment complex you were going to apply to. Advertised as a gated community of safety, an exorbitant lot you were willing to hack up the money for to get away from him.

Although, just as three years ago, just as you were able to arrive to the complex, nails dug into your shoulder, holding you in place. A voice low, strange, and terrifyingly familiar. The grip dug into your flesh this time, keeping you from running—just as you did in the home you shared with him. With a door you shouldn’t have opened, and a hand on your shoulder that felt larger than usual.

Your boyfriend's hand.

“I missed you, my Darling.”

You didn't know what was happening.

You scrambled fruitlessly, trying to shove Peter's hand off your shoulder when a burning wet rag was drowned upon your lower face. You kicked, muffled screams and sobs as you dug into the palm that pinched the bridge of your nose, your body growing increasingly more limp. You didn't know what was happening, but by the next moment, it seemed as though you were melting into the floor—the world around you sputtering and glitching as your vision faded out and back in as you fell back onto a large bed.

You couldn't recognize the monster that was before you.

You didn't want to recognize the monster that was before you. Although, a rough, large hand gripped the lower half of your face, covering your mouth and pinning you down into the plush duvet to muffle horrified screams, forcing you to look deep into a being empty of a soul.

Even back then, you always felt Peter’s deep eyes had an errie glint. They seemed dull, strange, and detached from any wonder or interest. All until his gaze would flit upon you. A spark of light dashing his iris, a soft smile spreading his lips. He only looked human when he looked at you.

Peter still kept that smile. A smile that had morphed after his descent into maddness. Sharp teeth and bloodshot eyes that contrasted against sharp blues. He looked terrifying. His forearms were scattered with scars and wounds, peeled back scabs across his skin—likely from the amount of struggling you had done while in his arms. Your name was etched into his skin. Over and over and over, hearts and sharp lines littered as keloids formed in the place of his artwork. His size dwarfed you, a wolf to rabbit. Predator to prey.

“Pe—“

"You remember the time when you'd say it back, don't you, Darling?" He leaned down by your neck, breathing in shakily as though he couldn't believe you were finally here. With him. All to himself. "When you would say you missed me too." His voice was disfigured. A mix of insanity and dark undertone to his speech making your head spin and eyes well with tears. Your entire body was trembling, the skin on your back burning as every nerve in your brain set off sirens that resonated throughout your head. You felt too fearful to even choke out a pathetic sob, wanting to blend into the sheets below you.

Meanwhile, Peter felt himself going crazy. He couldn't help the way his mind ran a mile a minute as he stared down at your dicheviled form. You were always so pretty, absurdly so. Even as the strands of your hair fell misplaced over your face, even as you looked up to him with so much fear, hatred, and terror, his stomach twisted just as it did three years ago. That strange feeling laying addiction down into the lining of his stomach, soothing his body that felt run dry of how you made him feel.

He needed you. Now.

Peter brought a hand to his lips, hastily removing his right glove as he bit the fabric covering the tip of his middle finger, tugging his glove off by his teeth. His free hand pinned you pliantly down into the mattress by the lower half of your face, the other sliding beneath your shirt to tear the fabric off your body. You thrashed, muffled sobs and tears running down your cheeks, wetting the palm of his hand.

Your terror only fueled him further.

His hands groped and fondled every inch of your skin that one could imagine, a long tongue pairing with his touch as Peter licked a long stripe up your neck—sucking deep blotches and bruises of dark blue and purple hues across your neck and chest. Peter marked you as his, bit your flesh like a meal, and ruined your soft skin for his pleasure.

The mattress beneath you was in shambles. Inch deep tears lay by your head as Peter held back the urge to squeeze you blue, from ripping into your flesh, the torn mattress a goreish display of holding back the brutal cuteness aggression Peter got from the sight of you.

His hand slid from your mouth, gripping your neck tightly to restrict precious air from flooding your throat. He wanted you ditzy anyway. Nothing but a lifeless shell of who you were once he was done.

Pilant.

Obidient.

And what better way than halfway choking you out?

Your hands held his wrist desparately, nails scratching into his skin as he only smiled wider in response, stitches appearing on the corners of his mouth to prevent his face from ripping in two from his pure display of euphoria.

You hadn't stopped crying this entire time. Desparate pleas falling on deaf ears as you begged Peter that this was enough, that you'd listen, that you'd stay. And as convincing as it seemed, Peter was not giving you another chance to escape him. Not again.

His hand trailed down until it cupped your clothed cunt. Nothing on your body remaining besides your panties. A gift, perhaps—the best for last. Peter pushed your panties to the side, experimentally swirling the pad of his thumb onto your clit, causing you to wretch out a struggled moan.

"P-Peter—!" He only smiled in response.

"You've always been so sensitive, huh? It seems you haven't changed at all." His thumb pressed harder onto your cunt, rubbing your clit side to side as the palm of his hand pressed firmly down upon your womb. He watched you fall apart with glee, sliding his other hands between your thighs and gently nudging a finger inside of you. You threw your headback into the sheets, grabbing the duvet desperately, your hips trembling as you felt your sanity waste away to the pleasure wracked into your body.

You always fell apart so prettily.

Your hand shakily reached out to Peter, your lips quivering as a second finger curled into your cunt—the heel of his hand hitting the underside of your puffy clit as he kept toying with the bud. It burned, terribly so. Considering how much larger his stature was to yours, how much larger his finger would be to your own, it was a miracle you weren’t ripped in half yet. Although, it sure felt as though you were.

Peter stretched you out relentlessly, scissoring inside of you before curling the pads of his fingers plush against your g-spot. You arched your back desperately, crying out as your hips stuttered in response. And Peter kept prying there. His fingers pounding into your cunt, hitting your g-spot over and over and over until you felt as though you'd die from the overstimulation. As you reached out to Peter, he pulled a length of manila rope from his back pocket—grabbing your wrists before tying your hands together and in front of your chest as through you were praying—and perhaps you were. Praying to Peter to slow down, to be more gentle.

A third finger was nudged deep inside of you, pairing with the speed of his thumb on your clit increasing. His fingers pounded into you feverishly, sounds of your arousal soaking your inner thighs and his forearm—dirtying the sleeve of his pinstriped coat. You couldn't concentrate, no longer resisting against the firm hold his shadows had upon your wrists. No longer holding back your sweet moans.

A burning desire began to pool in your gut.

"Peter, p-please—"

A hand gripped your throat.

"P-Peter, please— I'm gonna cu—m!" He smiled to you. You were always so easy to please.

"Cum then, dear." His fingers sped up their speed inside your cunt, recklessly pounding and curling into you, bruising your g-spot painfully as you sobbed out, clenching your pussy around his cock as you squirt onto him. Peter smiled, leaning down to suck your clit and swirl his tongue around the bud as your mouth opened silently. Your hips struggled away, and yet his shoulders spread your knees firmly, the underside of your thighs thrown over them. Peter continued to bully your pussy past your orgasm, sucking and licking your clit as his fingers continued to curl and pound into you to ride out your high. You were crying endlessly. Begging him to stop, that it was enough. And yet, he didn't pull out his hand until you were merely twitching and whimpering in his bed. Broken.

"Have you lost yourself in the pleasure, Darling?" Peter was manic. Your pleasure felt like a high he couldn't describe. The way your fingers clenched around him, he felt as though it was a sign. A sign that all your struggling was only to encourage him to fight against you, a sign that you were only pretending to be scared.

"You wanted this, didn't you?" Your eyes widened open when you felt the tip of his cock slide between your folds, Peter having removed his clothing now too. You struggled, trying to sit up when his hand once again held your throat warningly, choking you lightly against the mattress—gently enough that you could take slow, shallow breaths.

"Peter, it's not gonna fi—!" Your mouth fell open silently as Peter suddenly shoved the head of his cock inside of you. Your pool of arousal allowing him to slide in with just a minor amount of resistance—minor to his strength at least.

Meanwhile, your eyes blew wide as you whimpered out desperately, struggling against the binds on your wrists as your cunt stretched around him. He was big, painfully so. And you were thankful he decided to slide the remaining of his length in slowly, inch by inch. And yet, even when he was just halfway, you felt as though he was already plush against your cervix.

"Is she resisting, hmm? I guess I can be a little rough, you were always into that, anyways." Before you could understand what Peter meant, he slammed the remaining half of his length deep inside of you as you screamed out, your hands curling tight fists as your nails dug deep crescents into your palms.

Before you knew it, Peter pulled out to the tip, and slammed right back into you. His pace was unwavering. A hand gripped on your neck, the other pressing you into the mattress by a palm against your womb as he split you on his cock. Peter pounded into you, skin against skin as you soaked his cock, splashing your arousal onto his pelvis and lower stomach. He was big, too big. Tears streamed down your face, and Peter only wiped them with his thumb before licking it into his mouth. He wanted to taste your fear.

He wanted to rip you apart.

