#you can’t even get close to landing a hit on him as he trails behind you with masterful precision

[crystalflygeo]

Mark of an Archon ft. Venti / Zhongli / Ei / Focalors / Nahida / Neuvillette + gn!reader

cw/tags: Mostly suggestive but nsfw in some parts (mostly Zhongli, Neuvillette) marking, kissing.

notes: Alright so... this is different from anything I've written before but I got inspired by the concept of the elemental symbols used as marks by the Archons to denote those important to them. Just short fluffy little dabbles I guess, first time writing everyone except the dragon men heh. I tried REALLY HARD to keep this gender neutral and be inclusive in descriptions but regardless, reader bottoms lmao. Hope y'all like it. (Y'all will NEVER guess where did I get the inspiration for all the marks' placements hehe) Edit: Y'all I have never played obey me WHEEZE the marks placement actually comes from a very old magical girl anime I loved as a kid XDDDD (except geo, it was on the belly button but-//hit)

It is said that the Archons place a mark on the body of their loved ones. A symbol of protection, perhaps of “ownership”, imbued with their elemental energy. Legends has it that they remain mostly invisible to the naked eye, glowing brightly only when the Archon in question touches it, but leaving behind a distinctive trace able to be identified with elemental sight.

However, none of this has been proven at all, and remains mostly as a fantastic tale, just a rumor…

Or is it?

-Barbatos

Venti’s mark rests between your shoulder blades, the small Anemo sigil emulating tiny wings in the most appropriate of places. It makes him fond of calling you his “angel”, though, you know it cannot compare to his own real wings... it makes your heart flutter nonetheless.

It remains mostly covered, and yet without fail, Venti’s hand would always gently rest on it before his hand slides over to your shoulder or waist. At this point the touch soothes you and you’ve come to expect it every time you enter Angel’s share and bright Aqua eyes land on you.

In the dark of night, those precious moments of closeness and passion among the bedsheets, Venti’s nimble fingers, calloused by the Lyre and the bow alike, trail along your spine and stop at the mark, before he leans in and places a kiss on it.

For the God of Freedom to brand someone like this… it would seem as a contradiction, but you know it to be his blessing, his vow to you and your love. As his lips go up to your shoulder and his hands slide down to your waist, sneaking between your legs, he closes his eyes and hums a soft tune.

-Morax

The Geo mark is found on a rather unusual place, and to tell the truth, it even embarrassed you a little at first. The golden diamond placed just below your navel, partially hidden by the line of your underwear. When asked about it, Zhongli simply murmured something about dragon mating, fertility or virility… his cheeks dusted red.

You admit though, that once you get used to it, you do find yourself idly tracing it from time to time. Sometimes it seems to glow softly, or feel warm, perhaps responding to the Archon when he thumbs gently at it, contrasting and comparing with his own blackened arms, etched with veins of gold. Amber eyes staring up at you with love and desire as he places a kiss on it making you shiver.

Zhongli constantly wants to mark you more, in all sorts of ways. Drape you in silks and cover you in gemstones and gold. Leave bite marks along your skin. Douse you in his scent. It appeases his draconic instincts. But nothing compares to that little geo sigil, a personal indisputable claim, tattooed on your skin.

In a way, the mark could be taken as the God of Contracts’ signature and an unbreakable oath to you, his mate. It makes the dragon purr as he rolls his hips into yours, sinking deep inside you and making you whine as his palm presses against it.

-Beelzebul

Right at the center of your collarbone, like a pendant held by an invisible necklace, that is where the Electro mark was placed by Ei. Sometimes it’s a real shame it can’t be seen normally by humans, it would make for a pretty nice tattoo…

It’s not like the Electro sigil is rare to see anyway, quite the contrary, a rather popular choice and common sight all over Inazuma with deep cultural and religious meanings alike honoring Her Excellency. But one look from a youkai or one of the mikos at Narukami shrine and you know this is different.

Ei could act aloof and have a hard time expressing or understanding feelings, but the way she looks at you as she straddles you… dark violet hair cascading down her back and sides, hands roaming your chest and settling at your shoulders. She pins you there under her intense purple gaze and then bends forward to kiss at the sigil before moving to your lips.

The Goddess of Eternity considers her choices deeply and rarely ever goes back on her word or breaks a promise, and that is what she bestows upon you with her mark, a promise. Of love, of respect, of loyalty. Who would’ve thought the Electro Archon could be so… passionate?

-Focalors

You couldn’t believe just where Lady Furina had placed a pretty, blue, Hydro symbol on your skin. When asked about it she’d just giggled and said everything had a reason when it came to divine marks such as these… then proceeded to not explain at all. But seriously, your inner thigh?!

You could only sigh but smile softly at her antics as she laid across the couch, head rested in your lap, taking a nap by using your thighs as pillow, or demanding to be fed more sweets and sputtering indignantly when you poke at her nose or cheek instead, blushing.

She often drives you insane, paying special attention to the hydro marking with kisses and nibbles when you need her lips to go just a little more to the side… but oh, how she enjoyed teasing and riling you up. Mismatched blue eyes blinking coyly under thick eyelashes.

This is Lady Furina’s pledge to you, her word of honor as the Goddess of Justice, to love and cherish you no matter what. For despite her innocent act, she is guilty of having fallen for you.

-Bonus: Buer (Platonic)

Many people underestimate and doubt Nahida. A grave sin, in your opinion. When she places her mark of Dendro softly in your forehead, you feel nothing but pride, willing to follow and defend her and her teachings, for it is an honor to be her acolyte.

You see her wisdom in her actions, in the contemplating looks at her beloved city and people, in the way she always tries to solve problems and learn from difficulties, in her kindness, gentleness and little smiles. You see her love in the way she helps the elderly and soothes the children, in the candied ajilenakh nuts she shares with everyone, in the sparkle of her unique green eyes.

Like any other Archon, her nation and all its inhabitants are like her children. Despite her preferred appearance, the way she holds your hand as she guides you along and brushes at your hair gently with comforting words and praise feel more akin to a mother.  

Just as you trust her, she trusts you, that is the covenant her sigil represents. And in the eyes of the Goddess of Wisdom, one day you’ll reach the sky and stars above.

-Bonus II: Hydro Dragon Sovereign

You stare at the sigil in the palm of your hand. An ancient symbol of power, no doubt, but with a meaning long since lost to time and shrouded in mystery. Yet, its significance is crystal clear to you: “I am yours as you are mine.”

The way the Iudex would always, without fail, hold your hand gently and kiss your palm instead of the back of it as it was traditional would no doubt confuse some people, but it makes your heart skip a beat. This special connection, the knowing look from those gorgeous lavender eyes and the hidden smile pressed against your skin…

Your back arches with a moan as Neuvillette ruts softly into you, slow and reverent, peppering kisses and nuzzling at your neck. His hand takes a hold of yours, fingers intertwining and you shiver as the marking in your palm seems to react. Your grip his hand tighter, canting your hips as well and surrounding him with your legs, asking for more, more, more-

It’s unknown if one day his kind will return to power, just as it’s impossible to predict the flow of the elements and the energy in leylines or just what the future will bring. But for Neuvillette, having you by his side feels like the most refreshing spring water and makes life that much sweeter.

[reschatzi]

it has been months and your gunplay knifeplay posts has been on my mind and making me hard everyday sir SPARE ME I'LL DIE IF YOU WRITE SOMETHING KINKIER THAN THAT or don't teehee

warnings. sparring. dom male reader. cock crushing/stepping. slight dubcon. pain + humiliation/degradation kink. blowjob thru clothes. dirty talk. hinted older reader. improper s&m. public sex.

it’s an average session on the soaked dirt of the forest, a duel between teammates that share a negative history with each other. victory isn’t far off from your hands, successfully landing a few harsh blows on your opponent. grunts built on frustrations meeting every strike.

“gfgh—shit!” he chokes on a curse as his feet backtrack him to a tree due to an unexpected kick. your glove-hidden hand wrap around his neck, patting him down in a mock inspection to ensure there weren’t any knives ready to plunge into you.

a half-groan is elicited as your finger bumps his thigh. oh, not quite; it was his groin. “don’t...” surprise doesn’t even wash over you at him being turned on. better yet, your knee forcefully collides with his clothed dick and he nearly doubles over.

damn, this was definitely unlocking something you weren’t aware of. his hands curled around the rough sensation of the tree behind him, prickling his uniformed skin. “what the fuck’s wrong with—ughm!” your thigh hits his groin, each contact sending imaginary stars to circle his head.

you shove him to his knees, causing him to grab you in quick reaction. “what’s wrong with me? look at yourself,” fingers closing around the top of his helmet to tilt his head up to you, the outsole of your boot stepping on his poor dick, “fucking pathetic.”

the soil is wet, and it forms a disgusting patch over the crotch of his pants of grime and rain. “shut it.” it would’ve been intimidating if it weren’t for the way he leaned forward, mouthing at your cock.

“oh, yeah? if you go ‘round still actin’ like a bitch even if i got you humping me, might ‘swell take a photo of you.” he groans at that, and you press more of your weight onto his bulge. boot twisting and thrusting ever so slightly, unsuspecting of how well he withstands the pain.

his thighs quiver, moaning into you whilst his tongue swipes over your hidden tip. he’s creating such a mess, over you and himself. “shit, baby, what a fuckin’ sight.” a high-pitched whimper escapes him when you slam the outsole on his dick. “nngh—so you are useful.” his demeanor is arrogant compared to his current compromising state.

“to what, your masochistic tendencies?” you scoff, certain that you were on the brink of crushing it. he shows no proper sign of confirmation to your thoughts, instead enthusiasm. “maybe... you’re feeding into that pretty well,” he grunts, chasing after your dirtied shoe that threatens to leave him. “too well, actually, enough to make me want to ride you ‘til i can’t take it anymore.”

you almost offer him a laugh but one suck of his cuts your voice off into a quiet moan. “didn’t take you for a bottom bitch. not even for a shameless one.” he begins to hump your shoe, actions desperate as he flicks his tongue over and over that you wished you were in a more private area. “could never imagine that you’d be a pervert, getting turned on from something as violent as that—”

finding where his shaft should be, you kick a few times against it. “—in a place like this. anyone can walk here and see you, watch you as you cum on me like a cheap-faced whore.”

he whines into your tip, material thinning because of the amount of saliva trailing from his mouth. “you like it.” it’s a statement that isn’t quite distant from the truth. he fell into an act, learnt doe eyes staring up at you feigning such innocence you want to corrupt.

“thought you were mature ‘nough not to indulge in a pretty thing like me,” you know there’s a playful smirk on his lips, idiotic words easy to him. you kick apart his legs wider before returning your boot back on his cock, “don’t blame me now, sweetheart.”

sweethearts. keegan russ. fushiguro toji. spider-man noir.

masterlist

[transformers-spike]

I'm in great need of a desperate to please, absolutely lovesick Starscream who will do anything to pleasure the reader. Whatever they want? He's raring to give it.

Goddammit writing his POV always kicks my ass, but here have me attempting to decipher him for the umpteenth time

How dare you forgive him?

After all he’s done; the abductions, the threats, the torture – you still looked upon his visage and refused to give in to ire. “I know you’re a dick, but why do you want to be hated?” you asked him once, dangling your legs from the mezzanine, ignoring the two-wheeler’s fiery gaze boring a hole through his back. “Is your processor malfunctioning?” he asked in return, crossing his arms and ignoring the watchful optics of the Autobots surrounding him. “After all I’ve done, hatred is the best I can hope for.” “Nah, I think it’s deeper than that. I think you’re a sad little man who can’t even fathom genuine empathy.” He would have grabbed your pathetic human frame and threatened to crush you if not for the yellow mech hovering around him looking after his own human pet. Your disregard for your own safety led you to trail behind him on a cycle by cycle basis. “It’s not like we have anything better to do,” you said, jogging to keep up with his wide strides. “Besides, I think you can use the company. I can’t imagine being on your own for so long has done your mental health any favors.” He suddenly stopped in his tracks, causing you to smash into his pede and fall down, clutching at your nose. “Motherfuck-” you hissed. “What makes you think I want your company?” He turned around and watched you wipe the blood from your face, trying not to cringe at the sight. “You are nothing but a useless fleshling.” “There we go again with the avoidant behavior,” you said, grinning like you were in on a private joke. “I guess you really had it bad around the Decepticons, huh.” “Preposterous!” He leaned down to thrust an indignant digit in your chest. “I was the Second in Command, my position was coveted by all. How dare you speak so lightly on matters beyond your comprehension!” “Yeah sure,” you drawled, patting his digit dismissively. “I doubt it was that coveted once Megatron made his big fat return.” Beyond his better judgement he snatched you up and brought you to optic level. You reeled in his grip, gaze flickering between the hard ground and his sneer. Initial fear and panic were replaced with… concern. “Ah. Sorry. I didn’t mean to hit this close to home.” It was his turn to reel back. “I don’t need your apology!” he snarled. “Maybe, but the offer still stands.” You looked up at him, concern softening the corners of your eyes. “Hey, I never hated you. Not even when I should have.” You chuckled. “Maybe you’re right and I really am insane for feeling this way compared to-” you gestured at the military base from across the dilapidated landing strip. “I just… I know how it feels like to be beaten down by everyone, both figuratively and literally.” A second chuckle escaped you, darker than the last. “Hey! Everything okay out there?” Starscream nearly dropped you when the green mech shouted from the entrance, glaring daggers at him. “It’s fine!” you called out, waving at the Autobot reassuringly. He scrutinized Starscream for a while longer. “If he gives you any trouble don’t hesitate to say it!” “Eh, I’ll be fine! He’s all bark no bite!” He let out a bellowing laugh and left, but not without sparing Starscream one final scathing glance. He contemplated you in his servo, watching you uselessly wipe away the blood with your sleeve.

“Are you contemplating asking if I’m okay?” you asked with an infuriating smile. “Absolutely not. Where did you even get such a revolting idea?”

You pointed behind him. “Your wings.”

He looked back and, sure enough, his wings were hanging low. How could the parts he was proudest off betray him so easily?

“You know,” you gingerly added, resting your chin in your hand, “I’ve always loved how expressive they are, especially their sleek design. It’s a shame there are so few seekers around. You’re all so elegant.”

He blinked at you. “I… why of course seekers have the most elegant frames!” He put a proud servo to his chest. “As annoying as you are, at least you can see true beauty when it’s in front of you!” You flashed him a warm smile. It’s been an… odd transition, to say the least. How you seem to have stuck by his side for the better part of six quartexes, ever the loyal turbofox. Things have gotten… heated between the two of you, although not by his initiation, of course. Praises come easy to you, and as much as he would like to reject your prattling… it feels nice to be finally recognized. He has given into your sweet nothings because he has no better options left (nevermind having last interfaced millennia ago), allowing you to worship his spike with an adoration he hasn’t experienced since… frag, he can’t remember. Perhaps the power dynamic is different, having someone so small caress his interface array – someone who cannot hurt him in any way. Safety. Is this what he craves? To let you stroke the sensitive plating of his wings and feel completely at ease? You’re no seeker, you can’t possibly understand their importance even if he explains it. Yet… there is respect in your gestures, carefully caressing them in his alt-mode, before and after the flights you indulge in. It’s a strange appreciation, your kind lacks the EM field to bond without physical touch, but this type of affection is… acceptable. You’re exceedingly easy to overwhelm; throwing your head back when he presses his glossa between your legs, terribly sensitive to the slightest contact, singing sweetly as he pleasures you. You’re small and delicate in his servos, giving off a dainty charm, perhaps similar to that of a seeker if not for your fleshy mesh. Not that it’s of any importance anymore. Going as far as to properly interface with you has been… nerve wracking. Can you come close to understanding what it means to him? To be in such a vulnerable position? Maybe so from the manner in which you submit to him, accepting being completely at his mercy. Mass displacement is, surprisingly enough, useful outside of war; allowing him to embrace you as your hands trail up and down his wings. He never could have imagined humans were so… warm and welcoming. You take him so well for something so small, swallowing up the entirety of his spike in spite of your limits, gazing up at him with a dazed look in your eyes and giving him a thumbs up in tone deaf reassurance. Oh you never learn. When he attempts to kiss you, you allow him to explore at his leisure, snaking your arms around his neck to pull him closer. Your legs tighten around his waist when you’re reaching overload, eagerly grinding against his spike until he’s forced to pin you down and put you in your place. “Don’t rush it,” he purrs, trailing the back of a digit down your cheek. “Consider this my first proper “apology”, so be a dear and accept it.”