Your chest heaved as his thumb came down to your clit once more, roughly pressing onto you before swirling it harshly. You arched your back, clawing at the wrist on your throat as you moaned, crying around his cock when the underside of it would press into your g-spot, when the head of it would slam so deep against your cervix you felt he might fuck himself into your womb. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, a hand gripping the torn sheets below you as you cried out when your pussy clentched around him.

"Please, please, can I c-cum—" You sobbed, looking down to where you and Peter where connected, seeing your cunt stretched impossibly wide for your ex-boyfriend's cock.

"Don't you dare."

"Please, Baby."

Fuck.

You drove him fucking crazy.

Peter swore he could’ve cum on the spot from hearing you finally call him baby once more, the name you neglected from him. The only name you should be calling him. Peter laughed.

"You truly know me so well, Darling." Peter's pace increased. His cock pounding into you hard enough to have your tits bouncing and the frame of the bed on the verge of giving out—your cunt clentching onto his fat cock even more.

"You can cum in three seconds." You nodded stupidly, too desparate to think.

Peter pulled back to the tip, slamming back inside.

"Three," His palm pressed into your womb, feeling the buldge of his dick against his hand, his cock dragging against your velvety walls. You swore you were going to die if you couldn't cum soon, Peter's counting teasingly slow as he fucked into you like a fleshlight. Like a pet.

"Two." Your pussy fluttered against him, Peter's fingers swirling your clit viciously.

"One," You whined, sliding your hands to his upper back as you raked down his skin.

"Please, please, please, let me cum." You were going crazy.

"Cum." You threw your head back, near screaming his name like a mantra as you clencthed around him, squirting for the second time that night as his cock continued to pound deep inside of you. Peter let go of your throat, his hands sliding beneath the underside of your thighs to push your knees into your chest—fucking you meanly in a harsh mating press as he refused to slow down. You felt like your soul was going to fall out your body, your pussy spasming as Peter continued to pound into you without any concern to your fresh orgasm and painful overstimulation that burned your walls.

"B-baby, Peter—please, I can'—"

And for the first time since three years ago, and for the first time together—Peter kissed you.

His kiss was soft, gentle, loving. His hips never stilled, continuing to rip orgasm after orgasm out of your poor little pussy. Although, his mouth was soft against yours, eyes closed and hand holding your neck lightly as the tips of his fingers graced your bruised skin. Bruised with the marks of his love, his obsession.

He held your face as kindly, as though you may be gone if he didn't keep you in his arms forever. Peter's tongue slid into your mouth slowly, and you moaned around him—letting him in. Your body missed him so much.

Maybe you still love him, even after it all.

Peter's pace became staggered, his hips slowing until he kept his cock deep inside and came directly into your womb. His load gushed out from the sides of your hole that stretched around him, stuffing you full. Peter allowed your thighs to rest by his hips, laying you back against the mattress as he continued to kiss you. His hands massaged your body, comforting the bites, hickeys, and bruises.

"I love you, Darling."

Peter spoke softly, pulling away from you. Admiring your fucked out state.

"So don't you leave me ever again."

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© Studio Peached 2024

[archiveofvirtue]

FRUSTRATION ⸻ sam winchester

content / sam winchester x fem!reader, pure smut, 18+, mdni, dom!sam, sub!reader, rough, unprotected sex, p in v, forced penetration, praise, choking, explicit language, little bit of comfort, 1.7k words

summary / after a failed hunt Sam needs a way to release his pend up frustration and the burning guilt. And Sam knows that only you can make him feel better.

THE DOOR TO THE BUNKER SLAMMED SHUT behind you, the sound echoing through the big space. Sam stood just inside the entrance, his body taut with frustration. He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white.

The mission had been a mess—a disaster, really. The three of you had taken down the evil spirit, but the victory felt shallow, empty. He could still hear the screams of the people you hadn't been able to save, still see the terror in their eyes before it was too late.

You followed right behind Sam, watching the tension practically radiate off him in waves. You could tell from the tightness in his jaw, the way his hands clenched into fists, that he was hanging on by a thread. You waddled after him, ultimately finding yourself in your shared room, knowing he was battling the weight of it all. Sam's sense of responsibility was relentless-he never let anything go, never forgave himself when things didn't go according to plan.

"Sam..." you said softly, voice tender and soothing despite the tension hanging in the air, as you reached for his arm. "You did everything you could. I know it hurts, but-"

His body jerked at your touch, not in rejection, but from the storm building inside him. He paused, his eyes flickering to yours, as if trying to listen, trying to let your words sink in. And for a moment, there was a flicker of something softer in his gaze, but it was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared.

"I can't, y/n," he rasped, his voice thick with frustration and pent-up emotion. "I can't just-" He broke off, shaking his head as if the words were too much to force out.

But before you could say anything more, he moved. In one swift motion, Sam pushed you back against the wall, his larger frame towering over you. His hands gripped your waist firmly, not in anger, but with a desperate need for something-anything-to quiet the chaos in his mind.

You gasped at the sudden movement, your back hitting the wall with a soft thud, but you didn't push him away. You knew this side of Sam, the side that didn't know how to deal with the pain, the side that sought release in the only way he knew how. He had tried to push everything down—his anger, his guilt, but with you, he didn't have to. With you, he could let go.

"Sam.." you whispered, voice breathy but still full of concern. Your hands came up to cup his face, fingers brushing along his jawline as you searched his eyes. "I'm here."

He didn't answer. Instead, his lips crashed against yours, hard and desperate. The kiss was fueled by all the tension, and all the frustration he carried. It wasn't soft or gentle-it was raw, a reflection of everything he was feeling but couldn't say.

His hands roamed your body with a fevered intensity, needing to feel you, needing to lose himself in the only thing that made sense right now.

You responded in kind, your fingers tangling in his hair as you kissed him back with the same fiery need. You could feel the urgency in the way he touched you, in the way he pressed his body against yours, as if trying to escape the weight of the world. You understood; you always did. Sometimes words weren't enough-sometimes this was the only way to bring him back from the edge.

Sam's mouth moved to your neck, kissing and biting in a way that made your core tighten. His hands slid under your shirt, his touch rough but not careless, and you arched into him, needing to feel him. You could feel his heart pounding, could sense how close he was to breaking.

"Let go," you whispered against his ear, breath hot against his skin.

And he did. Sam's movements became even more urgent, more insistent, as if the world outside had fallen away, leaving just the two of you in this moment. His body pressed against yours, seeking solace in your warmth, your presence. He kissed you like he needed it to breathe, like it was the only thing holding him together.

Your hips instinctively grinded against his crotch as the kiss deepens, the heat in your core starting to build. You could feel him getting hard, quickly. It was when you two pulled apart that the urge became even stronger, his gaze deepening before he pulled you up, his big hands clinging to your ass.

He was manhandling you, tossing you on the bed like you were nothing. You let out a pathetic whimper, your arousal already painting the insides of your thighs as Sam pulled off his shirt, almost yanking himself on you like a predator onto it's prey.

He was instantly back to attacking your neck, his grip onto you firm as his hips were desperately trying to get any friction. "Take 'em off." He groaned, the need to feel you rushing through him.

You hurriedly pulled every inch of fabric off your body while Sam freed himself from the uncomfortable tightness of his jeans, exposing his rock hard cock.

Seeing him like this wasn't new to you, but tonight was different. Something in the way he stared you down, his body all tense and ready to lunge at you at any moment.

So he did. Sam couldn't bare to wait any longer. He needed to bury himself inside you. Now.

Grabbing your waist with one hand as he hovered over you, the other one wrapped around your throat before you could even let out another noise, your hands immediately wrapping around his big biceps.

You could see him reaching down, anticipating his fingers to find your wet cunt but instead he lined the head of his leaking cock up with your heat, running his tip through your slick folds.

Your wide eyes darted up to his, but he wasn't looking at you, too focused on the things going on down there. It was only when you mumbled his name that he raised his head.

"Sam.."

"Shh, stay still. I know you can take it, baby." He cooed, pushing your hips down into the mattress, while you could just nod your head.

The way he worded it definitely did something to you. Of course you could take it, you always did. But knowing how on edge he was certainly worried you a bit.

Sam groaned as he pushed himself forcefully past your entrance without any prep, his whole length filling up your cunt in an instant, making you cry out and immediately clench around him at the sudden force.

"Tight fucking pussy, god-" he grunted, working himself inside you. But he didn't give you a moment to adjust, he knew he was big and stretching you out, but he didn't care.

He was setting a rough pace right from the beginning, feeling your cunt trying to take all of him in. You grabbed at his sides, trying to calm down and distract yourself from the harsh stretch of your walls.

He connected your lips, his tongue slipping past, choking out your desperate whimpers, while your cunt was leaking around his thick cock.

"S-Sammy-" you breathed out, he ignored it, but loosened his grip slightly around your throat before moving his hips faster, pounding into you ruthlessly while his tip brushed against your cervix with each thrust.

"Yes baby, that's it." you couldn't help but moan louder at the pleasant sensation, easing into it as his massive cock was hitting you in the right spot over and over again.