[lesservillain]

alpha!eddie munson x omega!reader

cw: SMUT, established relationship, primal play, free use, breeding, some fluff at the end

Branches snapped beneath your feet with each step, your body moving on its own as you bob and weave between the branches of the woods. Just through the clearing you could see that you were running parallel with Lover’s Lake, the shining light of the moon reflecting on the water and illuminating the path before you. It was both a help and a hindrance; you could see where you were going, preventing you from getting too lost in the depths of the woods. 

But it also meant that he could find you quicker. 

A rip pulls you out of your thoughts as the hem of your dress splits up the side, exposing your leg up to the hip. You curse under your breath, pissed that one of your favorite dresses was ruined. But the sound of rustling not far off reminded you what you were doing. What you were even out here for.

Your feet move again, chest huffing as you move as fast as you can to get away from the predator hot on your trail. But it didn’t matter how far away you got, because you could smell him closing in on you. 

A fresh flush of wetness between your legs has you gasping out, slowing down to work through the intense shock waves that are radiating from your core. The natural need in your body is fighting against the fear of the chase. Of the unknown.

Because even if you knew what he wanted, you didn’t know how he was going to go about it. This was a game changer for the both of you. Finishing school, years of hard work at a respectable job, saving money and getting your own place, being strict on his medications, and always being so, so caring and sweet; this was the least you could do for him.

As you continue to run into the thicket, you’re suddenly sent tumbling down into the dirt when your foot catched on a raised tree root. The wind is knocked from your lungs as you land on the rough ground. Face down in the dirt, you feel another gush between your thighs, a wave of heat flowing through your body from the building fever. Everything is too much, and you can feel yourself starting to panic. There’s no way he’s not going to get you now-

“Don’t move.”

Your breathing stills, body tensing at the low growl of his command. His voice was almost unrecognizable, octaves lower than his normal range in this state he’s in. His scent is so strong, infiltrating your nostrils and reducing you to a mindless mess. An alpha’s way of getting their omega to submit.

Seemingly moving on its own, your body shifts so that your legs are under you, your ass lifting to the air and swaying back and forth while your face remains in the dirt. A low growl from your right startles you, but you don’t move from the position you’re in. The sound of shifting tells you that he’s close to you moving around your body as you lay still, presenting yourself for him.

The fabric of your dress is moved off of you, flung over your back and forgotten as the cold breeze of the night air hits your soaked cunt. You hear the thump of him dropping to his knees behind you, his hands gripping at your ass and spreading you apart for him to see. Even if he’s seen you many times before, you still can’t help the feeling of unease that comes with being fully exposed, especially in a public place where anyone could find the two of you.

Suddenly, you feel his face directly on your core, his nose pressed close as he inhales your pheromones coming from your slick. The sound he makes could be mistaken as painful, and another wave of his scent hits you at full force, causing you to gush for him again. He wastes no more time to indulge in you, his tongue flattening to lick a broad strip from your clit to your hole, breaching your entrance to lap up as much of you as possible. 

The sudden penetration startles you, making your hips buck into his face to chase the friction. He pushes into you further, moaning at the taste of you on his tongue as if he was a man starved. The vibrations hit you right on your swollen clit where it's pressed into his chin. The sounds coming from the two of you were obscene, wet squelching and wanton moans echoing into the woods around you.

Just as you could feel yourself hurtling towards the edge, Eddie’s pulling away from you completely. You cry out, finally lifting your head to look at him for answers.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. Gonna--Fuck. Gonna give you what you need.”

When you get a good look at him, you can’t help but stare, forgetting your qualms for a moment as you take him in. 

You’re sure it’s just the sexual haze you’re in, but he looks bigger; his stature, his build, his cock as he undoes his pants and pulls it from the confines of his boxers, pumping it a few times against your ass and slapping it against your skin.

He’s also absolutely filthy, probably from his own trek through the woods on his hunt for you. The scratches on his face and arms are visible even in the low light that the moon is providing, instinctually you want to take care of him, lick his wounds clean and make him feel better. 

But that’s not what he needs right now.

The feeling of his smooth head running through your folds has you clenching on nothing. The feeling of him with no barrier between you, just skin on skin is much more intense than you imagined. The mix of excitement and anticipation has you panting like the bitch in heat that you are, tongue hanging from your mouth as he lines up with your hole.

“Are you ready for this, sweet girl?” His free hand runs down your back, body leaning down into you with his full body weight. “Last chance to back out--”

“Eddie, please,” you whine, pushing back into him, “I want you. Want you you to fuck me please. Please.”

He mutters out a low Fuck against your shoulder before he’s plunging his cock into you you, all the way to the base in one swift movement. It’s so much, so intense all at once that you instantly cum around him with a cry. 

Feeling you squeeze him so tight only spurs him on more, teeth sinking into your neck as he begins to set a brutal pace on your cunt. His arms wrap around you in a tight embrace to keep you in place as he uses your pussy for his own pleasure.

Your fingers collect dirt as you grip into the ground for any kind of purchase as you let him use you however he needs. Small moans and whines escape from your lips with each smack of his hips. He’s moving in and out of you so quickly he’s barely pulling out before pushing back in, the tip of his cock abusing that spot deep inside you over and over at the angle he has you in. It doesn’t take long for you to cum again, hand flying to grip at his curls as you scream into the forest floor. 

You’re not sure what did him in, but the sudden burn from the stretch of his knot takes your breath away. You cry out, not used to the feeling of being knotted since Eddie had always pulled out before. Even with the swell keeping him inside, Eddie continues to thrust into you with reckless abandon. And even as his hips stutter, filling your insides with thick, hot cum in a seemingly never ending stream, he pushes through it and picks up his pace once more. 

And he doesn’t stop. Hips roll into you desperately as he continues to fuck into you even with his limited range. He’s let go of your neck to mumble into your ear like a drunk fool. 

“Fucking love this pussy. Feels so fuckin’ good. Gripping my cock, taking it like a good girl. Gonna fill you up with my babies. Yeah, you want that don’t you? Want me to breed you like the bitch you are, right?”

“Yes, yes, Eddie, fuck! Want your babies!”

“Yeah? My pretty girl wants me to knock her up? What will evenryone think when the prettiest girl in Hawkins is pregnant with the freaks baby? Gonna tell everybody you let me fuck you in the woods?”

 You cum over and over, body completely limp as all of the energy is drained from your body. Every time you feel his knot start to go down, he gets himself worked up again until the muscle is back to pushing your limits. Even with the knot, you’re pretty sure he’s cum so much that it’s starting to leak out of you. You’d heard that sex between an alpha and omega when both were cycling could last a while due to the alpha’s instincts to breed, but you didn’t realize it would be this intense. 

You hadn’t even noticed that you had passed out until you felt yourself being laid down in the back of Eddie’s van on the makeshift bed. His rough hand caresses your cheek and you lean into his touch. 

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he cooes, leaning in to kiss your temple, “you feeling okay? Want your water bottle?”

“Yes please,” you nod, voice small in your weakened state. Eddie rounds to the front of the van and back with a pep in his step and water bottle in hand. 

“How do you still have energy?” You ask with disbelief, sitting up to take a sip. 

“I don’t know,” he laughs, “I feel like I could run a marathon right now!” You grimace at the thought of doing anything other than sleeping, making Eddie laugh more.

Eddie gets you cleaned up and dressed into the comfy clothes you packed. He does the same for himself before he crawls into the back of the van beside you. The two of you lay with the back door open under the light of the moon until you fall asleep in his arms. 

thank you for reading.

[thesassypadawan]

Sweet Treat (Clay x FemReader)

Summary: It’s all you’ve wanted, all you craved. That one certain sweet treat, that goes so well with…

Warnings: 18+ (mdni), because there’s sooo much of the smut. Oral (male receiving), wonderful use of ice cream, manipulative/possessive Clay, and… his thick, long dick.

Notes: A continuation of Too Sweet! 🧡🖤

- “So, this is what you’re craving?” Clay taunts, lips curled up in a smirk. The object of your current obsession held tightly in his hand. “This is what my little wifey wants?”

- You gaze up at him. Cheeks flushed, eyes wide and shining. Desperate, hungry look on your face. While you wait obediently on your knees, rubbing your ample bump in anticipation. “Yes, baby’s been kicking me the whole day for it.”

- Raising an eyebrow, he lays back against the lavish pillows. Shaking his head, chuckling softly. “Has he? Naughty boy.”

- Ever so slightly, he tilts the melting cone. “Beating up his poor mama.” A few fat, creamy drops plopping onto his bare chest. “Just because of a bit of ice cream.”

- Whimpering, you shift in his lap. Watching them slowly trickle southwards. Fighting the urge to lap, lick them off. Even as they come to settle at the base of his hard cock. “Please…can I have some?”

- Further he tips it, more begin to freckle his skin. Until finally the entire scoop falls and lands squarely…

- “Of course,” he mutters. Spreading, smearing the sugary confection all over his torso…his length. “Better get every last drop though. Can’t have any going to waste.”

- “Thank you, hubby.” Timidly, you lean forward. Stomach pressing into his, small hiss escaping you from the sudden cool touch. Mouth hovering barely an inch above his left pec. “I promise.”

- Running your tongue across his skin, you squeak happily. Savoring the sweetness, his salty sweat. Lips brushing his nipple; sucking gently, cleaning it thoroughly. Before giving the same attention to the other. Eliciting a soft growl from him.

- Slowly you slide down, dipping between the cracks of his abs. Following the lines of his body, along the path of his happy trail. Taking your time, enjoying each delicious inch…the way your flesh sticks to his.

- Hard muscles quiver beneath you. A low groan escapes Clay when he glides through your soaked folds. When you taste your way upwards; tracing the veins, circling the tip. Before wrapping your lips around, the flavor of yourself and him mixed perfectly with the dessert. “Good girl…”

- Big hand comes to rest on the nape of your neck. Fingers tangle in your hair, gripping it firmly. “Such a good, good girl…” Tugging on it just harsh enough that your head jerks back, eyes lock. “Loving her treat…”

- Pressing, he forces you to descend. Watching as he disappears into the warmth of your mouth, your throat…while you gag and sputter. Saliva dribbling out of the corners of your mouth, making a mess of your chin and neck. “Gobbling it all up…” Until your nose was finally flush with his abdomen, buried into the gooey remnants you left behind.

- Now fully lodged, you will yourself to relax. Tears pricking at your waterlines, your breaths coming out in small puffs. His nails digging gently into your scalp. “ Always asking…”

- His hold tightens and you brace your hands against the woven rug. He starts to guide you, moving your head up and down. Bucking his hips; setting a quick, merciless pace. “Begging for more…”

- He was close. You can tell by the way he twitches, throbs. The guttural sounds that fall from his mouth, whenever he hits the back of your throat. How his hips stutter; drives grow irregular, erratic. “Like the greedy thing she is…”

- Pushing, thrusting hard one last time. Streams of hot cum shot into your mouth, coating your tongue. Overwhelming your senses completely. And you can’t help but moan, squeal uncontrollably. As you swallow down his entire load…at the feeling of being so full of him.

- Gingerly, he pulls you off. Cupping your cheek, rubbing his thumb across your swollen bottom lip. Wiping away a stray glob, offering it to you. “There. Did that satisfy your craving?”

- Panting softly, you nod. Cleaning off his digit, humming in appreciation. “Yes, baby and I are happy.”

- “That’s what I like to hear, that you enjoyed your ‘sweet treat’,” he coos. Hand finding its way to your stomach, caressing it lovingly. Massaging your taunt, sticky skin. “Now why don’t you lay on your back…and let daddy have his?”

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @wifeofasith, @princessswifie, @kenobiskywalker16, @loverforoldermen, @anakinstwinklebunny, @decaffeinatedunicorn, @beresfordsgirl, @kenmaiica, @sythethecarrot, @xx-ttamaraa, @everydaydreamer, @rafeswifeyy2, @laoif, @xhunnybeeex

[anxi-aashi]

SJCKEBCEJGNF I LOVE YOUR WRITING BABES! Honestly your pirate series and giving childe a bj was hot omg- Can I request like Husband! Childe x Wife! Reader? Like childe wants a another kid or smth even thought they have so many XD and just you know breeding reader or smth- Ajfjehfjrjff anyways you're amazing!!!!! love you :>>>> <33333

a/n: TYSM this took me absolutely way too long to finish BUT im officially on spring break now so hopefully I'll be able to write some more again!

cw: breeding (with intent), praise, fem!reader, fingering, kids (derogatory), not proofread, lmk if I forgot anything!

At last, your crotch goblins were asleep.

It felt like years had passed just trying to get them to settle down after dinner, much less convince them to get into bed; your youngest spent about fifteen minutes arguing with his dad in the bathroom before finally brushing his teeth.

And yet, as you and your husband wandered past the doorways of all five of your kids, watching them sleep without a care in the world, you felt a sort of contentness fill your chest knowing you’d probably have to do it all over again the next night.

While watching your third shift in her sleep, drooling, Childe joined you, resting his head atop yours and rubbing a palm on your arm soothingly. “Phew! That took forever,” he remarked in a whisper.

You snickered along with him and turned to meet his eyes. “You’re pooped, too? Thought you were all about the thrill of danger.”

He snorted softly. “Right, nothing more dangerous than five gremlins who napped a little too long after lunch.” His gaze slipped to your third behind you, now passed out flat on her stomach, and pressed a kiss to the side of your head. “Let’s follow their lead tonight, hm?”

With that, he led you to the room you both shared. The two of you went about your nightly routines in comfortable silence, you brushing your teeth while Childe picked out something for the two of you to watch together before bed. Or at least, you thought he was.

Childe was not doing that. Instead, he watched you, his wife. Wife. It still hit him every now and then that you were his, no matter how long you two had been married. What did you see in him that made you say yes when he proposed? When he first asked you out? He’d probably never know.

He knew what he saw in you, though. And somewhere in that long list of qualities (that he had written on his phone), was your pussy.

The same pussy that birthed his five kids. The same one that got so wet every time he whispered something filthy in your ear. That hugged his dick so perfectly.

Fuck, he was hard. And you were none the wiser, simply rinsing the toothpaste from your mouth like normal. 

Childe’s eyes trailed down to your ass as you bent over the sink. Down your legs, up to your stomach covered with the fabric from your fitted tank top. He pictured it— remembered it— stretched out and swollen, round with his kid growing inside. You had looked so good pregnant. Every time. 

And suddenly, he really wanted to see you pregnant again. 

Hands snaked around your waist as you washed your face, drawing your attention to the mirror in front of you. “Hm, what’s up?” you asked his reflection.

Childe remained silent, opting to take his time feeling you up instead. His hands idly roamed around your stomach, grazing the sides of your breasts, leaving tingles of goosebumps in their wake, until finally landing on your hips and pulling you flush against him.

A squeak of surprise escaped you, a question close behind, but the motives behind his behavior became clear when you noticed his hard-on nestled snugly between your ass cheeks. “Ajax! You can’t wait five minutes for me to finish here?”

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” he mused, ignoring your protest.

You bent over to rinse the soap from your face. “‘A while?’ Did you already forget how you practically jumped me the other day after the kids went to school?”

“I mean since we had one.”

You paused at his clarification, standing up straight to meet his eyes through the mirror. 

He had that look in his eye— one you had seen many times before. Five times, to be exact. Childe smoothed his hands over your hips, the pressure combined with the dull throbbing of his cock against your ass making you dizzy. “You always look so beautiful carrying my baby. Let me give you another one?” 

You forced yourself to think around the growing arousal simmering in your blood. “You want another baby or you just want to get me knocked up again? Pretty important difference, there.”

His grin was devious as one of his hands migrated to slide into your panties. “I think six is a much better number than five, don’t you think?” A finger grazed your slick folds. Childe’s grin only grew wider. “Kinda feels like you agree with me.”

You tilted your head to lean against his shoulder, relishing in the sensations of his fingers teasing your sex. “Please,” you breathed.

That was all he needed to hear. Ever the gentleman, your husband transported you swiftly to the bed, wasting no time pulling your sleep shorts and underwear down your legs while you rid yourself of your top. Your hands tangled themselves in his hair to pull his face to yours, lips meeting in a messy kiss. 

Childe ground his hips into yours, sending waves of heat pulsing through your limbs and encouraging more slick to seep from your cunt. He moaned into your mouth, the kiss becoming sloppy as impatience and need had you panting rather than meeting his lips. You were hot, so hot, desperate for any sort of attention that would soothe the steady ache building in your core, that when he finally dipped a finger into your drooling cunt, a loud moan ripped from your throat.

A hand slapped over your mouth, muffling any further sounds you made. Childe panted down at you, panic and lust etched into his face. “Shh, baby,” he whispered, “Don’t want to wake the little ones up, do we?”

You shook your head, pleading to him with your eyes to keep fingering you.

“Good girl.” His finger slowly pulled out of you, only to sink back in up to the knuckle; again, again— another finger joined— again, again, until the steady pace he set had your pussy singing his praises in lewd squelches. 

Grateful as you were for the stimulation, it wasn’t enough. You brought up a hand on top of his that covered your mouth, lifting it up just enough to gasp, “Please, please, want you inside me, wan’ you to fill me up.”

The dark chuckle Childe let out was almost patronizing. “Aw, my fingers aren’t enough for you? So impatient tonight,” he cooed, curling his fingers up to tease your g-spot before pulling them out. 

“Don't worry, I’ll fill you up soon.”

And soon came faster than you expected. This time, you’re thankful that Childe’s hand was still so close to your mouth, otherwise the whine that you let out would’ve had you answering some very concerned questions from your kids. His cock sunk into you with ease and without warning, and you were suddenly reminded of how whole you felt when he gave you the piece you were missing. A shudder rippled through your body as he rolled his hips into yours, rutting with a need that you could tell was out of his control. 

But just as it was starting to feel good, he paused, moving his hands to grip the back of your thighs to fold you into a mating press before you could complain at the loss of movement.

With your cunt bared open to him in the new position, the tip of his cock kissed your cervix with ease, grazing by the gummy spot hidden within your walls with every pass. Childe hissed in a breath when he felt you squeeze around him, hips stuttering into a steady pace that gave you no room to breathe. 

The room was getting hot. Or maybe that was you? Childe always did have the nasty habit of fucking you out of your head, and now that he had a purpose in mind, you had a feeling you were going to be walking a little funny the next day.

Every slam of his cock sent your knees knocking into the mattress beside your head. Every slap of his balls against your ass as he filled you to the hilt with every thrust had your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Every filthy thing your husband uttered without shame triggered another wave of slick to coat his cock, making it all the more easy for him to fuck you however he wanted. 

“Can’t wait to get you pregnant again,” he panted. “I hope it's a girl— your tits always look so— hah— so much bigger with a girl.” The bed was creaking. “We’re gonna get it right on the first try, ‘kay? Not wasting time with a negative test. ‘M just gonna have to fill you enough tonight so that it takes. And you—” A hand of his left your thigh to swipe vigorously over your swollen clit. Your back arched, mouth dropping open with a whine. “--- You, are gonna cum as many times as you want. Got it, sweetheart?”

“A-jax,” you whimpered. “I— gonna—”

“Ohh, already?” he crooned. “Go ahead, cum on my cock. Want you to feel good while I knock you up.”

Your first orgasm of the night ripped through you, the coil in your stomach snapping. This time it was you who covered your mouth the block the gutteral moan that threatened to make itself heard. The walls of your pussy clamped down on Childe, a small squeak accompanying the juices that spurted around his dick as he worked you through your high. 

“Fuuuck, yes, just like that. So good, mmmh.” A bright flush glowed from under his pale skin, covering his face and sweat-soaked chest. His thumb stopped its assault on your clit to catch a dribble of your cum that slid down your ass. 

You were almost a little disappointed when he didn’t offer it to you for a taste, but the sight of him licking it clean was more than enough to make it up. And enough of a distraction from the steadily building overstimulation of Childe’s cock still, albeit slowly, rocking into you. 

A tear slid down your cheek, prompting Childe to lean over you to lick it up as well. He propped himself up by your head, his tongue dragged lightly across your cheekbone, then followed up with a multitude of kisses around your face. He finally reached your lips, rewarding you with a languid kiss, rimmed with the tang you recognized from your cum. 

Against your lips, Childe continued to mumble praises in between sloppy kisses, each sentence egging him on to chase his release. “You taste so good.” His warm breath graced your mouth as he spoke. He was too close, too warm, you were too warm, the heat radiating off the both of you so palpable you swear you could touch it. And it was his fault. “I wish you could see yourself right now. So fucking beautiful. Mother of my kids.” A hand of his drifted down to palm your tummy, pressing down until you could both feel his dick rearranging your guts beneath your skin. “Feel me here? That’s where I’m gonna cum. Gonna fill you up so much it’ll be dripping out of you and I’ll just have to fuck it back in.”

You yelped as he buried his head into the crook of your neck to better focus on drilling his cock into your g-spot. “Ajax!”

“Fuck, yes, say my name. Say my name. Who’s pussy is this?”

“Yours, Ajax, it’s yours! ‘S your pussy— please cum, please, please,” you sobbed. 

“‘M almost there, almost— ” he cut himself off with a groan. His thrusts turned sloppy, steady pounding shifting to erratic jackhammering before his hips stuttered, and he pushed himself to the hilt again before spilling his load into you. 

You sighed in bliss, basking in the warmth settled in your belly. As Childe caught his breath, he picked his head up to look at you quizzically. 

“You didn’t cum again.”

You shook your head with a raspy laugh. “It's ok.”

Inside your cunt, you felt his cock twitch. He arched an eyebrow at you. “You’re right, it is. You’ll cum again soon anyways.” Childe slid out of you, making you whine at the loss before wrapping an arm around your waist and carrying you with him as he sat up, plopping you in his lap. 

“Because I’m nowhere near done with you.”

[silaslich]

The heat of imposition | part 2

Simon “Ghost Riley x f!reader x John “Soap” Mactavish

Summary - Rugby AU. While watching a rugby match with Kyle you happen to catch the attention of not one, but two of the players.

Neither of them like the fact that the other wants you too. [part 2/2]

Wc - 7k

Cw - smut, 18+, oral (f!receiving), unsafe sex, male masturbation, brawling, blood, Johnny is a shit stirrer lmao

Taglist - @blushingskulls

There’s an ache in his jaw, a noticeable twinge of pain when he talks. Simon’s felt worse, a lot worse actually, but he knows exactly what this is.

It’s the same reason he has to get another mouthguard, the indents of his teeth had almost pierced right through his old one. It’s a result of his anger; his inability to think rationally, there’s an itch in his bones that he can’t scratch.

Yet, you keep coming back, time and time again. He’ll look up at the stands and see you sitting there, nursing a bottle of cider or a styrofoam cup of coffee, sometimes Kyle is there and sometimes he isn’t- that had been a surprise. Because only days after he’d first met you, sitting slumped at the bar as you work behind it, with Johnny at his side trying his luck with you- You’d said something that completely contradicted your actions.

“I’m not a huge rugby fan” you’d said it with such conviction, Simon knew you weren’t bluffing, you weren’t just saying it to get a reaction.

He’d felt Johnny stir beside him, his palms slapping against the wood of the bar loudly.

“What’re ya talkin’ aboot?” His voice grew louder as he leant over the bar, close to your face, you didn’t even flinch.

You’d shrugged, completely bored, and continued polishing the glass in your hand. Simon’s gaze had shifted then, placated with a few whiskeys, making him heavy- his blood sticky and slow in his veins. His eyes had fallen to your hands as they worked, deftly, then lower to your hips- or whatever his eyes could actually see from his side of the bar. Then they had trailed up and up and up until they landed on your chest, his stare unashamed, his tongue felt like lead in his mouth and he could barely tune out the sound of Johnny as he shrieked like a banshee about everything wrong with what you’d just said.

Then Simon’s eyes had lifted to your face, and that’s when the realisation had hit him, you were looking right at him. Pointedly. You didn’t say anything- but you didn’t have to, enough was said with your eyes, better still- he couldn’t tear his eyes from yours.

Johnny had been none the wiser to this wordless exchange, blind to it all with his fingers pressed into his eyes, vexed over the fact you kept shrugging at every point he was trying to make to counter your honest opinion on his favourite sport.

_____________________________________________

Today will be different, he thinks, because as training starts and the sweat begins to slick his skin- you’re nowhere to be seen. Perhaps that means that he’ll keep his head, his ability to be level and think will shift back into gear, business as usual. He can’t exactly explain it, that look you’d given him, it’s burned into his retinas. He can’t shake it, no matter how much he trains or how fast he runs or how much whiskey he drinks- it just won’t go away.

You- all narrow eyed and serious, watching him watch you, that little glint in your eyes had told him more than words would. The game was set, but Simon now realised that it wasn’t just himself and Johnny playing- you were too.

Despite the fact that you’re not even there, Simon still finds himself checking the stands, looking towards your usual seat. Still as distracted as he would be with you there. It stirs in his chest, an annoyance he wants to rip out, like a ball of worms at his core. It squirms and burrows in his chest, he can’t shift it. He thought without you there he’d feel better, a weight lifted, one less pair of eyes scrutinising- you’re not the type.

There’s a sharp thwack to the back of his head. He bristles.

“Quit yer daydreamin’” Johnny passes him, a sly smirk curling his lips. Simon can’t stand it.

These bets, these little games, these challenges they put on one another- they’ve never quite matched this. It’s usually something trivial and stupid, things that equate to bragging rights at the end of it all. This? This isn’t the same and Simon is just now noticing that he doesn’t like it, but Johnny is loving every second of it.

Simon resumes his drills and for the remainder of the session his head is still elsewhere. There’s a cog that’s turning in his mind, perhaps it’s foolish to think any more on it. He should instead play up to this game of Johnny’s and let it be over with, let him get what he wants out of it, out of you, and then everything will return to normal again.

Training is brutal, to no one’s surprise. Their coach, John Price, had taken notice of Simon’s attention issues and made sure that the whole team was punished for it. An extra hundred sit ups and push ups on top of an extra ten laps of the whole field. Safe to say that Simon isn’t in anyone’s good books.

As everyone is showering and changing Johnny sticks close, too close to Simon, muttering about something or other- Simon tries to tune him out. It’s as he’s getting dressed and Johnny’s getting ready to shower that he hears it clearly, it’s pressed into the ear of another teammate.

“Big lad was too busy thinkin’ about our lassie’s pretty pussy y’see” Johnny’s grin reaches and Simon doesn’t stick around to hear anything more.

He storms outside, the cool air hitting his lungs and his wet hair as it drips down his neck. He needs space and he needs air. His thoughts are racing around his head, for no reason at all, it seems. He doesn’t know you, and you don’t know him, so he doesn’t understand why he’s looking for you- seeking you out in a half-empty crowd like there’s been more then just a shared glance passed between the two of you.

Maybe it’s Johnny’s influence, the constant battle for dominance between the two of them, no matter how much it goes unsaid. Simon doesn’t want Johnny to ever have something that he can’t also have, whether it’s a trophy or bragging rights- or you. He wouldn’t stomach that, no, not deep down where that possessiveness in him festers and broods like an infected wound. Weeping and sore.

Simon takes a minute, breathing in the air, staring out into the car park- ultimately weighing up his options, does he go home to lick his wounds and drown out the thought of you with a beer or two or does he do something about all of this. Once and for all. He can tell you about this bet they’ve got going on, he can be honest and make sure that you don’t give either of them the time of day anymore-

“Think this is the first time I’ve seen you alone” your voice cuts through his thoughts, “Johnny’s usually hanging off your arm”.

Simon whirls around in the direction your voice emerges from, then he sees you sitting there, perched on a bench just outside the gates of the stadium. Seemingly minding your own business, had you been here all along? Somewhere he hadn’t seen you- surely not.

“Where’av you been hidin’?” Simon arches a brow, moving to step closer toward you, your smile jabs him right in the chest. He watches as you shake your head.

“Just got here, Kyle dropped me off” your eyes follow him as he comes close, you have to angle your neck to meet his eyes- he’s just so tall. As you sit there your mind immediately realises you’re in the perfect position to-

“How come? No game today” Simon tilts his head, thinking for a split second before he decides to come sit beside you, he knows Johnny will be walking out any second now.

The angle of your body follows Simon as he sits, turning to face him, one arm slung over the back of the bench- comfortable.

“I agreed to a date with Johnny the other week didn’t I, to get him out of my hair at the bar” you half-laugh, recalling that night. Remembering the glasses smashing and the way Simon’s hand had fit so well against your waist, so warm and ever-reaching.

Simon nods, humming in acknowledgment, he thinks about that night alot too. For the same reasons.

There’s a moment of silence, and as it stretches you both realise how comfortable it is. You’re looking at Simon but he isn’t exactly looking at you, his eyes flit to you a few times but he breaks the eye contact almost instantly, looking back toward where he’d come from- watching for Johnny.

“You single, Simon?” Your voice pulls him back, now he looks at you, meeting your eyes firmly. He nods.

“Yeah, f’some time now. Too scared to settle and too old to be messin’ around” he smiles but you can see it isn’t genuine, his admission hits home for you too. It’s the way things go for people like you and him, wanting to meet the one but too scared they’ll want more than you can give.

The fact that you’ve even asked him that question gives him something to think about, if you were so sweet on Johnny, why would you care if he’s single or not? Unless you’re just being polite, making conversation, yeah that’ll be it.

“I know how that feels” a breathy laugh falls from your lips, “the dating pool isn’t what it used to be”. You fold your arm against the back of the bench, resting your cheek in your hand. Simon hums once again.

You hadn’t really had a chance to speak to Simon since the incident, yeah you’d seen him plenty since then, but Johnny had always been there too. Demanding the attention like he does, perhaps he stands out more because Simon is so quiet. He’s more than happy to blend into the background and sip on his drink, only putting his ten pence in when he really needs to. It peaks your interest, it draws you to him in a way you don’t really get. It’s the way his dark eyes watch you, the way he looms in the corner of the booth and acknowledges you with the tilt of his head. He makes a heat rush over your skin when he looks at you like that, like he’d pull your clothes off with his teeth if you’d just let him.

“Simon” you test his name, you’ve said it plenty over the last few weeks, but the weight of it in your mouth feels different.

He dips his chin, dark eyes lowering to yours as he turns to look at you. Your name falls from his mouth too nicely, you wish he’d whisper it in your ear.