Your right hand trailed down the toned muscles of his body and settled against his chest, digging your nails into the skin. The feeling of him filling you up completely became almost too intense, the sounds coming from the both of you nearly fiendish.

"Yes, right there." You gasped, eyes tightly shut as you pressed your head into the sheets, Sam growling at the sound of your whiny voice.

For a while, nothing else mattered but the two of you, the way you moved together, the way you breathed together, the way you needed each other.

Suddenly he pulled himself almost fully out of you, just for him to ram back into you all at once, sending you almost into oblivion, his cock slipping in and out of you so messily.

"F-fuck, gonna fill this pretty cunt up." He moaned, his lustful hazel eyes burn through yours, sending a new wave of pleasure through your core.

Sam’s thrusts began to falter, grunts and praises leaving his lips as he emptied himself into your cunt, his seed spilling deep inside of you, making you moan out while still slamming himself into you.

Right after he had emptied himself inside you the familiar tightness in your lower stomach was getting ready to snap, making you hold onto Sam even harder. You swore you could see stars as your orgasm rushed through your whole body, creaming all over his cock and leaving your legs shaking.

After a few more slow thrusts Sam gently let go of his grip on you, carefully pulling out and purring as he saw his load spilling out of your full cunt, pausing momentarily, just to admire his work while your figure just rested on the mattress, panting heavily.

"You okay, baby? You did so so well." He asked, still in the process of catching his own breath.

All you could do was nod, your mind still fuzzy, trying to comprehend what just happened, too fucked out to even manage to form just one full sentence.

Sam slowly fell down beside you, taking your exhausted body into his grasp, kissing and caressing you over and over again.

You knew he felt a little bad but you quickly reassured him that everything was fine and that he had definitely just worked in gods favor.

You stroked his messy hair gently, your fingers soft against his scalp, and for the first time since the mission had gone sideways, Sam felt a little lighter.

"I love you." He whispered against your skin, pressing a light kiss to your forehead as you closed your eyes for a second, drawing small patterns on his chest.

The way Sam eased into your touch definitely made you feel relieved. All the pend up frustration and anger had vanished, leaving behind a much more composed Sam.

"I've got you," you murmured, your lips brushing against his skin you spoke. "You don't have to carry it all alone."

Sam nodded, his arms still wrapped around you tightly, as if afraid to let go. In your arms, in that moment, he found a small measure of peace. For now, it was enough.

I suck at writing smut, but I promised yall so here you go 😭😭

feedback and requests are greatly appreciated !!

tags: @gibson-g1rl @beausling @nuemanfilms @nxptvn @lailawinchesterr @angelicjackles @alluvthegurlz

[redvexillum]

@alastorthirsty thank you for making the request! This ain't silly and over-the-top at all. I mean...did'ya look at some of my other requests *cough* I love this ask because I can go full on drama-mode and not sure if you know this about me, but my favourite animal is a drama-llama. Haha! Anyway, I realllllly indulged in this one, so bless you for giving me the opportunity 💖👉👈

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, possessive!alastor, p in v, established relationship, love making, gentle s♡x, c♡nnilingus, cuddling, soft!alastor, demisexual!alastor, light b♡ndage with shadow tentacles, smuff (smut + fluff)

Alastor’s fingers dug into your wrist like talons, yanking you through the narrow hotel hallway, up the creaking stairs, and into a suffocating, shadow-cloaked corridor. The acrid stench of fire and ash clung to your skin, a reminder of the chaos that had unfolded – the devastation of Vee’s tower, the flames still dancing in your memory.  

Everything felt so surreal, the shock still pulsing through your veins, leaving you breathless, your mind scrambling to catch up with the frantic pace he set.  

Your legs struggled to keep up, each hurried step barely matching his long, relentless strides. He hadn’t looked at you. Not once. There was no concern in his eyes, no reassurance in his touch – just cold purpose.  

His grip was iron, biting into your flesh with a fierceness that made you wince. You could feel the sharp edge of his claws digging into your skin, a silent punishment for your recklessness.  

“A-Alastor...it hurts,” you whimpered, your voice fragile, cracking under the weight of pain and fear. Your words seemed to snap something in him – his shoulders stiffened, his jaw clenched, and without a word, he loosened his grip just enough for you to breathe. But his pace, his determination, never wavered. He was a storm, sweeping you up in his fury, and you were powerless to stop him.  

The moment you crossed the threshold into his room, the door slammed shut with a finality that echoed through the dark space. Your heart pounded, the rhythm erratic and wild, each beat thundering in your ears. The familiar atmosphere of his room – rich with his scent, a dark blend of metal and the bayou – washed over you, yet it offered no comfort.  

Instead, it only magnified the tension crackling between you, the unspoken anger simmering beneath his silence.  

Your mind flashed back to Vox, the twisted grin on his face as he flaunted his control over you. The Overlord had known exactly who you were and, more importantly, who you belonged to.  

For nearly a year, you had been nothing more than a pawn in his cruel game, locked away in his opulent prison, displayed like a trophy to mock Alastor. You had heard his taunts in the darkness, seen his cold, mirthless eyes as he laughed – Vox had relished every moment of your captivity.  

You had been so foolish, thinking you could appeal to him, thinking you could change anything. Guilt ate away at you, bitter and unrelenting, as memories of your naivety surged back. You had thought that maybe you could free Angel Dust from Valentino’s grasp by being Vox’s friend, by playing along with his twisted games.  

How utterly wrong you had been. Your idealism had shattered, and now all you were left with was the shame of your failures.  

And yet, even as guilt weighed heavy on your chest, there was relief – a deep, painful relief. Alastor had come for you, breaking through Vox’s fortress to drag you out of Vox’s grasp.  

But at what cost? 

A burning flush crept up your cheeks, the sting of shame and self-loathing settling deep in your chest. The adrenaline that had fuelled you, kept you moving, now drained away, leaving only raw, vulnerable emotions in its wake. You had wanted to help, to do something right. But instead, you had been nothing but a burden, another problem for Alastor to fix. Your heart ached with the weight of your failure, the knowledge that, once again, you had only caused trouble.  

“I just wanted to help,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath in the thick silence. But the words felt hollow, empty. Because all you had done was create another mess, another disaster – one that nearly cost you, and him, everything.   

Before an apology could form on your lips, Alastor’s hand was suddenly cradling your face, fingers warm against your tear-streaked cheeks. Through your blurry vision, you saw that ever-present grin, his piercing red eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart thump faster, harder, against your chest. Your lips trembled, unsure of what was coming next. Would he yell at you? Scold you for your recklessness? Or worse, would he finally grow tired of you – of all your mistakes? 

You waited, bracing yourself for the inevitable sting of rejection or anger, but it never came. Instead, Alastor leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, featherlight kiss. It felt so delicate, almost accidental, as if the brief touch wasn’t meant to happen. But then, before you could process it, he moved closer, crowding your body against the door, trapping you between the cool wood and the heat radiating from him.  

The next kiss was different – urgent, ferocious, and brimming with unspoken need. His hands, trembling ever so slightly, traced the contours of your face before sliding down your neck, lingering as though savouring every inch of your skin. Then, in a swift, possessive motion, his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him, every inch of his body pressing into yours.  

Kisses came, over and over again, each one deeper, more demanding, as if he were trying to reclaim every moment you had been apart, every second lost to Vox’s cruel game. When your lips parted, gasping for air, he didn’t hesitate – his tongue slipped past the seam of your lips, exploring, tasting, claiming every part of you with fevered desperation. He devoured you, marking you in a way that felt primal, raw, each movement of his mouth more insistent than the last.  

You felt him – all of him – pressed hard against your navel, the heat between you growing with every passing second. His lips left yours, trailing a path of fire down your jawline, grazing the sensitive skin of your neck with gasping, hungry breaths. But just as quickly as the tension built, something in him shifted. His muscles tensed, his body stiffening against yours, and then he stopped.  

Your hands, still clutching the lapels of his jacket, trembled as you tried to catch your breath. You looked down at him, confused, his face buried in the crook of your neck, unmoving, like a statue. His chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, and you could feel the barely contained tremor running through him. His ears twitched, laying flat against his head before perking up once more, as if caught between conflicting instincts.  

Suddenly, he pulled back, the air around him crackling with static, a low buzz of white noise filling the space. His eyes flashed – flickering between red radio dials and his usual, sharp, black slits. That ever-present grin twisted, tightening into something more akin to a scowl, a dangerous edge creeping into it. Unexpectedly, he grabbed you, dragging you toward the bayou side of his room.  

“Al-Alastor?” you called out, your voice small and hesitant. He let you go abruptly, and with a sharp snap of his fingers, an ornate porcelain bathtub appeared in front of you, its gold clawed feet gleaming under the dim light. Hot, steaming water cascaded from the silver shower head, the water draining to who-knows-where.  

Before you could react, dark tendrils – his tendrils – wrapped around you, lifting you off the ground and unceremoniously dumping you into the bath, clothes and all. The warmth of the water soaked through your clothes, sending a rush of heat through your body. You gasped, coughing as water splashed into your mouth.  

“Alastor!” you sputtered, blinking up at him, confused, your face drenched as you wiped the water from your eyes.  

He stood over you, straight-backed, shoulders rigid, his hands neatly clasped behind him as if he were merely surveying a piece of art. His crimson eyes glinted down at you with cool detachment, that maddening grin still plastered on his face. 

“You don’t smell like me,” he said simply, his tone matter-of-face, but with an underlying possessiveness that sent a shiver down your spine.  

You blinked, still dazed, unsure of what he meant, your heart pounding in your chest. “W-what?” 

His grin widened then, dark amusement dancing in his eyes as he leaned in, his shadow casting over you. “Don’t worry, darling, I’ll make sure you do.” 

With a sharp snap of his fingers, a bar of soap materialized in Alastor’s hand – the kind with a woodsy, metallic scent, popular in Cannibal Town. You had never been fond of its pungent odour, but you knew Alastor adored it, and at this moment, that was all that mattered.  

His focus was singular, almost obsessive, as he leaned forward, the water streaming down his face, drenching his usually pristine hair. His movements were slow but deliberate, his hands shaking ever so slightly as he undressed you, peeling the wet fabric from your skin.  

You caught the slight twitch in his left eye, the tremor in his fingers – he was lost deep in his thoughts, buried somewhere you couldn’t reach. His silence was suffocating, filled with the weight of everything he wasn't saying. As your clothes fell away, baring your vulnerable form before him, your shoulders curled in, and your hands moved to shield your chest.  

But Alastor wasn’t having it. His long fingers captured your wrists, pulling your hand away, gently but firmly. Then, with deliberate care, he began to massage the soap into your skin, the rough texture gliding across your wet body.  

“Where did he touch you, darling?” His voice was deceptively light, playful even, but the malice underneath was unmistakable. His question dripped with venom, barely concealed beneath the surface. “You didn’t let him...” His hand, still holding the soap, drifted up your arm as the hot water poured over both of you, saturating your senses. Alastor, now fully in the tub with you, crouched low, his eyes boring into yours, searching for any hint of truth, any flicker of something unsaid.  

Your wet hair clung to your face and neck as you shook your head, droplets falling in rivulets down your cheeks. “He didn’t touch me like that, Alastor,” you whispered, your voice soft yet steady. For the first time since he rescued you, you found the courage to reach out. Your fingers trembled as they brushed a few strands of his soaked hair back from his face, your touch tender, hesitant.  

Alastor inched backward until his back hit the edge of the tub, his legs unfolding slightly as he stretched out beneath you. You straddled his hips, your thighs brushing against the rough fabric of his wet clothes, the friction sending a shiver through your core. Your chest pressed against his soaked shirt as you leaned forward, resting your forehead against his.  

“I promise,” you murmured, your lips ghosting over his as if your words could seep into his very soul. His eyes fluttered shut at the intimacy, his grip tightening on your hips, pulling you closer, closer until there was no space between your bodies.  

“I hate the scent of that noisy picture box,” Alastor muttered against your lips, stealing another kiss, his voice low and rough with barely contained frustration. “Sharp, unpleasant,” he continued, his hips grinding into you, the friction sending jolts of heat through your body. The pressure of him, firm and insistent against your core, drew a soft stifled moan from your lips. “Masking everything,” he growled, the words vibrating against your mouth.  

Your hands moved of their own accord, fingers tracing down the lapels of his jacket, your lips trailing soft, lingering kisses along his jaw, down the curve of his neck. One button, then another, came undone beneath your touch, revealing the sharp jut of his collarbone, his skin slick with water. He groaned low in his throat, his hands finding their way between your bodies, undoing the button and zipper of his pants with swift, practised ease.  

The moment his hot shaft pressed against your slick folds, a gasp escaped your lips, the sensation sending sparks of pleasure through you. His hips moved slowly, tortuously so, grinding up and down, creating an unbearable heat that built with each stroke. “Did you miss this, darling?” Alastor murmured, his voice like velvet, thick with desire, as his hips continued their slow rhythm against you.  

Your head fell forward, a wave of pleasure crashing over you, and you bit down on your lower lip, trying to stifle the moans that threatened to spill from your throat. But Alastor wouldn’t allow it. His clawed fingers slipped beneath your chin, tilting your face until your eyes met his. “Don’t hide,” he whispered, his voice laced with command and something darker, more animalistic. “Not when I finally found you.” 

The sound of the shower created a steady backdrop, like heavy rain pouring down, but all that mattered, all you could feel, was him. His body pressed against yours, his hands gripping your hips, his gaze locking you in place as if daring you to look away. And at that moment, there was nothing else – no past, no fear, just the two of you, lost in each other.  

Slowly, you dragged your sensitive clit along the edge of his cock, teasing him with every slight movement. His low, throaty sigh filled the space between you as you positioned yourself above him, your core hovering just over his tip. His eyes, usually so sharp and focused, softened with raw desire, a hunger that mirrored your own.  

With purposeful slowness, you sank down onto him, feeling the pleasant stretch as he filled you, inch by inch, the heat between your bodies sparking into something untamable.  

Alastor hissed through clenched teeth as your tight warmth enveloped him, his grip on your hips tightening, claws digging into your skin as though afraid you’d slip away. The moment you let out a soft, breathless moan, he responded. His hips bucked upward, thrusting deeper into you, your walls clinging to him, making every movement feel electric.  

The slick sound of wet skim meeting wet fabric filled your ears, mingling with the steady beat of the water raining down from the shower. It was as if the outside world had disappeared, leaving only the two of you and the pleasure that built between your bodies.  

“A-Al,” you gasped, your voice trembling as your fingers clawed at his shoulders, gripping the wet, rough fabric of his soaked suit jacket. His eyes were wild, pupils blown wide as he watched you, every reaction you made, every shiver of pleasure fuelling his own.  

Without warning, Alastor’s shadowy tendrils wrapped around you, lifting you effortlessly off his lap, suspending your body in midair. The tentacles curled around your calves, your thighs, spreading you open for him, baring your slick, pulsing core to his ravenous gaze.  

You wobbled, barely able to keep your balance as you were held aloft, your hands clutching his shoulders for stability. But before you could stabilize, Alastor surged forward, thrusting himself into you with a brutal intensity, his hips pounding against yours.  

His pants had slipped down to circle his ankles, but that didn’t slow him. His sharp teeth gritted in pleasure as he watched the way your bodies connected, his cock disappearing inside you over and over again, each thrust sending waves of ecstasy crashing through you. 

His pace was erratic, frantic, as if he couldn't get enough of you, and your moans only spurred him on. Your breasts bounced with each thrust, your face flushed with heat, and just as you were about to come undone, he pulled out, leaving you empty and aching.  

A needy whimper escaped your lips, the absence of him unbearable, but before you could protest, Alastor was on his knees before you, his eyes flickered up meeting your own.  

The tendrils adjusted your height, keeping your legs spread wide as he dove forward, his mouth latching onto your dripping pussy. The water from the shower ran in rivulets down your body, tracing the curves of your breasts and rolling over your heated skin, but all you could focus on was the feel of his tongue.  

He plunged it inside you, swirling and licking, tasting you with desperate fervour. His hands gripped your backside, kneading the soft flesh as he feasted on you, his moans vibrating against your sensitive folds.  

A sharp cry tore from your throat as he sucked and nibbled at your clit, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. You could feel your pussy clenching, grasping at nothing as his tongue worked you over, your head spinning with the intensity of it all.  

Your body tilted backward, but more tendrils sprouted to hold you in place, keeping you suspended as Alastor continued his ministrations, devouring you as though he couldn’t get enough. He was a man stranded in the desert, finally taking the first gulp of water.  

The tension inside you built, higher and higher, your muscles clenching tighter with every flick of his tongue. His moans were muffled against your flesh, but they only heightened your arousal, the vibrations making you gasp. Your climax hovered just unreachable, so close, and as his tongue flicked over your clit in rapid succession, your entire body tensed.  

“Al-Al-Al!” you cried, your voice breaking as the crest of your orgasm finally surged through you. Your muscles clenched, your back arched, and waves of pleasure crashed over you, drowning you in the sensation. Alastor didn’t let up, his tongue relentless as he rode out your climax, dragging every last ounce of pleasure from your trembling body until you were left breathless and spent, your heart thundering in your chest.  

But before you could fully come down from the high, Alastor stood, his cock hard and dripping. He slammed his hips into yours, his cock burying itself deep inside you, filling you in one swift motion. His balls slapped against your soaked skin from the sheer force of his thrust, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. Each time his thick, blunt tip pushed against your sensitive spots, all you could do was cry out, your voice lost behind the steady beat of the shower.  

“Darling...darling,” he moaned, his voice ragged, full of need. His claws dug into your hips, pulling you closer as he relentlessly drove into you, his hips snapping forward with wild, desperate force. His movement became erratic, his breaths coming in short gasps, and you felt the trembling in his muscles as he pushed himself deeper, chasing the same release that had just consumed you.  