“I didn’t get a chance to say a proper thank you the other week, would have been picking glass out of my face for days if it weren’t for you” the heat of his stare makes your skin prickle and you suddenly feel the need to look away, but he holds you there, you can’t break away.

“No need to thank-“

“There she is” Johnny’s voice cuts through Simons, breaking off the conversation mid sentence, maybe he didn’t hear the two of you talking before he shouted over. Maybe.

Both you and Simon turn to look at him, watching as he storms over, pulling the attention to himself with that wide smile and those bright blue eyes that shine with the autumn sun.

“Ready to go?” He asks, eyes raking over you, you’re not as scantily dressed as he prefers but he’s hoping that it won’t matter for long anyway.

Your smile widens and you nod, moving to stand up, your hand reaches over to pat Simon’s knee as you go.

“I’ll see you soon, yeah? Enjoy the rest of your day” you wink at him and make a gesture with your eyes toward Johnny, who can’t see you do it, so he’s none the wiser.

Simon smiles at you and you’re sure it’s the most genuine one you’ve seen from him since you’d met him. He raises his hand and mirrors your little wave as you step toward Johnny, who’s looking at Simon with narrowed eyes, already wondering what he’s missed out on while he was showering.

“See y’around darlin’” Simon watches Johnny as he speaks, the way Johnny’s smirk curls leaves a sour taste in his mouth. He knows that Johnny still has the upper hand right now, but he won’t take this lying down.

_____________________________________________

Simon can’t find it in himself to relax. Not as the day drags on and he’s still yet to hear anything from Johnny. He’s sent three text messages and he’s checked and double checked to see if Johnny has read any messages in the group chat for all the rugby lads, just to see if it’s only Simon he’s choosing to ignore. Johnny hasn’t read anything, nothing at all.

He eats to see if that’ll make him feel better, it does a piss poor job. He tries to watch something to distract himself but that doesn’t work for very long. All he can think about is you, and in particular what you’re doing right now, with Johnny instead of him. If this goes the same way that Johnny’s ‘dates’ usually go then Simon knows that you’re probably bent over his kitchen counter top right about now, or your face will be buried in Johnny’s pillows- the Swiss ones he makes a comment about every time.

Simon isn’t the jealous type, he tries to tell himself. Not when it comes to women at least. Johnny’s appetite is ferocious, he’s unapologetic about it all the same, Simon sometimes wonders if he’d be the same way if he wasn’t the sit back and watch type. Women try to talk to him in the bars and at the pub, but Simon doesn’t usually take the bait. Again, he’s after something more, he’s had his fair share of bedmates who come and go with the rising sun. He’s passed that now. Instead he’d rather be alone, rather than pretend to be something he’s not for someone who expects too much from him.

His feelings toward you have only further shifted now after what you’d said today, talking about understanding him, you both want the same thing. It sates the guilt that sits in his chest, if he were to pursue you, it wouldn’t be for the sake of dragging you to his bed to prove a point to Johnny. It would be something more, only if you wanted to, of course. After tonight it might not matter, not if Johnny has sank his poison in your ear, telling you what you want to hear, like he does.

His thoughts follow him to bed that night, he can’t rid himself of it. He tries to think of something else, anything else, but it’s no use. Everything circles back around to you. The look in your eyes and the sharp of your smile, he thinks he knows you, just by the wordless exchanges. He wants to think you’re on the same page. That night in the bar, slipping his arm around you to stop you from falling, it had felt too natural. He’d felt the way you’d stiffened against him, holding your breath, leaning back into his chest as you steadied yourself with your hand on his- reading the tattoos on his knuckles from between your own fingers.

It ignites something in his blood, a burning lust, an itch he can’t scratch but he’ll try his best.

Simon rests his left arm over his forehead, eyes pressed into the crook of it. He doesn’t hesitate as his right hand pushes his boxers down, following the line of his hips, feeling the way his cock stiffens further in the open air. He hisses through his teeth. The circle of his fist is incomparable to anything he’s imagined about you, the softness of your hands or how wet he could get you for him- ready to take his tongue and his cock and his fingers. Still, Simon perseveres, jutting his hips into the wait of his hand. There’s enough precum leaking from the head of his cock to stop the friction of his callused hand, further solidifying his image of you- it’s you instead of his rough hand.

He jerks faster, angling his wrist, hips pressing up to follow the speed in which he wanks his own cock. His breath stutters and his chest aches with the effort of it, he’s never been one to fantasise, not this vividly, this is a whole new thing for him. You’re the one to solidify it, on his mind day and night, following him into his dreams with a whisper in his ear and a hand on his cock.

Simon cums loudly, making a mess, painting his stomach with his own spend. He watches as it runs down his skin, the swell of his laboured breathing making it skate faster and faster. There’s sweat beading at his forehead and there’s a dryness that sticks in his throat. He’s blinded by this intrigue, by the idea of you alone. He can’t shift it out of the forefront of his mind.

He begrudges leaving his bed to shower, but he hopes the relief of rubbing one out and cleaning himself up might let him sleep. If he can’t sort his head out before the game tomorrow then he’s sure he’s got no chance at winning this against Johnny, at this point, he’s sure he’s already lost. Pipped to the post because Johnny is louder, bolder in his endeavours, sauntering right up to you and asking you to go out with him just like that. Simon never stood a chance.

He’s convinced he’ll jog out onto that pitch tomorrow and see you sat in your usual seat, scarf tucked up high on your neck to hide the sting of Johnny’s teeth. Shifting in your seat because he’s fucked your pussy good and raw like he should have, he’d have no doubt soothed you with his mouth till the morning broke through in orange and purple streaks outside the window.

Simon falls asleep with his jaw grit tight, knowing it’ll hurt tomorrow.

_____________________________________________

The rain is blinding. It heaves from the sky in a sideways assault, stinging eyes and battering against their skin. The heavens had opened about halfway into the game, they may as well finish, not that far to go now.

They lead by ten points, it’s enough that if they can just maintain it they’ll be good to go. Through the rain and the mud all they need to do is stop the opposing team from scoring, it sounds easy enough. It’s the point of the game, but right now, Simon can’t focus on anything.

He’s done well so far. He hasn’t looked into the stands, he doesn’t want to bother himself with it. He’d rather not meet your eyes, seeing the satisfaction in yours, unknowing that he wishes it were him- knowing that it should have been him and not Johnny. Not because Johnny is a bad person, but because Johnny isn’t exactly doing it for the right reasons. While Johnny has wooed you and will now leave you for dust, Simon wouldn’t have done that, he wouldn’t have done that at all.

Simon lets someone slip past him, he misses him by the skin of his teeth, and he can already feel eyes on him before he turns around. As Simon turns, he’s met with those stupid blue eyes, Johnny takes out his gum shield and throws his arms in the air.

“What the fuck are ya playin’ at? Ay?” The malice is misplaced, Johnny knows Simon is one of their top players, he knows he can do better than this. Simon shrugs him off, speaking around the shield in his mouth.

“Don’t fuckin’ start” his eyes narrow and he brushes Johnny’s shoulder, pushing past him, it’s instant in the way Johnny’s palms connect with Simon’s shoulders- shoving him forward.

Simon is taken aback, unsure if that actually just happened, he turns on his heel, fully expecting to see that a member of the opposing team had shoved Johnny and that meant that Johnny had in turn shoved him. He’s sorely mistaken.

“Don’t start what?” Johnny’s smile is gone, as if it’s evaporated into thin air entirely. His eyes are narrow as he moves around Simon, circling around him to keep out of his way. “Is this about her?” Johnny nods his head in the direction of where you’re sitting but Simon fights the urge to look.

Simon doesn’t think before he acts, it’s muscle memory, when someone puts their hands on him- he reacts. The only difference is that this isn’t a pub brawl or a player from the opposite side- this is Johnny. Simon’s got his jersey fisted between his fingers, tightly, pulling Johnny’s face close to his. Simon seethes, they’re so close their noses touch, Simon’s eyes cut deep.

“It’s got nothin’ to do with her” Simon’s voice dips low, he can hear as the coaches and the teams react to what’s happening but he doesn’t release his hold on Johnny.

He feels Johnny’s hands tugging at the neck line of his jersey now, getting his own leverage, the height difference leaves Johnny reaching on the balls of his feet to match Simon’s cutthroat stare. Johnny smirks.

“S’that right? got nothin’ to do with me fuckin’ her last night?” His accent catches and Simon yanks him, shaking him almost off his feet. “She tastes too good Si, surprised y’cannae smell ‘er on ma breath”.

Simon isn’t one to back down, not when his mind has been in tatters like this. Whatever shred of patience he’d had is washed away when Johnny knees him in the stomach, forcing him to let go of his jersey. It doesn’t exactly hurt, but Simon is surprised and winded enough that it takes him a second to register Johnny striding back towards him.

“Fucked tha’ pretty mouth too, she takes it so well” Johnny jabs his tongue into the side of his cheek, a lewd demonstration of what he’s referring to.

Johnny is quicker than Simon, but Simon is bigger, stronger- and he punches a hell of a lot harder. Blood gushes from Johnnys nose instantly, as soon as Simon’s fist connects, but Johnny isn’t slowed by it. His eyes water and he can taste the blood as it runs down and over his lips- but he’s quick to get his own hit in, catching Simon on the jaw. It slows Simon down enough that Johnny can get some leverage, he grabs Simon by the back of his jersey and uses all of his weight to pull him down, kicking his legs out from underneath him at the same time.

It’s audible when Simon hits the ground, through the rain as it pelts down against the grass. He lands on his side and Johnny is on him in an instant, straddling his thighs, aiming his fist right for his face. The force of Johnny’s hits dislodges Simon’s gum shield from his mouth, not without cutting its way through his gums first. But again, Simon is bigger, it takes little effort on his part to unseat Johnny, he sits up and drives his elbow into Johnny’s face- catching the apple of his cheek.

“Stop fuckin’ talkin’” Simon’s chest tightens, heaving as he speaks.

He shoves Johnny away and is quick to get to his feet, already weighing Johnny up as he watches him get to his knees. Blood slides down his face, washing away in the rain, Johnny wipes it away with the back of his hand. Simon’s face is just as battered, his lip is split and there’s a lump already rising at the bridge of his nose, swelling up beneath the gash Johnny’s left there. Their chests heave in tandem, breathless, before they can get their hands on each other again they’re pulled in opposite directions entirely. Price is shouting and their team mates hands are tugging at them even as they try and root themselves to the ground.

Everything becomes a blur. Price is in Simon’s face, screaming, waving his arms. Simon shrugs off the hands that are yanking and pushing him, he storms away, even as Price follows- his insults and threats to get rid of him fall on deaf ears. Simon heads straight for the locker room, he needs space, he needs somewhere to think- he can’t do this right now. He disappears behind the doors and he doesn’t look back.

Johnny is next, Price gets in his face, spit landing on his cheeks. The game is stilled and the crowd roars in a mixture of anticipation and excitement- this hasn’t happened in a long time. All the while Price is chewing out Johnny, he isn’t listening, instead his eyes land on you. He watches as you fight to clamber over Kyle’s knees, he watches your lips move in apology to the people you push your way past as you bolt down the steps. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes watch Simon as he retreats, even as you trip down the steps, slipping in the rain- you don’t tear your eyes away from Simon.

_____________________________________________

He comes extremely close to slamming his head in his locker. Instead, he stares at himself in the cracked mirror that sits on the locker door. Blood drips from the cut in his eyebrow and from his bust lip, he can smell it in his nose. The swelling on the bridge of his nose is growing by the second, the gash is weeping blood too.

Simon can’t pinpoint the moment that things changed, he was pissed off before Johnny even opened his mouth, so Johnny telling him exactly what he didn’t want to know was the last nail in the coffin. The straw that broke the camels back, and Simon is the camel apparently.

He hears the door open, but he doesn’t bother looking to see who it is. The steps are hurried, he assumes it’s Price, coming to finish what he started- he’s solid in that assumption right up until the locker door he’s standing on the other side of is slammed into his face. It catches him in the temple and for a split second it warps his vision, he’s already got a headache brewing as is. Simon slams the locker the rest of the way as soon as he’s out the way of it and he opens his mouth to go back at Price- but it isn’t Price, it’s you.

Standing there, fists balled, nostrils flared and eyes narrowed. He’s not ready for this, either, for you to come and tear chunks out of him for fighting with Johnny. Because now Johnny has you in his corner, ready to fight tooth and neck.

For a minute, you just stand there, wordless. As if you’re thinking of what to say, of what insult holds the most weight. He searches your face, for any of those soft lines that he knows are there, none of this harshness you’re wearing now. He looks away, letting his eyes fall back to the locker, focusing on the loose screw in the door hinge- waiting for you to just say something. Then, he hears your shoes scuff against the tiles, squeaking as you step closer, he readies himself for you to strike him, getting even for Johnny’s sake.

There’s none of that, instead your palm slides carefully across his cheek, you’re almost chest to chest. His eyes snap to yours, watching as you scan his face, noting every cut and bruise and swelling. Your lips twist, there’s something in your eyes he hasn’t seen before.

“Why would you do that?” Your voice is small, yet assertive, it echoes around the empty room.

Simon can’t answer truthfully, not if what Johnny was saying was honest, he doesn’t want you to know what was said. Instead he shrugs you off, trying to be impassive.

“I don’t know” his lip curls and you catch it immediately, the lie is told but you don’t believe it, your brows furrow.

“What was he saying to you?” You angle his cheek with your hand, making him look at you. The way he stares down at you through his lashes makes something in your knees knock loose. Simon shakes his head.

“Nothing important” Simon tries to look away but you hold him there, both with your hand and your eyes. He brings up his hand to curl his fingers around your wrist as you caress his cheek, he doesn’t even notice he’s done it.

“Simon, none of it’s true” he tightens his fingers on your wrist, blinking at you, not quite understanding. “I had a friend who was deaf when I was younger, she taught me how to lip read. Johnny lied”.

The weight of your words knocks something out of Simon’s chest, he feels it swing in the empty space, inevitably knocking him forwards until he connects his lips to yours. His palm cups the side of your neck, the kiss starts as it means to go on, it’s everything all at once. You gasp into his mouth and it gives him more leverage, more room to manipulate you how he wants to. He tastes of old copper pennies, you can feel the notch of ruptured flesh on his lip as it tries to clot.

His free hand brings you closer by your hip, reeling you close. Pulling you flush to him as your other hand comes up to cup the other side of his face. He’s met with no resistance when he curls his tongue over your bottom lip, you welcome the challenge, smiling against his lips and into the kiss.

Simon doesn’t have restraint, not after what’s just happened, not after everything he’s been thinking about. This, this exactly is what he’s been thinking about none stop for weeks since laying eyes on you. You’ve plagued his dreams and his nightmares and his waking thoughts, he’s caught off guard by it, and knocked even further off kilter.

His hands roam and you squirm in his grip, ultimately breaking the kiss to speak. Your lips are gaped and your breath rushes past them in quick succession, trying to steady your lungs.

“Can we? Here?” You can’t look him in the eye, palms sliding from his neck and down his chest, nails scraping against his jersey. It seems he’s not the only one who can’t wait, who’s perhaps been thinking about this for a while.

Simon’s lips creep up, a filthy smirk. You see his hand dart into his locker, fishing something out and digging it into his pocket. You don’t get a chance to see it before your wrist is in his hand, tugged further into the locker room, heading straight for the cubicles of showers. He pulls you with him, kept tight against him as he locks the door behind you. You don’t have time to catch your bearings before his lips are at your neck, teeth sinking, pulling your scarf away and letting it fall to the floor.

“Thought about this” it’s murmured against your skin, your hands skate up his back, feeling as his muscles move underneath his jersey.

Your heart jumps in your chest, you can’t tell if it’s the wet of his tongue or if it’s his blood, but there’s something warm and wet against your skin.

“So did I” it’s an admission he wasn’t ready for, he assumed it was just him, how wrong he was. He smiles against your skin.

Simon pushes you back against the wall, his hands roaming, skating up your sides, cupping your ribcage in his wide palms. He pushes your coat off of your shoulders, shedding another layer, in turn he lets you tug his jersey over his head, your hands immediately flattening to the muscles you find. Fingers gliding through every ridge and divot in his flesh.

You capture his lips again, letting your tongue slip past his lips as he fiddles with the button and zipper on your jeans, feeling as he uses both hands to tug them down till they’re low enough that he can slot his thigh between your legs- opening you up. Your hands reach around to his shoulders, sliding up until they’re looped around his neck, pulling him closer. Your teeth catch the tip of his tongue when he presses his fingers against the lips of your pussy, feeling the wetness there. Soaked already, and he hasn’t even done anything yet.

“Fuck” it’s sighed out of his chest as he breaks the kiss, looking down between your bodies, watching the tips of his fingers tease your lips apart. You moan in his ear.

Simon’s compelled to fix Johnny’s lie, he wants to taste you himself, then he can be the one to know exactly how you taste on his tongue. He’ll have you cum on his mouth to solidify it, to prove a point.

He kisses you again, letting his lips trail from your jaw and down your neck as he begins to get to his knees. Your hands slide up as he descends, ultimately landing in his hair, fisting the strands between your fingers as he teasingly blows air on your cunt. You moan his name, stuttering nonsense, little noises escaping through the seams of your lips as you try to swallow them down.

Simon pulls at your jeans as he kisses the mound of your pussy, signalling you to step out of them, you do as you’re instructed- not fighting when Simon then lifts one of your legs till it’s hooked over his shoulder. He doesn’t hesitate to taste you then, letting his tongue part your folds, feeling how wet you really are against his lips and the tip of his nose. You fuss at him, briefly, worrying about him.

“Simon your face- careful” your voice jumps, reacting when Simon plunges his tongue into your hole, wanting you to give it up, nothing is going to pull him from this now.

You’re practically gushing, squelching against his lips as they move, it’s lewd in your own ears, your cheeks are red beyond belief. Yet, he doesn’t let up. Even as your hips squirm and your fingers tug at his hair, Simon doesn’t stop. Not now he’s got you here, right where he wants you. So close to cumming on his tongue, painting his mouth, the very thing that’s kept him up at night.

“F-fuck” your chest stutters, punching out the words, “so good Si” your voice drifts and Simon hears you knock the back of your head against the tile.

His fingers press into the backs of your thighs, holding you steady, not letting you press away from him. You’ll have bruises in the shapes of his finger tips, branded spots as a reminder of this, he hopes you wear a short skirt to the bar tomorrow- he’ll bring Johnny along for an apology drink.

Simon can feel it, the pulsing of your walls, the way your hips are meeting the friction of his mouth, practically rubbing yourself all over his face. Where’s the concern for his injuries now?

It does catch him off guard, when you finally cum, loudly. Shrieking his name, letting it reverberate off the tile, rubbing yourself on his nose, like you’re scenting him with your juices. Claiming territory. Simon laps it all up, every last bit, lathing at you with his tongue- he wants you pliant for what comes next.

You meet him half away as he comes to stand, making him still for a moment, needing your lips on his. You follow his movement as he stands fully, standing on the balls of your feet, wrapping your arms around his neck. The taste of yourself on his tongue is something new, something you’d never thought of, your filthy mind says you’ll get used to it.

He lets you kiss him, but he guides your hands down from around his neck, using your fingers like puppets and pulling his shorts and boxers down to his knees. You break the kiss, unapologetic in the way your eyes snap downward toward his cock, watching as it springs free- wagging between your bodies. Your hands need no guidance now, Simon watches you gather your own juices against your fingers and smear them onto his cock, pumping him tightly in your fist.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but this is everything and more.

Simon lets you do this, lets you sink your teeth into his pec as you jerk his cock, flitting between slow and fast movement, adjusting your pace. He could cum just like this, but he wants the first time to be different. He takes your chin between his fingers, cupped in his hand, pressing his lips to yours, clashing teeth- desperate for more despite already having everything you have to offer.

He digs his hand into his pocket and you watch, curious, when he pulls out his gum shield- you raise a brow.

“Trust me love, walls are thin” he slants his mouth to yours a final time, he watches you open your mouth, not questioning as he slots his gum shield over your teeth. You try it for size, running your tongue along it.

Simon kisses you, it’s not as tricky as you thought it’d be, if anything, it’s more filthy. He presses harder, making sure you can feel the pressure of his tongue still.

Your neck dips, observing as Simon does the same, spitting against his cock as he takes it into his hand. Pumping it a few quick times, gathering his spit before he arches forward and presses into you. The burn is there, splitting you, he’s girthier than anything you’ve had before. Yet, as he slides deeper, nothing has ever felt more right. Your nails scrape against his shoulders and you grit your teeth against his mouth guard, but this is better than you’d imagined. Better than you thought it would be as you fingered yourself between the safety of your bedsheets, wishing it were Simon’s fingers- this doesn’t even hold a candle.

Your breaths twine into one as he bottoms out, pressing impossibly deep, chest to chest with you. His rhythm evens and you find yourself keen to meet it, ass pressed to the cold tile, almost lifted off your feet entirely- you feel drunk off it.

Simon takes the opportunity when you toss your head back, moans quieted by the mouth guard, sinking his teeth into the open plain of your neck. He sucks your skin into his mouth and you keen, arching into him, pressing yourself into the pressure of his thrusts as he fucks you harshly. You fight to say something but he can’t understand you, he laughs into your skin.

He can feel himself rising closer, right at the edge, close to the precipice of all of this. He’ll be damned if he’s not dragging you there with him. He frees up one of his hands, bringing his fingers to your lips. Eyes narrowing when he watches you suck his fingers into your mouth, tongue licking each crevice of his skin, lathing him up. He presses his fingers to your clit afterwards, watching your face, gaging your reactions. He watches you come apart, pushed over that edge until you’re free falling for what feels like forever. Your teeth are grit tight against the rubber, strained as he hears it creak in your mouth.

Your cunt squeezes him impossibly tight as you cum, thrown over that arc, hands reaching out for him and pulling him with you in the process.

Simon cums inside of you, his hips continuing to thrust, fucking into your poor sopping pussy. The sound reaches his ears, between your whines and his own breaths he hears as he’s fucking his cum back into you. It’s obscene, really, but he can’t find it in himself to care. He fixes his teeth into your flesh, into any he can reach, your neck and your shoulder- still stuttering his hips into your sore overstimulated pussy. You whine and cry, something that sounds like his name, he soothes you, holding your face in his hands as he presses his lips to your lashes.

Everything grows stationary. You both catch your breath, needing to allow your racing hearts to return to their normal pace before they break free from the gaps in your ribs. Simon grows soft inside you and you hold him close, fingers rooted into the flesh of his lower back. His thumb strokes across your cheek and his other hand smooths over your hair. He presses his thumb into the mouth guard, popping it loose before he fits his mouth to yours once more. The lingering taste of yourself and his blood is present on his lips when he kisses you, it makes you pull him closer- then the peace is shattered.

“Si? Ya in ‘ere? Can we talk?”

[v1ctor1asecretangel]

One Way or Another

pre death!tate langdon x reader

song i recommend listening to/based on: one way or another by blondie

warnings: stalking, obsession

word count: 673

notes: enjoy this drabble guys! i was listening to my blondie vinyl and immediately wrote this🙏

The final bell rings, echoing down the hallway like a calling card just for Tate. He slinks out of his last class, letting the bustling crowd swallow him up, using it as his cover. Everyone’s moving, laughing, jostling for the best spots on their bus rides home. No one sees him. No one ever does. Except maybe you.

You used to, at least.

It feels like years since your eyes last met his that once looked at him like he was more than just another lost kid at Westfield High. You were his other half, his better half. But now, you’re untouchable, one of the popular kids, adored, almost worshiped. And he… he’s left in the shadows, cast aside like a broken toy.

One way or another, he thinks, pushing through the swarm of bodies. He’s going to find you. You can’t stay hidden from him, not forever.

Tate steps outside, onto the cracked pavement of the school parking lot. His eyes dart around until they land on you, standing with a group of friends, laughing. That laugh—the one that once belonged to him, that’s now thrown freely at everyone but him.

There’s something unsettlingly perfect about you today. Maybe it’s the way the late afternoon sun hits your hair, giving it that halo effect, or the light wind tugging at your jacket, making you look like a vision from some golden dream. He can feel his chest tighten, his fingers twitch. You’re so close, but you’re untouchable. He doesn’t want to just look at you. He wants more. He wants everything.

When you finally get onto the bus, his heart quickens. He slips back into the crowd, just far enough behind to stay invisible but close enough to catch every turn of your head, every flicker of movement. He can’t sit still; his fingers clench and unclench. The desire to reach out, to grab you by the arm, tell you everything that’s twisting inside him, is almost overwhelming. But no, he needs to be patient. You'll come to him.

The bus pulls away, and he’s quick to his bike. Trailing it from a distance as it winds through the city, watching it move block by block. He knows the route by heart, knows where it’ll stop, where it’ll speed up. When you finally get off, you don’t even glance back. But Tate’s there, slipping through the streets, hiding in shadows.

You head into a convenience store, chatting with friends as you browse through rows of magazines and candy. Tate leans against a wall outside, waiting, listening to the buzz of a flickering neon light above him, the hum of his own thoughts mixing in with the static.

He watches as you and your friends move toward the bus stop again, laughing at some joke he’ll never know. The laughter twists something inside him. You used to laugh with him like that, let him in on your world. You were his girl, his muse. But now, it’s like he’s a stranger to you. And yet, he’s closer to you than anyone else. He knows every inch of this city, every shortcut, every street you walk down. He’s memorized your patterns, your quirks. He’s in your shadow, in the air you breathe.

When you get home, he watches from across the street, from under the shadow of a tree. The light in your bedroom flickers on, and he imagines you pulling off your coat, tossing it onto that same chair you always throw it on. He’s seen it through the window enough times to know.

Inside, you’re probably brushing your hair, maybe glancing out the window every now and then. Sometimes, he swears you look right at him. He feels that flicker of hope, the thrill that you might know he’s there, that you might want him to be.

The house goes dark. Tate feels his heart slow, his gaze lingering on your window. One day, you’ll see him again. One way or another, he’ll make sure of it. You’re his, and no one else’s.

[thewritergx]

Caught: Evil!Sam x Demon!FReader

Summary: Blood-drinking Sam Winchester chases you through the woods and fucks you to death (literally).

Warnings: Evil Sam x Demon F!Reader. Smut Containing: Knife/Gun play, running through the woods, NONCON, Anal, Size Kink, Blood drinking, Choking, Crying, Spanking, Forced Orgasms, Death of Reader at the end. Pet Names: Princess, Slut, Whore, Bitch.

Word Count: 3K

Do not read if you are sensitive to the warnings. This is very much a non-consensual interaction. I cannot say this any plainer, do not read this unless you're into some weirdo freak shit.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Please feel free to like and repost. Click here if you’d like more stories from me. Text divider from @cafekitsune.

Your chest rose and fell quickly, steps pounding at the wet dirt and grass. You weaved through trees, stepping over sticks and rocks. You couldn't stop. Stop and you are dead. Sam Winchester was hot on your trail, and if he caught you…You didn't even want to think about what could happen. 

“Can’t run from me forever, little demon,” Sam yelled, his voice a good distance away. 

Your chest was on fire after running for what felt like hours. Maybe you could take a break, his voice sounded pretty echoed. He must be far, you thought. 

You leaned behind a tree, weight on your knees as you bent down trying to slow your panting breaths. You stayed quiet, trying to regain your composure when you heard a stick break a few feet away from you. Fuck.

How was he so fast?

You took off again, running deeper into the forest. 

Sam knew he was close. He could fucking smell your blood. He listened for a while, hearing your quick steps as he chased you into the thickest part of the woods. He knew there would be no one out here. When he caught you, you would be powerless and all his to play with.

You tried to keep running, but you were so exhausted your pace involuntarily slowed with each passing minute. Fuck, you weren’t fast enough. He was going to catch you, you thought.

“Ah, there you are, princess,” Sam growled, watching as you ran right into his chest, hitting him like a brick wall. 

You fell to the ground, hands landing on sharp sticks. 

“Told you, you can't get away from me.” Sam raised his gun, shooting the ground next to you before you could try to run again. You gasp at the sound, the bullet landing a few inches from you. 

“Stay down, bitch.” Sam walked closer, grabbing you and pushing you onto your knees.

“Sam, wait. Wait. Y-you don't have to do this”, you pleaded, fear filling your mind and body. 

Sam hovered over you, his tall frame engulfing the moonlight. His eyes were dark, stoic in the night air. “I know. I don't have to do anything,” Sam huffed, his chest expanding with each breath. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up at him before throwing a hard punch on your face. Your ears rang and you hit the ground hard, your lip busted and bloody. 

You tried to get up, tried to run but your vision was so blurry you couldn't stand. Sam dropped his gun before grabbing his knife, shoving you on the ground again. 

“Ow, fuck you”, You spit, dirt on your lips as Sam slammed his fist into you again, your face landing hard in the soil.

Sam lowered himself, pushing himself over you as you lay helplessly on your stomach.

“Yeah, you’re about to,” Sam laughed, the smell of your blood thick on his mind. “Fucking slut”. Sam held the cold blade to your throat, watching as you wiggled under him, his thighs on either side of your legs. 

“You know the best fucking part? No one will hear you, no one can save you.” Sam laughed. “You’re stuck out here with me, all mine to completely destroy and devour.”

“Don’t fucking move”, he growled, sliding the knife down your back. Sam lined the cold metal to the hem of your jacket, roughly cutting through it to expose your delicate skin. 

“W-what are you doing”. Your voice was littered with fear, shaky as Sam placed a hand on your bare back, circling his thumb on the delicate skin. 

You struggled under Sam, trying to buck your hips and legs as he pulled your arms back, forcing your jacket and shirt off you. The air was cold, and goosebumps formed on your skin. 

"Cute little bar. Might keep it for later" Sam gently unhooked the clasp, folding it nicely before placing it safely on the ground.

“Stay fucking still or this is going to be a lot worse”, Sam breathed into your ear, biting at your skin. Your skin was on fire, wet dirt and leaves spreading on your tits and stomach. You tried to stay calm, tried to break away from his grip but Sam was double your size. You were completely powerless against him, the weight of his body easily pinning you down. 

“Please,” you cried, the cold metal blade pressing against your back. 

“Bet you taste so fucking good. Such a nice little vessel you're in.” Sam dragged the blade down your spine, cutting into your skin. “Wonder if she can feel this right now”.

“Stop! Get off me!” You screamed, hot blood running down your back. 

“Usually, I would have killed you already”, Sam whispered into your back. “But God, this girl you're wearing, she looks so pure. So nice that I just can't stop myself from ruining her little body.” He leaned down, licking a thick stripe through your blood and sucking at the skin, cut open and dripping for him. “Think I’m gonna leave you alive a little while, fuck you til’ your blood runs dry”.

“No, no, no. Please, y-you can’t” Sam’s teeth dug into your skin, biting at the wound he had just created. 

“Aw, is my little demon scared?” Sam smirked, blood spread across his face. He cut at you again, the knife on a sinister mission.

“Perfect,” Sam whispered, admiring the S.W., carved into your skin. 

The foreign sound of a belt buckle unclicking echoed in the quiet woods. Sam became eerily quiet and mute as you continued to cry and plead for him to let you go. Sam shuffled over you, pulling the belt through his pants loops before dropping it next to you.