When his body finally gave in, he groaned softly, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine. His cock pulsed as he spilled hot, thick cum inside you. He slowed, his thrusts becoming shallow, tender, as if savouring the moment, each gentle motion prolonging the feeling of you milking every last drop from him.  

With a final deep thrust, he buried himself inside you completely, pressing against your trembling walls until you were pressed right into his hilt. The tendrils of shadow that had suspended you vanished, and your body felt heavy and spent.  

Alastor pulled you into him, his arms wrapping around you tightly, his claws gently pricking the soft flesh of your back. His chest heaved with each breath, his face pressing into your hair as he held you close, his heart thundering against yours. You could hear it, or perhaps it was your own heartbeat, pounding in your ears as he held you, locking in each other’s embrace, under the rain of the shower.  

The heat of the water cascaded down your bodies, but all you could feel was his warmth, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he held you as if he would never let go. His silence spoke volumes, the words he couldn’t say hanging in the air between you. He didn’t need to say them – his touch, the way he clung to you, said it all.  

He had missed you, more than words could express. There hadn’t been a moment where you weren’t on his mind, and now that he had your back, he seemed frozen in time, desperate to savour this moment for eternity.  

You rested your head against his chest, the sound of the water blending with the rhythmic thumping of your hearts. Neither of you moved, content to simply exist in the quiet, shared warmth of one another, as the rest of Hell faded away.  

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[ghetsis]

Another quake disturbed Alola's tranquil shores as Plasma brought forth its latest interdimensional target. Unfortunately for them, the ease of Iron Storm's capture was not reflected in their current encounter. This one was savage, enraged and unaccustomed to humans. Three grunts lay dead, another two horrifically maimed. The beast bellowed fire at the walls and windows of the observation chamber in a wild attempt to escape its unfamiliar surroundings. Even a Master Ball would be of little use if the creature wouldn't hold still a moment.

Ghetsis had an idea.

"Open the ventilation shaft," He ordered.

"Wha- Why?"

"Do as I say," he barked again.

The metal plating slid back allowing the bright, Alolan sun to flow in from the surface. The beast took notice and immediately stuck it's neck through, clawing at the ceiling as it tried to force itself through the narrow opening.

Ghetsis called over the intercom to the one grunt lucky enough to remain standing. "Now! Catch it quickly!"

With a shaky hand, the underling tossed a Master Ball square at the furious pokemon's back.

Wiggle... Wiggle... Click. Raging Blaze was captured!

The surrounding grunts and scientists panted with relief that the ordeal was over, dabbing the sweat off their brows. Ghetsis simply smiled. The ancient beast's ferocious power was terrifying, indeed, but that is what he felt suited him most. Even more so if if this paradox proved easier to fuse with Kyurem than the last.

[sp00kymulderr]

Unbound

Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings/Tags/Notes: 18+ for explicit content. qz!Joel, age gap, m recieving oral, teeny bit of throat fucking, unprotected p in v, a little degredation, mixed with a little praise. Tiny bit of ass play. A good hint of breeding kink. Feelings because this is me. Unedited and unbeta'd.

Words: 2k~

Summary: You make the chaos go blank in his mind, where all the thoughts spend hours swirling and billowing up like a storm. They're calmer when he has you to play with.

It's nights like these he needs you most.

When his mind hums and thrums with the feelings he refuses to put name to. When his fingers shake in strange protest of his forgetting, as he pours the last of that eagerly-found bottle of scotch. Stoic by nature these days, but nature has hardly anything to do with it on evenings such as this one - when the memories his mind might make him replay are a betrayal of the highest form. Twenty years and he hasn't let go despite the lies he tells himself.

You're perfect for him. Pretty and precious and all the things that shouldn't exist in this world - a juxtaposition, he thinks, against the starkness of the landscape just beyond the walls. You were sweet when he found you, sweeter now he has you all to himself.

You'd been sucking cock for favours, dirtying your knees in filthy alleyways for ration cards and painkillers. Lovely creature in a stained skirt, spitting out a strangers seed as soon as they walked away. He'd found you like that, huddled in a corner and smoothing yourself down, wiping your face after a particularly enthusiastic session. Recovering from the thing you had never meant to become. It wasn't easy; living behind QZ walls, living under FEDRA law., trying to become your own person while stuck in the same old place never to taste the freedom of the outside world. You had to find ways to live through it, so you did.

Joel was older than most of the guys you knew. It never deterred either of you for a moment. His grey hair and weathered being stirred desires in you the others never had. He'd watched you, rapt, as you stood and brushed the dirt from your clothes. Eyes meeting like they were always going to and Joel knew immediately you were exactly what he had been looking for. He wanted you.

You'd tumbled into him. Fallen into his bed later. And it never stopped from there.

"That's it, that's it. Sweet thing takin' my cock so good" Joel murmurs as you open your mouth for him tonight.

You seem to show up at just the right times. Those moments when he feels the same familiar fears eating at him. When he searches for a bottle, for a pill, for anything that is within reach.

"Fuckin' filthy girl, swallowing me like that" He groans out, a flurry of grumbled words and curses and bit-back moans that make your cunt throb with tumultuous need. No one is like Joel Miller. No one at all.

His cockhead slips into the constricting passage of your throat, your head angled just right for him to push it back there and feel your struggle around him, watch the drool slipping from the corners of your mouth. It's not romantic, nothing pretty. Except for you, to him; always pretty, always perfect. Always his.

As it is, when you let him fill you it make his brain go quiet. And fuck if he doesn't need that every now and then…more often than not he needs it. You make the chaos go blank in his mind, where all the thoughts spend hours swirling and billowing up like a storm. They're calmer when he has you to play with.

His favourite toy.

And oh, you crave it just like he does.

You gag around him and Joel lets out a loud moan. His hips buck instinctively and your nose is burying into the wiry curls above his cock. His hand finds purchase at the back of your head, and he holds you there for just a moment before his eyes meet your watery ones and he lets you pull back.

"Good girl. Such a good little cocksucker"

A string of saliva connects you to his thick and throbbing member as you withdraw. A vulgar iteration of the string that connects you, brought him to you. You're one and the same, two souls seeking sacred sin. You look up at him wide-eyed, a stray tear making its path down your cheek. A kiss to his tip, as you keep eye contact, as you prepare to take him in again but Joel tuts and shakes his head.

"Not spillin' in that pretty mouth tonight" He says, almost emotionless except for the subtle smirk, the twinkle in his eye of what tonight holds. He hauls you up, strong hands easily moulding you to his desires as he pushes you towards the makeshift bed, one that was much more a bed than your single mattress on the floor. It felt almost like a luxury when you got to sleep in his bed. When he let you sleep.

Joel lays on the bed, pulling you down with him. His big hands splayed on your lower back as you come down on top of him. For a moment the two of you kiss. His breath tastes of alcohol. His sighs taste of guilt. He's been a slave to his emotions for as long as you've known him, as stoic and collected as he tries to be Joel is nothing but a man holding on to everything, letting the pain and trauma drag him down into miserable depths. Grief is his only constant, you've begun to realise. And as much as he wants to hide it, there's no control in the way intimacy reveals so much of one lover to the other.

"You look tired" You murmur, pulling back. Your fingers trace the strong line of his nose and then the dark circles under his eyes. It's a single moment of quiet before the insistent press of his cock against you turns to more.

"Been tired for twenty damn years" Joel responds with a huff, swatting your hand away and then giving your ass a slap, only one thought on his mind right now. Perhaps he'd beg, if you denied him. Perhaps he'd beg for you to give him the remedy, the only thing that truly turns his mind to blissful silence.

You think he would, if only you could deny him.

Instead you let his hands on your hips guide you to straddle him. You'll always give in to him. You're searching for the same relief after all. And it's what you find as you sink onto his length slowly, cunt eagerly welcoming him in. He's a stretch, even after all the time you've spent together. He fills you like nothing and no one else ever could. He makes you feel whole, unbroken, even as he splits you open on him.

"Fuck. There it is…she's opening up for me ain't she?" Joel breathes out, gravelly enough that it vibrates through you.

His hand on your hip holds tighter, the other sneaking upwards and finding your breasts, groping them with that large hand, squeezing and pinching while you begin to move your hips and moan his name all sugary sweet, dripping with honey just for him. Most calming sound he's ever known.

His eyes are on you, never straying away from the roll of your hips or the bounce of your tits. He's taken you apart in so many ways but this is forever his favourite; you on top, spearing yourself with him, letting him see you so completely. It helps him lose his thoughts, almost hypnotised by the beautiful, sinful sight of you.

"C'mon darlin', give me everything" He coaxes, teasing fingers pinching a nipple as he demands more of you. You're tumbling down, down, into him again - just like the first time, just like the next time. Your body trembles with the need for it, walls squeezing around him as your own hands take purchase on his chest and you make yourself move, riding him just like he wants.

"Everything" you agree with a whine, struck dumb by the throb of him.