“Shh, play nice and I might just let you out of this at the end,” Sam whispers in your ear, lightly caressing your hair and kissing your neck. 

You nod your head, finally accepting the situation you found yourself suffering in. 

“Good. Good little whore.” Sam’s voice is now soft and relaxed. His hands travel to your ass, cupping your cheeks over your jeans. He scoots down, pulling himself off your body so he can rip the thick denim material down, leaving them bunched up under your knees. 

Cold air strikes your now bare skin and you swallow hard, heart pounding harder than your earlier footsteps. His hands traveled to your waist, pulling you back on him and arching your ass off the ground. 

“Look at those pretty panties,” Sam hisses, dragging the knife to your folds. “What’s this huh?” Sam’s jaw clenches and he presses the dull end of the blade in between your lips, pointing out the wet spot created by your dripping arousal. You feel him grab the thin material, ripping it off your body with his bare hands. 

“You must like this, fucking dirty girl” Sam pulls you harder against him, grabbing your hands and placing them behind your back. You can’t help but rut against him, the large bulge in his pants pressing against your clit.

“I-I d-don’t. Please just let me go”. Tears stream down your face, your back stinging and leaves crunching with every movement you make. 

“Why would I do that? You’re nothing”. Sam’s fingers work quickly, unbuttoning his jeans and pulling down the zipper. "Nothing, but my little cum dump".

Your breathing hitches as he pulls his jeans down, pulling his dick out. 

“No! D-Don’t, please. Please don't put that in me.” You scream, kicking your feet as Sam grabs his dick. He snakes his hand under your waist, pulling you off the ground as he teases your clit, rubbing the head of his penis against your clit. 

You clench your eyes shut and push your hands back, placing them against his stomach. 

“Shut the fuck up. Move your goddamn hands before I fucking break them,” he growls, pressing the tip of his penis against your tight little hole.

“Pl-please,” you whine, quickly removing your hands and returning them to their previous position on your back. You feel Sam press against you and your eyes widen, the feeling of his thick tip already stretching you out. Fuck, he was huge. 

“Oh fuck,” Sam presses against you, opening your legs wider as he sinks in deeper, bottoming out inside you completely. 

“Stop, please”, you cry, tears streaming down your soft rosy cheeks. 

“Aw, pretty girl doesn’t like my dick?” Sam laughed, quickly leaning down to wrap his thick fingers around your neck. He thrust into you, giving you no time to adjust to his size. “You may not, but I bet your vessel is loving this. Do you feel how wet she is? She’s already creaming my fucking dick, painting it all white.” Sam spoke through gritted teeth, each thrust landing hard on your cervix. 

“Sam, p-please just l-let me go. I-I won't tell. I swear, I'll do-” Your eyes shoot open in fear as Sam squeezed around your throat, pressing so hard you couldn’t breathe in or out.

“S-s” You tried to speak, his grip growing tighter and tighter until you were seeing stars, all dizzy and the light in the room fading. 

“Hey, no passing out on me,” Sam growled, quickly removing his hand. “How would I be able to hear those pretty cries if you're knocked out?” 

You breathed heavily, coughing as he finally let go, his fingers leaving dark bruises behind. You try to calm down again, but the way he was thrusting into you was driving you crazy. 

“Fuck!” you screamed, feeling that familiar tightening in your stomach. 

“See, I know you fucking love this cock. Feel you tightening around me. You're about to cum, huh? Go ahead. Cum on my dick, you stupid fucking slut”, Sam leaned down, biting your neck so hard you felt him drawing blood. His sharp teeth pierced deeper into your skin, hot breath on your neck as he licked and sucked the open skin. 

“Ahh, ow!” You scream, your voice echoing off the trees. You hated that he made cum, hated that you couldn't stop the pleasure forced through you. 

“That’s a good little whore. Like when I fucking rape this cunt, huh?” Sam shoved himself deeper. “Say you fucking love it.” He yelled, slapping your ass hard. 

“Fuck you,” You cried, voice filled with venom. 

Sam grabbed the belt from your side, quickly slapping it hard against your asscheek. “I said, say you fucking love it”. He slapped you again, your skin screaming for help, bright red lines marking you. 

“I-I l-love it,” you whispered into the ground, tears falling into your mouth, leaving behind a taste of salt. 

“Louder. Like you fucking mean it,” Sam hissed, slapping the belt against you so hard it drew blood. 

“Ow! Okay, I fucking love it! I love your huge dick fucking me,” You wailed, throat dry and voice hoarse from running. 

“Such an obedient fuck slut.” Sam threw his head back, eyes clenched as he pulled comply out of you. 

“Wonder if you’d like it that much…here” Sam pressed against your ass, your tight hole clenching as he shoved a thick finger inside. “I bet this vessel never got her ass fucked before.” Sam laughed, pumping his finger in and out, stretching you like you never had been before. “She’s fucking tight, huh.” He laughed, shoving another finger inside you. 

“No, y-you can’t. It's too big”, you yelped, trying to pull yourself off the ground again. 

“Stop”, Sam demanded, his tone littered with anger and hatred for you. He grabbed his gun, placing it against your temple as he lined his dick up with your ass. 

“Stay fucking still and I won't shoot you,” The cold metal pressed against your skin hard. You trembled, your legs shaking and you swore you were going to throw up.

“Yes sir,” you nodded, forcing yourself to arch your back again, perfect position for him to sink inside you. 

“Good”, Sam’s voice is plain, emotionless as he presses into your tight puckered hole. 

“OW!” You yelp, his thick cock stretching you. Your skin burned and it felt like he was ripping into you.

“F-fuck” Sam slammed into you, your freshly used walls clenching around him so tight he almost couldn't move. “Yeah, this ass is all mine. Never had anything like me before,” he smirked, watching as his dick disappeared inside you, balls pressed against the soft fat of your ass. 

He snapped his hips, a hard slapping sound echoing in the air. Your eyes rolled back, and the feeling of him pressing so deep, practically in your stomach, was too much. Fuck, it was torture but you craved more, your body easily opening from him to pump in and out of.

“Please, j-just take it o-out.” You were exhausted completely. Even at full strength, you would have never been able to fight him off. “P-please, Sam. Ju-just c-cum”. You begged and pleaded for him to finish.

Sam gripped the gun tighter, pressing it against you impossibly harder. He dragged it down your body, finger on the trigger. He thought about not shooting you, he really did. But he knew it would be so pretty watching you bleed out on the ground as he fucked you. So before he could think, before he could stop himself, he was pressing the trigger, a bullet ripping through your smooth skin and into your chest. 

You couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Your only thought about how stretched out and deep Sam was fucking you as you choked on your own blood. You couldn't stop it. Couldn't stop the orgasm ripping through you as you bled out, your legs shaky and week.

“That’s it,” Sam growled, his hips spurting out of rhythm but still impossibly deep. “Dumb fuck toy, letting me do whatever I want to her”. 

Sam huffed, throwing the gun on the ground and digging his fingers into your sides. He watched as your blood pooled, your choking sounds sending him into euphoria. 

“Fuck” His grip tightened around you and he bit his bottom lips hard, thrusting deep and finally painting your walls white. 

“Such a shame.” Sam laughed, pulling out of you roughly, his cum dripping from your stretched-out hole. “Could have kept you around, but what would be the fun with a slutted out whore?” Sam watched as you withered on the ground, blood smearing all over him as he leaned against your ear.

“You were a good little fuck, though. Don't get me wrong.” He whispered, pressing his fingers inside the whole left by the bullet, pushing through your skin with a squelching pain. He watched as blood soaked his fingers, quickly licking the hot liquid clean. “Hmm, should have fucked that whole,” he mumbled, before stabbing you with his demon blade. 

Your eyes shot open and white light shined from your body, killing you and leaving your vessel in the woods. 

[abbu0414]

Gotcha. (Stu Macher x Reader)

A/N: Yall are so lucky I have been consumed by Matthew Lillard, he just saved my Tumblr account. Also this one's kinda...steamy.

word count: 1048

♪Song to listen to: Oblivion by Grimes♪

Shelves on the floor, books scattered and the TV still running the black and white movie that everyone was watching before they left. The big house had gone quiet and you and Sidney were the only ones left in the house. Stu had gone to the garage and never came back while Sid went upstairs with Billy. Bored and a little scared with the killer on the loose, you tried to find anyone to go home with safely. Safety in numbers you know. 

As you walk around the empty house you find yourself walking towards the garage door. You open the door and see broken beer bottles on the floor and the garage looking a mess. The big door was open and as your eyes wandered you saw a familiar pair of shoes dangling. A blood curdling scream left your lips as you tried to find Sid to get the hell out of that house. As you turn back around to run, you find the door locked and the only way out is the one that your friend Tate was hanging from. With no time to waste, you make a run for the garage door before someone grabs your wrist. You met face to face with Mr. Ghostface himself. Without thinking you rip your hand out of his grip and make a break for the door. Finally getting out of the garage and around the house to the front door you decide to find Sidney and get the fuck out of there. 

Running up the stairs you hear familiar laughter, but can’t quite pinpoint it. You begin to hear hurried footsteps up the stairs after you. Adrenaline filled, you make it up with no problem and begin pounding on the doors for Sidney. 

“SID? SID WE GOTTA GET OUT-” You feel a strong grip around your arm and hiss in pain. You’re dragged into a spare bedroom and thrown onto the queen size bed. As soon as you land on the bed you feel two legs straddling your waist and a singular hand pin both of your wrists above your head. You struggle against the hold of Ghostface, and with his other hand he raises the knife he’s been chasing you with. You open your mouth to scream but the knife hits the ground with a clatter. You look to the side surprised but Ghostface reaches to his face to remove the mask and drops it to the floor. 

“Gotcha Y/N.” Stu smiles and licks his lips. Your face looks in shock as you search his eyes for answers. 

“W-what? Why are you doing this Stu?” Tears form in your eyes as you register that your long time friend and crush was the one behind all the killings. He leans down to kiss your falling tears and laughs at your fear. 

“No, no, no baby…this isn’t how this is supposed to go.” He chuckles and holds your chin to look at him with his free hand. “You know…I’ve always had a thing for you Y/N.” He grins and your face scrunches up in confusion. “You’re like an addiction baby, I just can’t get enough of you.”

“Stu I love you b-but-” More tears fell as you tried to speak, but you were cut off.

“Aha! So you do like me~” You struggle again against his grip. As your breathing gets harder and you begin to freak out a little more, he gets close to your face. Planting light kisses on your neck, you fight the urge to make a noise until a little whimper leaves your lips. “So tense y/n…was it the knife? Did I scare you with the knife baby?” He continues to leave a trail of kisses on your jaw as he pushes your face in the opposite direction that he’s kissing you on. Even if you wanted to show you weren’t interested, your body betrayed you. He notices this reaction from you and grins before he chooses a spot on your neck and begins to lightly suck. You bite your lip with force as you feel him attacking your neck which causes it to draw blood. With every kiss, your body moved on its own, wanting more. He lets go of your hands above your head and waits for you to push him off, but you never do. It felt twisted, whatever this was. You knew that you should be cowering in fear, but the fact was, you were into it. The adrenaline rush, the act of getting caught, the fact that it was Stu… He leaves your neck and begins kisses down the bridge of your nose until he reaches your cupid's bow. Stu hovers there for a second, and right as you’re about to say something, he connects his lips with yours. 

As his hands move down to settle at either side of your hips, your arms snake up his chest and rest over his shoulders with one hand in his short and spiky blonde hair. His thumbs move in circles on your hip bones to try and loosen you up since the adrenaline still hasn't worn off. An idea pops into his head, and he slowly snakes his hands up your torso and eventually up your shirt. He stops his hands right before your boobs and on your upper ribs and gives you a little squeeze. As he squeezes, you gasp in surprise and he takes his chance to deepen the kiss. Feeling short of breath, you lightly push him off to get air. 

Nothing but the sounds of your mixed heavy breathing fill the room. Sirens could be heard approaching the house. “I gotta go babe, but I’ll be back. Don’t miss me too much…” He gives you a quick kiss on the neck and leaves you in the steamy mess he made you into. You lean up on your elbows and watch him leave out the window. Sidney comes and practically kicks down the bedroom door. 

“Hey! The cops are here, are you hurt?? Let’s get out of here, they’re taking Billy away.”

“...Billy?” You ask

“Yes! He was behind all the murders y/n. Let’s go home.” You get up off the bed and before you leave, you look behind you and see the open window.

...

Part 2? Yes? No?

[thepenandthepistol]

Fragile Machinery (Mumbo x reader)

This has been a long time coming. You've felt his death being sown through the land in every failed trap attempt and close call. With a single mistake, you are helpless in preventing it.

A/N: Honestly, did not know I had this fic in me. I was already kinda sad and pissed with some other stuff and watching Mumbo explode has made me a little sadder than it has the right to. Haven't watched everyone's pov so player positions are probably inaccurate. Reader and Mumbo aren't platonic or romantic in this, but are the secret third thing. Also reader is an avian. Again. (1270 words)

Art by @/YongyiMoon on Twitter and dividers by @saradika-graphics

You thought Mumbo was finally safe. For the last few weeks, you’ve followed him like a shadow, dark wings and hood obscuring your face like a damned shade. Most people haven’t chanced a hit at Mumbo, not after Jimmy’s stunt and your subsequent presence. Thankfully, that’s given you the chance to parse out the competition, the dark green names and their hideouts, your neighbors, above and below. From the distance, wild shades of pink fly in the air. Lizzie’s set of lives calls to you from your place atop the highest of Mumbo’s bridges.

You hear him sit beside you, but don’t manage a word; there’s a silent type of dread in the air, the type you’re afraid to speak into existence. He looks you over, and despite all the unease, the sweet smile on his face drips through the cracks of your tough facade. You recognize it now, the emotion. Terror.

“We need to get you another life.” The only thing you can get to leave your mouth is the obvious. You steady your trembling fingers at your side before encasing his hand. It’s gentle in a way you’re not experienced in being.

“We will. We’ve got my mace. From here on, it’s smooth sailing.” His eyes crinkle, and his goofy mustache draws upward from his smirk. 

“You can take one of mine.” The phrase leaves you before you can word it in a less desperate way. The warmth from Mumbo’s hand only partially eases the chilling anxiety that races through your veins. He looks at you and can only frown. “Get another kill with the mace, and you’ll be back to green. Besides, if anyone here should try their hand at fighting, I think I’m our best bet.” Silence follows.

“No. I- Genuinely, I don’t think I can do that.” He says it, laughing almost. Like the thought of sacrificing yourself for him is some unthinkable deed. 

“Alright... I’ll help you get your kill, then.” This is your promise, and it weighs so much heavier on his shoulders than it should. It’s new, this type of arrangement. He could only recall being taken seriously through faint memories of another life, even then surfacing only in death.

He rests his head against your shoulder, and you pretend not to cave into docility, your gaze still like a hawk’s, following the rats below.

The next day, preparations start early and eat into another evening. As the air cools with the sun’s descent through the horizon, you trail your friends from above. Grian talks casually with Etho and BigB, but he often glances up at Mumbo upon the wall, betraying his unease. No one suspects your dark form in the pitch black sky above until a trivia bot glides down and you dash behind the taller cobble pillar with Mumbo. 

“I can’t hit anyone from here.” He checks around the corner and down into the commotion. An idea strikes you and paints a mischievous grin on your face.

“I can help with that.” You suddenly yank him into the air from under his armpits and hover over the clearing. Mumbo goes limp in your hands but then tightens his grip on the mace once again. A green heart glints from a speck on the ground, and with a nod from Mumbo, you let go. 

A bone-breaking crunch reverberates as you hear your friend’s victory cries. You zoom out to join them through the castle’s front gates as the others yell out in shock. Mumbo runs for his life, but even in the chaos, you clearly see his heart stay the same forsaken yellow.

With a glance behind you, the terrible realization catches up. Gem’s body. You dropped him in the wrong spot.

The entire way home is spent in an even worse silence than before. Mumbo laughs it off, but your mind can picture it so clearly now. His own body, bloodied and cold. 

You begin fervently building the tower alongside Grian. Its threatening presence is a small reprise from the vulnerability of defeat. You run your fingers along the cool deepslate and look out onto the meeting room.

Skizz and Mumbo are messing with a trivia bot, pushing him around while he boops and bleeps. Scar makes his way down the mountain, obviously up to no good, and steals Skizz’s bot. He rows off the platform in his little wooden boat, and you scoff at the absurdity. Mumbo looks up at you, and it only takes a second to send you both into laughter. Skizz drops into the water below after Scar before Grian can yell out a coherent answer to his bot’s question.

You can’t really believe it when you feel levity in the air. The sun begins setting one last time, but you, Grian and Mumbo, move around the tower, now turned turret, and make shots at the people on the ground. It’s incredible how a killing machine can inspire such giddiness, but finally, there is hope. There’s more than hope. This thing is bound to kill someone at one point. Its range and the recklessness of the teams in traversing the mountain assure you that if not green, Mumbo will go back to a healthy yellow. 

Faraway cries draw your attention back downward as a massive group stands right in the traps danger zone. Your eyes shine with wonder as you turn back and face Mumbo. He takes a step back hesitantly, and Grian questions him without losing sight of Gem, ominously standing in the middle of a past crater.

“Jimmy’s there as well.” Shit. Restlessness returns to your stance as the perfect chances make their way up the cherry wood stairs and leave range one by one. 

Instinct drives you to fly into the air. Straight up into the cloudy, dark sky, leaving a gust of wind in your wake. Mumbo looks up at you with furrowed brows before you dive toward the crowd. Like a bullet, piercing the space between you both, your arms quickly wrap around Jimmy. The others present jump back in surprise as you take off just as quickly as you arrived. Eyes focusing on those pink braids, you brutally knock Jimmy’s flailing body into Lizzie. She stumbles into a puffer fish trap, giving you all the time you need to safely get Jimmy into the air, outside the blast radius.

The sun begins to rise behind the turret; time seems to slow. Grian woops and yells from the tower’s parapets. He eyes you with mirth in his pupils; they dilate as he places the explosive minecart, and Mumbo sends it chasing its own tail to power up. Lizzie has decided to go for the worst course of action and climb back down into the dead center of the craters from past failed attempts. 

Your wings are heavy as you fly overhead while Jimmy continues to struggle in your grasp. He doesn’t seem to have a sword, and the blunt cobble he uses to scratch your talons is only secondary to the relief of Mumbo’s eventual kill. 

He smiles, wider than you’ve ever seen him, and in a single distracted moment, Jimmy manages to land a hit to your wings. You yell, more from surprise than hurt, and catch a glimpse of Mumbo pulling out a bow and arrow, taking the stance to shoot, putting his foot back just barely on top of the powered track. 

Your yell is bloodcurdling. Mumbo hears the minecart stop at his side. Terror fills his eyes, and in the split moment he has, he reaches a desperate hand out toward you. 

[cleoluvrr]

Smarty I (Rafe Cameron x OC)

SYNOPSIS: smart girl isn’t as smart as rafe cameron.

WARNINGS: mature content; dark!rafe, toxic relationship, domestic violence, verbal abuse, blackmail, jealousy, general violence, manipulative behavior, explicit language, substance abuse & addiction, use of guns, classism, mentions of past violence, obsession, controlling behavior, pogue!oc

masterlist

“Leave me the hell alone, Rafe!”

“Maybe if you started listening to me then I wouldn’t have to keep yelling at you!”

I scoffed at him loudly, eyes rolling dramatically. My shoulder bumped into his violently as I pushed past, though I’m sure it hurt me more than it did him.

“I’m going home.” The irritation I feel drips off my tongue as the words leave my mouth, leaving a bitter trail behind me for Rafe to follow as I make my exit.

“Of course you’re leaving. You always leave because you can’t take some fucking accountability!”

I stormed down the steps of Tannyhill, the sound of my feet hitting the floor echoing through the foyer. Rafe was hot on my heels, the sound of his loud, angry voice following close behind my retreating figure. No one else was home, though I’m sure they would ignore us if they were.

“Accountability for some shit that has nothing to do with me? Yeah, you’re right–for once.” The glass side door of the house flies open by my own hand, my attempt of slamming it shut behind me obstructed by Rafe yanking it back open as he chases after me.

We had gotten into an argument again, and I was leaving angry with him—again.

It was like a twisted routine for us. Rafe would hold in every little thing that managed to piss him off, blow up on me despite none of it being my fault, we would go back and forth for what seemed like hours, and I would storm out in anger with him at my back like a bat out of hell.

It was a never-ending cycle, like a movie that wouldn’t stop skipping on the same scene over and over.

Our fights would get nasty. We would both take low blows at each other; things that we were vulnerable with each other about becoming throwing knives as we spit them back at each other in the heat of the moment.

Whenever it got like that between us, I would be the one to leave. I hated fighting with him, and it seemed like it would never end if I didn’t create distance between us. Rafe would keep going and going, nonstop spewing the most hurtful things that he could at me until I’ve finally decided it was enough.

However, it never lasted long. He would come back to me practically on his knees, begging for my forgiveness and giving me promises of treating me better. I would take him in with open arms, silently embracing him as his tears soaked my shirt.

Then, it would repeat. Every other week, every month, it didn’t matter. 

“And how the hell do you plan on getting home, huh?” Rafe says as I walk further down the driveway. 

“I’m walking, Rafe.” I retort sharply. “What the fuck does it look like I’m doing?”

I barely make it past the hood of his car before he catches up with me, arm tight in his grasp as he prevents me from walking any further.

I rip myself out of his hold and whip around to face him, heart beating fast with the same rage he fills me with every time we fight like this.

“You’re not walking all the way home, Laia.” He says. “It’s getting dark.”

It wasn’t dark yet, but it would be by the time I got home on foot. I’ve walked home from his house plenty of times, though never this late. That didn’t matter to me though, the thought of being near him any longer was only fueling my anger.

“I’m walking home. Don’t catch up.” I don’t even get the chance to fully turn back around before Rafe is pulling me around to the other side of the car, my forearm stuck in a bone crushing grip as his fingers dig into the soft flesh.

The blonde doesn’t try to be gentle with me as he pulls open the passenger side door. He rips the purse I had in my hand away from me and tosses it into the car haphazardly, the bag landing on the floor of the vehicle with a light ‘thud.’

He tries to throw me into the seat with the same carelessness that he did with my bag but I resist, arm twisting to remove myself from him and create space between us. He groans in frustration, my resistance clearly being something he expected but still was annoyed by.

“Get in the–” Rafe yanks me closer to the opening, free hand joining the one holding me captive to shove me into the car seat. “Get in the fucking car.” He grits through his teeth.

“Don’t touch me!” My head bumps against the top of the car as I’m pushed inside, a throbbing pain left in its place. “Ow! That hurts, Rafe!”

“I’ll show you something that hurts.” He ignores my complaint towards his rough handling, and I ignore the threat that just left his lips. He clicks the seat belt into place for me, the strap fitting snugly across my chest. “You let other guys touch you, so I don’t see why I can’t all of a sudden.”

I scoff at his comment, the topic of the argument we just had being brought up again not even ten minutes later.

I got a summer job at the Island Club to fill my summer and save up money before I had to return to the mainland for college. Rafe was firmly against it, claiming that he knew the kind of people that hung out there and that I didn’t have any business working around them. I ignored him, obviously, the job had flexible hours and decent pay. He wasn’t happy about it, but I didn’t care.

Whenever he could be there, he would be.

I could never shake the feeling of his eyes on me, whether it be when I was working in the dining room or running the carts around the golf course. I didn’t understand what he was so worried about, most of the people that were members there didn’t pay me any mind unless they wanted something.

Today, I was working the carts. Rafe was on the course as well, but I paid him no mind. There was a group of three younger men on the course, maybe in their mid-to-late twenties, that I happened to come across. I gave them the same amount of attention I give all the other members, but I guess Rafe didn’t take it that way. 

“God, you are such a control freak! I’m not allowed to work?” I stare at him incredulously, and the look on his face mirrors mine.

“You call that working?”

“Yes, Rafe, I call that working. I work at the Island Club, where my job is to serve customers.” I let the words fall out of my mouth slowly as if I was explaining myself to a child. “I was providing customers with service. What about that makes you so angry?”

“I didn’t know letting other guys touch you was a part of the service.” He says. I scoff at him, head shaking in disbelief.

One of the men patted my shoulder in a friendly way while we made casual conversation. I barely even noticed, I was too busy doing my job of making him a drink, but clearly Rafe did.

It was nothing that should have him this upset, and yet here we are.

“Oh my God, Rafe…” My fingers fly to my temples, sighing exasperatedly as the irritation I’d been feeling since I got to his house began to give me a headache. 

“Shit, I mean…” Rafe goes silent for a moment, eyes traveling over my body in a look that’s not quite one of disgust but is very close. “How could they think any differently when you walk around dressed like that?”

My head snaps up and faces him fully, completely stunned at his comment. 

I was still dressed in my work clothes, a pink, collared halter top and a white tennis skirt. There was no dress code when I worked on the course, and it was always humid while living in the South right next to the water.

I was dressed for the weather, and it was more than appropriate for my job. Sure, I was a bit busty for the top, and the skirt was little...short, but I’m a grown woman. 

There was nothing wrong with my outfit to elicit such a reaction from him.

“And how am I dressed, Rafe?” I ask. His eyes linger on my chest for a moment before they meet my eyes again, a fire burning in the blue of his irises. “You’ve never had a problem with it before.”

“Well, you weren’t acting like a fucking slut before, either.” The word slides off his tongue like a slur, but I don’t even get a chance to react before he slams the door in my face. 

I watch him walk to the other side of the car and settle into his own seat, my face hot with fury and embarrassment. He peels out of the driveway, the speed of his driving far too fast for a residential neighborhood. 

I’d never felt insecure about the way I dressed, but my boyfriend had also never called me a slut for it before. He’s only called me that one other time, and it had nothing to do with what I wore.  It was when I left for college and decided we should go on a break until I came back for Thanksgiving. 

“Rafe, you need to calm down. It’s really not that serious.” I said quietly. I stepped out of my dorm to take the late night call from my very angry, intoxicated boyfriend.

He called me in a drunken rage in the wee hours of the morning, voice loud in my groggy ears and projecting out of the phone into the silent room that I shared with the girl asleep on the bed across the room. I stood in the empty study room a few doors down for some privacy, knowing exactly where this call was going to go.

Rafe didn’t like that I decided we should go on a break for my first few months in college.

I didn’t want our relationship holding me back from the full experience, and I didn’t want him feeling tied down to a girl that was hundreds of miles away on the mainland for almost the entire year. He’d been obsessively texting, calling, and checking my location for the entire time I’d been on campus, and I was dreading going home for Thanksgiving in the next few weeks.

It was the day after Halloween, and he was beyond pissed. It’s like he was waiting for me to post photos, because it was only a few hours later that he called me to complain. He was checking my location the entire time I was out with my friends, my phone blowing up with messages from him asking what I was doing and who I was with.

I ignored them the whole night, opting to put my phone on ‘Do Not Disturb’ to stop the constant vibration.

Now he’s calling me, clearly inebriated and berating me for dressing up in a costume he didn’t approve of. 

“Don’t–don’t tell me that it’s not serious, ‘cause it is very serious.”

“Rafe, I’m about to be nineteen years old. If I wanna go to a college party, I will.” I say lowly. I didn’t want my voice traveling through the thin walls of the building for everyone to hear. “And we’re on a break! You shouldn’t even be worried about what I’m doing right now.”

“I don’t care!” His voice blasted against my ears, his anger conveyed clearly even though I couldn't see his face. “I don’t want to see you posting a bunch of frat douchebags feeling you up on your Instagram. You know better.”

I scoff at his over-exaggerated version of events. It was a group photo and one of the guys had his arm around my shoulder. It was nothing for Rafe to be calling me at two in the morning about.

“Nobody was ‘feeling me up,’ Rafe. It was friendly and there are, like, five other people in the picture.” I was starting to get annoyed at this point. I didn’t need Rafe hovering over me from an island far, far away while I was trying to enjoy my time in school. “I don’t have a problem when you go to parties, so why is it one when I do it?”

“Did you go to college to learn, or to be a fucking slut?”

My head jerked back at the word directed towards me over the phone.

I was completely stunned by its usage; I’d never been called that before. I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared down at it in shock, the picture of Rafe and I hugging lighting up on the screen for a split second before going back dark. 

Slowly, my arm raised the device back to its position by my ear. My jaw was still slack with shock, surely grazing the ground as I processed what the boy over the phone had just said. 

Rafe takes my silence as confirmation instead of being flabbergasted. He chuckles darkly over the speaker, the sound of him sniffing followed shortly after. 

“That’s what I thought. Call me back when you’re ready to apologize to your boyfriend.” He says. I’m still completely silent, words that once filled my head now completely gone as I listen to an angry Rafe insult me over the phone. “And take that fucking picture down.”

The sound of the call ending fills my ears, the room I took occupancy in now so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

I didn’t call him after that. In fact, he was the one who called me three days later to apologize once he was finally sober. 

Rafe has always been jealous; possessive. Over his money, his status, Figure 8.

It was never really something I thought he had to be with me, not when I was practically under constant surveillance before I left for college.

He always checked my location when I wasn’t with him, not that I often went anywhere that wasn’t school, home, or out with him. When I did go out with my friends in Kildare, he would always interrogate me about what we did or make me send a photo as proof that I was really out with them.

It didn’t bother me when we first got together—only because I didn’t know any better.

He was my first relationship, and still is. I was a sixteen year old girl and a popular guy in the grade above me wanted me to be his girlfriend. Rafe was sweet to me, always showering me in praise and spoiling me gifts that I would never think to ask for. I thought it was normal for him to ask me to stay away from other guys because ‘you can’t trust them.’ I saw no issue with him checking my location religiously, not when he told me it was for my own safety. 

I believed him. I mean–why wouldn’t I? 

It wasn’t until senior year that I finally saw him for who he was. When I announced that I was going to college, everyone was elated. Everyone except Rafe. 

For my entire senior year we fought because of that. His jealousy was at an all time high, constantly accusing me of cheating and lying about everything I did. He would track my location when I was out with friends and show up uninvited, dragging me out forcefully while berating me for not telling him where I was going. 

It was like we never stopped arguing that year.

I dreaded doing anything that wasn’t going to school and coming back home because I knew he would take issue with it. I knew there was nothing I could do to satisfy him, because I stopped doing everything that caused fights between us and he would still find something to be angry with me about. 

The only thing that would stop it would be staying home and not attending the school of my dreams, and that was never going to happen. 

Rafe wanted to keep me here, under his thumb, and I wasn’t having it. I saw a life bigger than the one I had on Kildare, and he didn’t like that. He hated the idea of me not being under his complete control, of not being able to watch my every move and control every aspect of my environment.

He hated that I was developing a mind of my own; that I was no longer pliable and willing to allow him to mold me into the doll he wanted me to be all this time. He hated that I was becoming headstrong and wasn’t the naive girl that he thought I would be forever.

The jealousy and obsession was something that was clear as day to me now. 

I remained silent for most of the car ride, unwilling to break the silence that he initiated once he slammed the door shut in my face. I watched the trees on the side of the road blow by as we passed them, the setting sun leaving a faint orange glow behind them. 