He loves seeing you work hard for it, when you give him all of it and leave nothing out. You're working your way to ecstasy as his thick length throbs within you, positioning just right that it hits exactly where you need it. Your eyes close, mouth forming a little 'o' as you turn off every other thought and concentrate on the pleasure of this, of him. He's made for this.

Joels fingers knead your flesh as you fuck yourself on him, sharp grasp like a weight anchoring you to reality. He’s still there, almost gone, eyes glossy with the build of tension. Watching you like this, watching your give and take, it's a tidal wave of pleasure that drowns everything else. You’re made for this.

The world isn't spinning on its axis anymore. There is nothing - nothing - but the two of you, but the pleasure of you and him and the building tension you both feel as your bodies melt together over and over again. He's not teasing your breasts anymore, finding delight in squeezing your ass cheeks with each meeting thrust, each burial of him into you. Your words come in tongues, each one melding with the other to create a babbling melody of satisfaction that soothes him.

"You're doing so good, sweet thing" He encourages, letting you slow down your momentum after a while, when your legs shake too hard for you to keep your balance. As you fall forward onto him and your chest presses against his he brings one arm around you to hold you there. His lips meet the top of your head, placing a kiss there; gentle even as he raises his knees slightly and lifts his hips to fuck into you now.

"Want it, Joel" you whimper softly. Each push of him into you elicits sounds that are angelic to his ears.

"Beggin' for my cum, beggin' for me to fill you…my perfect, perfect cumdump" Joel mouths against your hair with a smile. It's this, he thinks, that makes him lose himself the most - the way you want him to fill you every time. It wakes the primal thing in him that shouldn't exist anymore, the thought of you round and heavy and his. Thoughts he fights every damn day but fuck they feel like truth when he's in you.

"Make me yours" You say, muffled by your lips latching on to any piece of him you can as his hands spread your cheeks, a finger pressing ever-so at your tight ring of muscle there while his cock drives into your cunt over and over. It's so much, at once, and he's only toying with you there.

"Think you're already mine, aren't you?" He retorts gruffly, the rumble of his voice making shockwaves through your body. He's right, of course he's right. You need the fix of him. He mends you, every time. Brings something new to you, to remind you what it is to exist. And in return you give him the gift of forgetting, of losing all the rotten parts of his soul to something else for a moment in time that he wishes could last forever.

You answer in mumbles and moans, that turn to sinful harmonies as you come undone by him - trembling with the power of it as his tip hits something euphoric in you again and again and you're crashing into pleasure all at once. You squeeze around him, and he curses in your ear, holding you tighter and moving slower, relishing the drag through your convulsing walls.

"Want it, please" you repeat again in that barely-there whine that makes him lose control every time. Sweetness incarnate as you beg him to finish in you.

It flips the switch, and Joel is burying himself deep in you, spilling forth his offering. Your breath heaves against his skin, and his fingers grip you so tight you can't move an inch as he pours himself into you in ropes of white against your insides.

"It's yours" He groans out, a breath of relief as his mind goes fuzzy, limbs limp on the bed as his release wanes and he's spent.

And then, quiet. It's always quiet in the after. Moments of peace you both have been reaching for forever. Found in the arms of each other.

It's quiet except for the hum of words that slip from his lips as he rubs a soothing pattern into your skin. "Thank you".

Soft, and gentle, and him.

Your eyes close, as his do, both unbound from the disquiet for just a little while longer.

[angelfoxx]

I just know Keegan looks so god damn hot in his casual clothing, going to bed in loose grey boxers and an old band shirt that rides up his stomach when he lies down, AND GOOD GOD his happy traillll😫I feel like he’s one of those guys with really bushy happy trails, doesn’t even know how sexy you find it. He’s lying in bed, one of his big arms around your shoulders while reading an old book. Raises an eyebrow when your hand starts wandering up his thigh, fingertips dipping under the waistband of his boxers..

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° ❝ NEED SOMETHING? ❞

…in which keegan entertains your perversions.

FEATURING: keegan p russ.

WARNINGS: keegan being a sexy motherfucker. also me giving him a tatted sleeve because it’s sexy and who the hell is gonna tell me no. also me drooling over his happy trail bc HAPPY TRAILS HAPPY TRAILS LOOOOOOOORD

NOTE/S: oh my god

It’s not your fault, really. Feeling like this. It’s not your fault.

It’s his.

He’s not ignoring you. His arm, slung up on your shoulders, is just a heavy, toned reminder that he’s with you. His attention is just elsewhere.

You aren’t totally sure what book he’s reading. Probably something of Stephen King’s. Last week, it had been Christine. The week prior, It. You hadn’t bothered checking; if it was a low-stress week, he’d tell you all about it once he finished it, true book-critic style. In any case, he’s got the thing casually in his lap, spread open by a splayed hand. He’s got a simple silver band on his middle finger, gnarled and twisted like barbed wire — every now and then, he taps it, just an occasional beat of sound as if to remind you that he’s right there.

You’re ogling his hand, now. He doesn’t seem to notice.

Your eyes travel upward. He’s got a pretty sleeve of black-and-white tattoos; churning ocean waves, storm-battered whitecaps, tossing ships. He’d explained it the first time you’d seen it; something about how he found peace in the chaos of an ocean storm. Just standing in a place where there was no resistance that he could give. Surrendering to the fury of nature. Something like that. It’s…um, attractive. Yeah. You swallow and resist the sudden urge to squeeze your legs together.

The top of that sleeve — thick, billowing clouds — vanishes under the edge of his tee. Charcoal-gray, emblazoned with the title of an old rock band that you’d never really heard of prior to meeting him. He’s still wearing his dog-tag, hanging on a silver chain around his neck and rising on his chest every time he breathes.

Christ, you should stop staring.

His shirt’s ridden up on his stomach, and god, you really shouldn’t look because then you won’t be able to look away. But you do look, because what are you if not a swooning idiot for the sniper sitting beside you?

Every time he breathes, his stomach sinks in and you can see the outline of his abs. God. Fucking Christ. You can see the outline of his abs but not really the middle, because along the middle he’s proudly sporting a long line of short black curls.

You’re basically salivating.

He’s just got some loose gray boxers on, sitting dangerously low on his hips. He’s left the v-line of his hips exposed; your senses are on high alert, eyes catching on every little mole spotting his waist, every little white scar, the edge of the paw-print tattoos he has just below his stomach (it’s where Riley’s front feet go when the dog stands up on his hind legs, tail wagging and tongue lolling), and it’s such a cute little tattoo but your thoughts are anything but and—

“Don’t forget to blink.”

You flinch like you’ve been shot. Your mind goes blank, and your gaze shoots upward.

Tiny smirk caught in the corner of his mouth, Keegan looks down at you with lidded, quietly humored eyes. They seem brilliantly blue, moreso than usual — though maybe that’s just the lighting in here. His hair’s a mess; short and still damp from his earlier shower, undercut scrubbing against your arm as he turns his head, just a little, one eyebrow raised. There’s a little scar through his left one; the hair splits unevenly there. You’ve told him several times that you find it sexy.

He agrees.

“What?” Your mouth feels like it’s filled with a fat wad of cotton. You feel like your thoughts are visible in your eyes.

“Don’t play stupid.” His response is honey-smooth. “I’m not dumb.”

“I didn’t say y…you were.” You swallow. “I’m just sitting here.”

“Mm.” Keegan narrows his eyes. “Mhm.”

And then he goes back to that book.

It’s kind of ridiculous, how hard you stare at his hand holding that book open. It’s almost pathetic, actually. You’re sure he’d say the same if he knew exactly what thoughts were running through your head right now. Pinkie finger on one page, index on the other, middle and ring both resting so lightly along the inseam of the spine.

Christ.

Trying to shake yourself out of your own head, you turn yourself inwards. Keegan needs no words; his arm tightens around you, hand sliding down to your hip and tugging it over so that you’re fully facing his side, head resting against his chest and body slung down along his leg. It’s comfortable like this; it goes without saying that he’s built like a motherfucker and so his pec is a comfortable resting-place for your head. He’s warm, too, deliciously so; his body heat seeps up through his tee, prickling against your skin. He’s comfy, so comfy; on other nights, you’d fallen asleep like this, cuddled up to his side with one of his arms wrapped around you. Those nights were sweet; when time started to slow and all of your senses started to bleed together, you always heard him call your name, so quiet you wouldn’t catch it if you were awake. When you didn’t answer, he’d laugh — and then you’d hear the rustle of sheets as he stooped over and pressed a little kiss to the top of your head.

You weren’t totally sure if he knew that you knew he did that.

Tonight, though, you can’t do that. You can’t fathom it, because your hand is just itching to move. It’s just casually resting against his thigh — god, his fucking thighs, hard and thick and oh, you have to stop ogling him. You have to stop thinking about how that muscle feels, flexing so slightly under your hand as it moves up.

Moves up?

Oh.

Oops.

Keegan doesn’t say anything when your hand cups the warm spot between his legs. He lets out a short breath — it almost sounds like a laugh. There’s a curve taking shape on his lips, and his eyes glint with humor as he shifts, purposefully pushing his pelvis so slightly up into your palm.

The weight of his dick pushes between your fingers and your legs instinctively snap together. Above you, Keegan’s breath cracks into a nearly-silent laugh.

He’s onto you.

You bite your lip, risking a glance up at him as you do. He isn’t looking at you; he’s still reading, hawkish blue eyes scanning from left to right, over and over again. The hand on your hip lightly squeezes a handful of your thigh.

His hips roll so slightly up again. He’s daring you to continue.

Cocky sonofabitch. You swallow as you move your hand up, up, over the slight angular swell of his abdomen and up past the elastic of his boxers. For a moment, you rake your fingers up his abs and you shudder in response to the way his stomach flexes and his breathing oh-so-slightly breaks.

No words. Just the sound of him turning the page.

Bitch. You bite your tongue as you shift your head around. You can hear his heart thumping beneath your ear, and — god fucking dammit — it’s not beating quicker at all. It’s like you can’t disturb him. Get under his skin like he gets under yours.

You pick at the elastic of his waistband. On one hand? You’re rubbing your legs together, biting your tongue, and there’s a million and one dirty images in your head. You can practically hear Keegan’s growl in your ear: too needy to sit still, princess?

But on the other hand, he’s being mean. He’s ignoring you and all of your signs. And you kind of want to just roll over and go to sleep and maybe, just maybe, he’d been hoping for you to go further.

But you won’t. So he’ll get frustrated, and then it’ll be him slowly reaching his hand under the elastic of your waistband, fingers curving over the shape of your body and feeling for wet warmth. He’ll breathe in your ear with that stupid rasp of his and he’ll ask, voice raw, if you were really planning on hanging me out to dry like that? and you’ll say maybe I was.

Or he’ll get frustrated, but he’ll reach into his own pants. He’ll leave you alone, but you’ll wake up to the quiet sound of his muted groans and his hand stroking back and forth under the thin material of his boxers and then maybe he’ll do that thing where he tips his head back, swallows, and his eyes flutter shut and he cursed, quiet and hoarse.

Or maybe—

“Cold feet?” There he is again, short phrases and little questions. He’s not looking at you; he’s looking at his book, tilting his head as he turns the page. He raises an eyebrow to you, tongue clasped between his teeth.

“What?”

No response this time. Keegan’s eyes shift over to you; he cocks his head in your direction, and under that messy black mop of hair and those thick black lashes that you’ve always been envious of, Keegan silently asks if you’re really going to play this fucking dumb.

You’ve arrived at a stalemate. You don’t move. He doesn’t speak. You two just stare at each other, blinking back-and-forth like a tennis volley until Keegan finally sighs and looks away. His eyes return to the book.

You’re about to snap, ready to rip the godforsaken thing out of his lap, when the hand on your hip shifts. His arm lifts off of your back; it pulls around your shoulders instead, crushing you into his armpit.

His fingers clasp around your wrist, and you catch the undeniable edge of a smirk on his face before he takes your hand and pulls it into his pants.

get fucking cliffhanger’d bitches

[amalythea]

「 hold my hand, please, one last time.」

⤷ info: kazuha, albedo, aether, xiao, wanderer x gn!reader || angst, this is based on the prompt “can i hold your hand?” (or “can you hold my hand?”) || wc: 3104

⤷ warnings: death, this is v v angsty

⤷ extra: i wrote this a while ago back on soleillunne and decided that it was too good to be gone forever lmao

kazuha.

The battlefield was strewn with chaos, and amidst the clash of swords and the cries of war, Kazuha fought with all his might, his heart burdened with the weight of the lives at stake. He had hoped that his skills with the blade and mastery of the Anemo vision would be enough to protect those he held dear, but fate had other plans.

As the battle raged on, he caught a glimpse of his lover, a skilled warrior whose presence had always brought him comfort and strength, you. Your eyes met for a fleeting moment, and in that exchange, you understood each other without uttering a word. It was a silent promise that you would find each other amidst the chaos.

But the tide turned against you, and the enemy’s forces seemed endless. Despite your best efforts, the defenders were overwhelmed, and Kazuha found himself standing back-to-back with you, defending against the onslaught.

In the midst of the chaos, an arrow found its mark. Time seemed to slow as the arrow pierced through your chest, and the world around you faded into the background. Kazuha’s heart clenched in horror as he caught you, your strength waning with each passing moment.

“Kazuha,” you gasped, blood staining your lips. “Can I hold your hand?”

Tears welled up in Kazuha’s eyes as he clutched your hand tightly, trying to offer some semblance of comfort amidst the pain. “Yes, of course,” he choked out, his voice trembling with grief.

Your hand trembled in his grasp, and Kazuha could feel your life slipping away like sand through his fingers. He could do nothing but watch helplessly as the light in your eyes began to fade. You smiled weakly at him, a bittersweet expression filled with love and regret.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible above the sounds of battle. “I wish… we had more time.”

“Don’t speak like that,” Kazuha pleaded, his voice breaking. “We’ll get through this. I won’t let you go.”

But you knew better, and as your strength waned, you continued to smile at him, your touch growing weaker by the second.

“I love you,” you murmured, your breath becoming shallow. “Always…”

Tears streamed down Kazuha’s cheeks as he held you close, trying to shield you from the harsh reality of the world around you. He wished he could turn back time, rewrite the events that led to this tragic moment, but life was unforgiving in its cruelty.

Your hand in his grew colder, and your breathing ceased. Your life force, once vibrant and strong, slipped away, leaving behind only a lifeless body in Kazuha’s arms.

Kazuha held your hand tightly, unable to let go, as if keeping that connection alive could somehow bring you back. He cried out in anguish, the weight of grief crashing down upon him like an unforgiving storm.

In that moment, amidst the chaos of the battlefield, Kazuha felt an emptiness he had never known before. He had lost not only a lover but a confidant, a soulmate with whom he had shared dreams, laughter, and countless cherished memories.

And as the battle raged on, Kazuha clung to your lifeless hand, lost in sorrow, with a heart that would forever bear the burden of their memory.

albedo.

Albedo’s heart pounded in his chest as he cradled his you in his arms. He was just about to descend from his lab on Dragonspine to meet up with you as he promised, only to see you laying on your own blood at the bottom of the mountain. He had seen you only hours prior, he’d laughed with you, but now, all that remained was a sea of sorrow, the bitter taste of loss overwhelming his senses.

He looked down at the face that he had cherished so dearly, now drained of all warmth and life. Your eyes, once filled with light and love, now stared back at him with a haunting emptiness. Albedo’s hands trembled, and tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision.

“Can you hold my hand?” a weak voice whispered, barely audible amidst the sounds of grief and despair that surrounded them. Albedo’s heart wrenched at the sound, and he quickly took your freezing hand into his own.

Tears streamed down Albedo’s cheeks as he clutched your hand tightly. “Yes, of course,” he choked out, his voice breaking with pain. “I’ll hold your hand for as long as you need, my love.”

He brought your intertwined hands to his lips and placed a tender kiss on the once-warm skin, now cold and lifeless. Memories of your time together flooded his mind – the laughter you shared, the dreams you nurtured, and the love you built with each passing day. Now, all that was left were shattered hopes and dreams.

“I’m so sorry,” Albedo whispered, his voice filled with regret and guilt. “I couldn’t protect you. I failed.”

You weakly shook your head, mustering a faint smile. “No, don’t blame yourself,” you managed to say. “You… you brought me so much happiness, Albedo. Please, don’t forget that.”

Albedo’s heart ached at the words, realizing that he had to find the strength to carry on without you. But it felt like an impossible task, as if the very essence of his being had been torn apart.

“I don’t know if I can,” he confessed, his voice trembling with sorrow. “You’re my everything.”

You fingers tightened around his hand as if trying to hold on just a little longer. “You’re strong, Albedo. Stronger than you know,” you said, your voice barely audible. “Promise me… you’ll keep going… for both of us.”

Albedo nodded, his tears falling freely now. “I promise,” he whispered, trying to keep his voice steady. “I’ll live for the both of us. But it won’t be the same without you.”

Your breaths became shallower, and Albedo knew that your life was slipping away. He leaned closer, trying to memorize every detail of your face, never wanting to forget.

“I love you,” you whispered, your words fading like a gentle breeze. “Always.”

“I love you too,” Albedo replied, his voice choked with emotion. “Always and forever.”

And with those final words, your grip on his hand slowly weakened until it was gone completely. Albedo held onto your hand a moment longer, pressing it against his heart as if trying to keep your love alive within him.

As grief consumed him, Albedo felt a mix of emotions. Sorrow, anger, and a deep longing to see his lover again, even if it were just for a moment. But he knew he had to continue, to honor your memory and the love you shared.

Albedo gently laid your body down, closing your eyes with tender care. He stood, feeling the weight of loss heavy on his shoulders, but also the weight of your love, and your belief in him, pushing him forward. Though his heart was shattered, he would carry your love with him, always.

And as he walked away from that place of sorrow, he knew that the pain would remain, but so would the memories of a love that would never truly fade away.

aether.

Aether’s heart pounded in his chest as he cradled his dying lover in his arms. The battlefield around them had turned into a chaotic canvas of destruction, but his attention was solely focused on the person he held dear. You were slipping away, and he could feel your life force fading like a waning star.

“Can you hold my hand?” you whispered, your voice barely audible amidst the cacophony of war. Aether’s eyes filled with tears, and he gently clasped your frail hand in his own, interlocking your fingers. His touch was warm, providing a sense of comfort amidst the pain.

“I’m here,” he choked out, his voice trembling. “I won’t let go.”

Your breathing was shallow, and your once-bright eyes were now dim, but you managed a faint smile. It was a bittersweet expression, as if you were trying to convey so much in that fleeting moment. Memories of you flooded Aether’s mind, from the first time you met under the starlit sky to the promises you made to each other.

“You have to promise me,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, “that you’ll keep going. That you’ll find happiness again.”

Aether couldn’t find the strength to respond, his throat constricted with grief. He knew that in a world without his lover, life would lose its luster, its purpose. But he understood that you were trying to ease his pain, even in your last breaths.

“No,” he whispered, tears streaming down his cheeks, “I can’t bear to live without you. Please don’t leave. Not you too.”

You smiled again, a mixture of sadness and love in your eyes. “You are strong, Aether, and you will find the strength to carry on. I will always be with you.”

Aether’s heartache intensified, and he leaned down to press his forehead against yours. He wished he could freeze time, to hold you forever, but he knew it was slipping away like grains of sand through his fingers.

“I love you,” you said, their voice fading into a whisper.

“And I love you,” Aether replied, his voice breaking.

Your grip on his hand loosened, and Aether felt the last pulse of life slip away from you. He held onto your hand a moment longer, not wanting to let go, but eventually, he lowered it gently to your chest.

In that moment, as the world around him continued to rage with chaos, Aether felt an overwhelming emptiness inside. His lover was gone, and the pain of your absence consumed him. But he knew he had to honor your last wish—to find a way to live without you, to keep your love alive in his heart.

With tears in his eyes, Aether kissed your forehead one last time before he stood, facing the uncertain future that lay ahead. Your love would forever be his guiding light, and he would cherish every memory, every moment you had shared.

And as the battles raged on and the world continued to turn, Aether vowed to carry your love with him, a beacon of hope in the darkest of times. Though your physical presence was gone, your love would endure, a reminder that even in the face of loss, the power of love could transcend beyond the boundaries of life and death.

heizou.

Heizou knelt on the cold, damp ground, cradling your cold body in his arms. He had just returned home from work, when the last thing he expected to see was see you laying on your own blood in your shared home. He held you closer, your blood staining his hands, mingling with his own tears. His heart felt as though it had been torn apart, and the pain was almost unbearable.

The world seemed to slow down as Heizou stared into the fading eyes of his beloved. Each second felt like an eternity, and yet, it was slipping away all too quickly. He could see the struggle in your gaze, the effort it took to speak those final words.

“Can I hold your hand?” you whispered, your voice getting lower with each word.

Tears streamed down Heizou’s face, and he gently clasped your trembling hand with his own, intertwining your fingers. He felt your warmth slowly waning, and he held on tighter, as if he could somehow will life back into you with the strength of his grip.

“You don’t have to ask,” Heizou choked out, his voice breaking with sorrow. “I’ll hold your hand forever.”

You managed a faint smile, your strength visibly waning. “I… I love you,” you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I love you too,” Heizou replied, his voice trembling. “You’re my everything, my reason for living.”

As the commotion outside your shared home began to get louder, the people having noticed the blood stains, Heizou’s focus remained solely on you. The world outside ceased to exist for him, and he poured all his love and energy into holding you, trying to be your anchor in this storm of pain and suffering.

In your last moments, you clung to each other tightly, as if afraid to let go. Heizou’s heart ached as he felt your life slipping away from him, the person who meant more to him than anything else in the world. He wished he could have done something, anything, to save you.

But in the end, all he could do was be there, holding your hand, providing them with comfort in their final moments. Heizou would carry the weight of this loss forever, the memories of you etched into his soul.

Even as people left you two alone and the world moved on, Heizou remained on that cold, damp ground, cradling the body of the one he had loved and lost, his heart forever scarred by the pain of that fateful day.

xiao.

Xiao knelt on the damp ground, his heart pounding with anguish as he cradled your shaking form in his arms. The battlefield around you was silent, the chaos of the battle having retreated, leaving behind only the echoes of suffering and loss.

Your once bright eyes, now dulled by death, stared up at him, and Xiao couldn’t bear to look away. Your hands, once intertwined in a promise of eternity, now lay limp and still. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall.

“Can you hold my hand?” your voice was a faint whisper, barely audible amidst the devastation surrounding them.

Xiao’s heart shattered at those words, but he gently took your hand in his own, holding it with all the tenderness and love he had for you. “I will always hold your hand,” he choked out, his voice breaking with grief.

You managed a weak smile, the corners of your lips lifting slightly. “Even in death,” you murmured, your voice barely reaching Xiao’s ears.

“I’ll follow you anywhere, my love,” Xiao vowed, his fingers trembling as he clung tightly to the hand that was growing colder by the second. “Even to the ends of this cruel world.”

Your breathing grew fainter, and your grip on his hand loosened. Xiao felt his heartache intensify, knowing that he couldn’t change the cruel fate that had befallen you.

“Thank you… for loving me,” you whispered, your voice a mere thread of sound.

“Thank you for making my life meaningful,” Xiao replied, his voice choked with emotion. “I’m grateful for every moment we shared.”

Your eyes locked for a final time, and in that fleeting moment, a lifetime of love and memories passed between you. Xiao wished he could freeze time, to hold on to this moment forever, but life had other plans.

As the last breath left your lips, Xiao leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “Rest now,” he whispered, his voice breaking with sorrow. “I’ll carry you in my heart. Until we meet again.”

He remained there, holding your lifeless hand, as tears streamed down his cheeks, mingling with the blood-stained soil beneath you. Xiao knew that a part of him had died that day with his beloved, but he also knew that your love would live on, eternal and undying, no matter the circumstances.

wanderer.

Wanderer knelt on the ground, his heart pounding in his chest as he cradled you in his arms. The world around you seemed to blur, the noise of battle fading into an eerie silence. The battle had been brutal, and he had fought with all his might to protect the one he loved, but fate had dealt them a cruel hand.

Your once vibrant eyes now glistened with pain, and a weak smile graced your lips. Blood stained your clothing, and Wanderer could feel your life slipping away.

“Hey,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I don’t have much time, do I?”

Wanderer choked back a sob, clutching your body tightly. “Don’t talk like that. You’re going to be fine. We’ll get you help.”

A soft chuckle escaped your lips, but it quickly turned into a cough. “You can’t lie to me, my love.” you managed to say, your breath shallow.

Tears finally streamed down Wanderer’s face as he pressed his forehead against yours. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry if I didn’t say it often. I can’t bear to lose you.”

You trembled in his grasp, and gazed into his eyes with a mixture of love and sadness. “Can I hold your hand?” you asked, your voice barely audible.

Wanderer nodded frantically, intertwining his fingers with yours. He held your hand close to his heart, hoping that somehow he could transfer strength to you.

“I’m scared,” you admitted, tears pooling in your eyes. “I don’t want to leave you.”

He brushed a strand of hair away from your face, his touch gentle and full of affection, reserved only for you. “You won’t have to. Just hold on a little longer, and we’ll get you help. We’ll face this together.”

Your grip tightened weakly on his hand. “You’re my light, my love, my everything,” you murmured. “You always have been. Promise me you’ll keep shining, even when I’m gone.”

Wanderer could feel whatever was left of his heart shatter with your words. “I promise,” he choked out. “But you can’t leave me. I can’t do this without you.”

Your breathing grew shallower, and your voice became softer. “You’re strong, my love,” you said. “You’ll find a way. Remember me, but don’t let my memory hold you back. Live your life to the fullest. Find happiness again.”

“I can’t imagine life without you,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “How am I supposed to go on?”

Your only response was a brief smile, and he squeezed your cold hand tightly. “I’ll never let go,” he vowed. “Not even when you’re gone.”

Your breathing slowed, and your eyes locked with his one last time. “I love you,” you whispered, your voice fading away.

“I love you too,” he whispered back, his voice cracking.

And then, with your hand still clasped in his, you were gone.

Wanderer held your lifeless form closer, his tears falling like rain. He knew that life would never be the same again, that a piece of his heart had been taken with you. But he also knew that he had to keep the promise he made. With a heavy heart, he stood, carrying your memory with him as he faced the world without you, knowing that he would always carry your love and light with him.

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@amalythea 2024. | do not re-upload, copy, translate, etc. my works on any form of media.