I was seething, but so was Rafe. I didn’t want to say anything because I knew him well enough to wait until the car stopped. He was already speeding down the empty road, and I’d experienced enough argument filled car rides with him to know better.

There are only so many times a person needs to threaten to crash the car with both of you in it before you start to believe them.

I waited until we were a few blocks away from my house before I spoke, the sight of the familiar neighborhood letting me know I was safe enough to bring it back up.

“Am I a slut, or are you just an insecure little bitch?” I say.

The car stops abruptly and I fly forward, the jerky movement of the car nearly flinging me out of my seat. Rafe stays quiet for a moment, stoic face staring at the darkening street ahead from the windshield. 

“What did you just say?” His head slowly turns to face me, his dark blonde eyebrows knit together in furious disbelief. He showcases the same feeling that ran through me just before we left Tannyhill.

“I asked if you’re an insecure little bitch?” I repeat myself louder this time, confidence and fury flowing hot through my veins. “‘Cause, a real man has no problem with the things his girlfriend wears. He has no problem with the places his girlfriend goes, or the people his girlfriend talks to. But—you wouldn’t know that, would you?”

Rafe’s tongue pokes through his cheek, eyes filled with a rage that turns the ocean a navy color.

I can feel the heat radiating off of him, the sight of his white knuckles gripping the steering wheel almost making me fear he would snap the piece of equipment in half from the pressure. 

We stare at each other for a few minutes, the chirping cicadas outside filling the silence between us. 

“Get the fuck out.” Rafe is statuesquely still but his voice is shaky, the sight of his Adam’s apple bobbing catching my eye briefly. 

Scoffing, I grab my purse from the floor and yank the door open. I hop out of the tall car into the warm air of the evening, the feeling of Rafe’s eyes weighing heavy on my back as he watches me pull down the skirt that had ridden up on the drive over.

“Gladly.” I take hold of the door and slam it shut, the sound of metal on metal surely traveling through the houses lining the street. “Fucking asshole…” I mumble lowly as I begin to walk the remaining distance to my house.

I would have gotten out on my own anyways, I didn’t need his instruction. I didn’t need anything from him–especially this.

Rafe’s gradual change in behavior never failed to leave me confused and frustrated. Maybe I was naive and malleable when we first met, maybe I wore rose-tinted glasses and let his sweet gestures cast a shadow over his innate desire to control every aspect of my life–but I was young then. I was inexperienced, and I didn’t know what I do now. 

I would probably still be that same girl if I never went to college. Rafe would still have me under his thumb and I would let him do whatever he wanted.

That’s exactly why we’re always fighting now; his inability to control me–or my refusal to let him. 

It would be false to say that the man doesn’t still have a hold on me. If he didn’t, then we wouldn’t be together. I would have kicked him to the curb months ago, but I didn’t. 

I still love him. Rafe is still a part of my world and I don’t want that to change; but he can no longer be my whole world. I cannot allow my entire life to revolve around him anymore, to be about what satisfies him and makes him happy. 

He knows that, but it’s still not enough for him. 

It will never be enough until I’m back on this island forever; destined to be a trophy wife for the heir of the Cameron fortune.

A future filled with five kids—three girls and two boys to be exact, because that’s what Rafe wants—, pretending to care about the latest Figure 8 gossip with other Kildare housewives. Stuck in that godforsaken manor for the rest of my life, drinking my days away as I think about what my life could have been. 

That’s what Rafe wanted for us, for me. He wanted me to stay wide-eyed and wet behind the ears like I was when we first met, but I wasn’t as stupid as he thought I was. Even if it took me a long time to figure that out for myself.

I’m smarter than that.

[bakugotrashpanda]

Touya x Reader Word Count: 1.4k

!!: angst

A/N: this started out when I realized I didn’t write anything for Dabi’s birthday and then saw /tartaufraiz’s art on twitter and my brain took off with it. It wasn’t supposed to be this much angst, but I started listening to Logical (Olivia Rodrigo) and uh. Here we are. Just kind of wrote with this one, hopefully everything's in order and makes sense.

Your ex shows up the day after his birthday.

Punching in the code to your apartment, the front door to the building swings open with a creak. You pull your scarf down from your cheeks and let the semi-warm air heat them up. Giving your boots a good couple stomps to get rid of the snow and ice built up underneath, you head over to the elevator. 

You shuffle your grocery bags around and hit the button, sighing as you regain feeling in your face and fingers from the cold.

“You’re late,” a voice you had hoped to never hear again rings out to your right. Closing your eyes you pray that when you turn no one will be there. Deep breath in. Hold. And out.

Ding.

Metal doors in front of you slide open. You should get on – spam the door close button. Ignore what should be a voice in your head. Ignore the way your heart beat a little faster. 

But you can’t.

The elevator closes.

You turn to the stairs. Slow down. The little voice in your head warns you that you’re not ready to see him; you need to prepare yourself – put your walls up again. Turn faster, idiot. An even louder voice in your head screams at you. Consequences be damned, you need to see him.

When your eyes land on him, built up exhilaration clashes with years of pent up and pushed down sadness. White hair partially covers eyes that stole your heart and years of your life. His dark blue windbreaker won’t do much to keep the cold out, but then again, he always ran warm when you dated. He takes a deep drag of his cigarette before standing.

Your words are automatic. How many times had the two of you fought about lost security deposits because of smoke damage? “You can’t smoke in here.”

He arches an eyebrow but stubs the cigarette out on the stairs. “That’s the first thing you say to me?”

You sigh. “Touya, what’re you doing here?”

He shrugs and meanders over to you. Standing side by side he hits the elevator call button. “You didn’t wish me a happy birthday.”

“And?”

“Wanted to make sure you weren’t dead or something.”

“Could’ve been a text.”

He scoffs. “You’d’ve answered?”

Ding.

You get in the elevator and Touya follows. He pushes your floor before you can. It takes off with a slight jolt. Mechanical whirring fills an ever-growing tense silence. Questions and arguments you’ve wanted to have with him swirl around your mind.

In a desperate attempt to break the unbearable tension, you blurt the first thing that comes to your mind. “I thought you’d be busy in some other woman’s bed right now.”

Smooth. 

So fucking smooth.

He lets out a short bark of a laugh. “That was yesterday. Ya know, on my actual birthday.”

The elevator shudders to a stop and you leave first. Touya trails behind you silently like a shadow.

You finally ask what he’s doing here when your keys are in the door.

“Guess I missed hearing from you,” he says and leans against the wall.

“We broke up years ago.” The tang of bitterness in your voice betrays the calm demeanor you hope you’ve been projecting.

“And?”

“You’re unbelievable.”

He nods at your almost unlocked door. “Are you going to invite me in? Or do your neighbors get a front row seat to whatever you got to say to me?”

You bite your tongue but turn the key, opening the door for him. With a grand sweep of your arm, you wave him in. The subtle scent of his cologne washes over you as he passes. 

Still the same scent he wore when we were together.

You plop the grocery bags on the counter and shuck your winter coat and scarf. When you return from hanging them up near the front door, you see him quietly unpacking your bags.

It’s a domesticity you rarely got from him before. When you were together you would’ve asked him for help unloading the groceries and gotten into an argument about it which would lead to another fight about splitting chores evenly as well as how money was spent. 

But here he is, your ex, in your kitchen putting food he’s not going to eat away without being asked and without complaint.

Folding the bags neatly, he opens the fridge and stops. From the entrance to the kitchen you can see something in his eyes. A myriad of emotions pass over his face – his brows pushing together. A question on the tip of his tongue. Lids lowering as he thinks. A slight frown. An unhappy sigh.

You know what he saw. And you have no excuse for it.

Should’ve kicked him out when I had the chance. 

Touya pulls out a small cake. It could fit in the palm of his hand. Pearly white frosting adorned with a single glazed strawberry. 

A habit you never cared to break. 

An accidental annual purchase.

A birthday cake. 

A secret now out in the open. 

“It’s-

“A habit,” you interrupt. “A bad one.”

“So you do think of me.”

The Touya you dated your first year of college would’ve been pleased — strutted around like a peacock and teased you a little. Not enough for you to get mad, but enough to start riling you up. But this one, the man in front of you now… you can’t quite put your finger on it. Is it a spark of hope in his eye? Maybe a quiet determination as he figures out where you stand? Or is it sorrow as he reminisces about the past?

Regardless, you can’t lie. Not to him. “Of course I do.”

“You miss me.” It’s not a question but rather a statement, and it pierces through the shoddy walls you surround yourself with. “Say it.”

You jerk your head up to find his eyes locked on you. “What?”

“You heard me. Say it. That you miss me.” His voice is rough, and the cake… that stupid little cake still sits in the palm of his hand. 

“I do. I miss you.” If he looked closely, he’d find traces of himself hidden in plain sight. A coat in your closet. A book on your nightstand. A lighter next to your candles. “And what about you?”

It’s the first time all night you’ve seen him hesitate. “We could try again.”

“We didn’t work Touya,” you smile sadly. “Maybe in another life we could’ve been happy, but not this one. It’s too late.”

Too much was said and we can’t take it back.

He sets the cake on the counter amidst your forgotten groceries and opens cupboards until he finds what he’s looking for. Taking a single candle, he gently places it next to the strawberry and lights it. 

“Make a wish,” you murmur.

A smirk ghosts across his lips. “I always wish for the same thing.” He bends so he’s level with the candle. The warm flame illuminates the contours of his face and reflects off the piercings he’s accumulated over the years. With a quick gust, the candle goes out leaving a wispy trail of smoke behind. You both stare at it. 

In the past, you would’ve hugged him and peppered him with kisses – asked him what he wished for and then told him not to tell you or it wouldn’t come true. He would’ve kissed your forehead and told you that superstition was stupid. But that was then and this is now.  

Uncomfortable familiarity settles around you like a wet blanket. You cross your arms over your chest. 

“You should go,” you whisper. Or else one of us will do something we both regret. You take a risk and flick your eyes up to his. Your pain is reflected in his gaze.

“Answer your damn texts next time.”

“Maybe,” you shrug. That would require unblocking his number.

He mimics your shrug. “Then maybe I’ll be around again.”

“Goodbye, Touya,” you roll your eyes and let out a little laugh.

He approaches you like you would a wounded animal. Carefully. Tenderly. Reaching out slowly so that it can run away if it wants to. But you stay there and let his hand find your waist, a familiar warmth spreading under his contact. His other hand cups your cheek, and ever so slowly, he leans in. 

You meet him halfway for a chaste kiss. He doesn’t push for more, knowing he’s pressing his luck as it is.

And as soon as it starts, it’s over. His thumb brushes your cheek one last time before he pulls away.

“Until next time.”

“Goodbye, Touya.” 

Picture in banner by takuya_n on unsplash

[preservationofnormalcy]

[It is November of 2021. I am being led down a hallway that looks more like it should be on a ship than a government building. Metal walls with painted horizontal lines down its length, marked with “water depth” markers every 30 feet or so. My guide is a bored-looking man in a suit, balding, checking his clipboard. I seem to remember his name is Clarke, but he’s not who I’m here to see.]

M] Does this tunnel flood?

C] Hm?

M] The water markers.

C] Oh, those. Not unless something bad happens. She’s pretty good about it.

M] Is her name really –

C] Yth’Wa, Herald of Change. Yes. Changed it legally. Not that she gets out much.

M] …kind of an indoorsy person?

C] I mean she’s never in the outside world.

M] Not even to get food?

C] She has people for that.

[Suddenly, from doorways that lead off the hallway, we are joined by six figures wearing yellow robes that conceal their identities entirely. I smell brine and dead fish. Clarke looks back and seems to count the figures, but otherwise doesn’t react.]

M] Is this a joke? 

C] Wish it was, ma’am. Hey, fellas.

[Two of the figures wave. We approach a bulkhead at the end of the hall, and Clarke spins the wheel lock. The taste of salt hits my mouth - like the seaside, like brine. Clarke enters the chamber beyond, and three of the figures follow him. Three of them wait behind me, as if waiting to escort me. After a moment’s hesitation, I enter the chamber.

It is dark, hewn from rough stone, sloping downward into dark water. I look up, and the ceiling cannot be seen in the darkness. Utility lights illuminate the path downward, a few of them trailing into the still water. Clarke takes up a post next to the door, and the yellow figures form a pattern facing the water. Two of them kneel, two of them prostrate themselves, and two raise their hands and begin a chant. 

I can’t help myself. I back up, and whisper to Clarke.]

M] You cannot be serious.

C] You’re the one that wanted to meet her. 

M] Who the hell am I meeting? 

[Wordlessly, Clarke points to the water. A figure is emerging. 

A humanoid figure, also clad in yellow robes. Her hood is pulled low over her face, only the bottom half of her face visible. She has both hands placed together, palms pressed together in a gesture of prayer. She walks calmly from the water, up the incline, and it becomes clear she must be…seven feet tall, or more. Pallid grey-green skin is visible under her hood, and her hair….not hair. Tentacles. Tendrils roll down her shoulders and chest, spill from her sleeves. Her face is thin, her cheeks are marked with slits - gills.

As she emerges, she joins the chant with her own voice. As water spills from her form, fully on dry land now, her words change to English. An unearthly, inhuman voice…but not unpleasant.]

Yth’Wa] Fathoms deep, fathoms old. Fathoms dark, fathoms cold. We leave the cradle, leave the fold. To serve the one, the Lord in Gold. 

[There is a pause. Yth’Wa smiles and stands beyond the yellow figures, who are silent but have not moved from their spots. She is close to me, and seems to regard me with a small smile. Her face is…unnatural, but not ugly. Something beyond. When she speaks, it is with a strange resonance, and no small amount of amusement.]

Y] Ms Hendricks. I was told of your coming.

M] …wh…Yth’Wa?

Y] Do not be afraid.

[She moved her arms, spreading them out. Water dripped off her robes, and tentacles slipped back into her sleeves.]

Y] I am an ally of the Office. I do not harm the unbeliever, as they have their part to play in the grand Circle. The King Of All And Nothing has spoken, and we listen.

M] I don’t…I don’t know what to say. 

Y] Then speak your truth. 

M] ….I��m here to ask you questions.

[Yth’Wa’s smile widens. Her teeth are sharp, triangular, serrated. I look back at Clarke, who seems nonplussed. He looks at his phone and swears softly, seemingly realizing he doesn’t get reception here. Yth’Wa’s tone is not unfriendly, but somehow…as if she’s humoring me. Slight but not aggressive sarcasm rolls off her lips.]

Y] Inquisitiveness is what drew us all to the Circle, Ms Hendricks. It is a virtue worthy of the Yellow Empty. This is a holy quest. 

M] I feel like I’m being condescended to. 

Y] No force in the ocean could compel me to do so. 

M] But on land? 

[She puts her hands back together with a playful smile.] 

Y] What are your questions, my dear?

M] …I was going to ask you about the poster, but first…who are you? 

Y] I am Yth’Wa, Herald of Change, leader of the Yellow Circle. 

M] And what is the…Yellow Circle? 

[Yth’Wa gestures to the other figures in yellow behind her.] 

Y] We are the children of the One Who Dwells Between. We reach out in humility and hope to the space beyond our candlelight, and we embrace what we find. Our god, the Golden Father, shepherds us into the dark void, and bestows upon us gifts that we take upon ourselves gladly. 

M] And you’re….allied with the Office? They’re okay with this. 

[Yth’Wa’s smile is slightly more amused, almost smug. Her tone is like kindly addressing a child.] 

Y] It’s our world too, Meghan. We live here. We have a vested interest in keeping the things that slither around the lighthouse of the human mind at bay…or under our control. The Office often finds these skills useful. Such as your poster.

M] The….sock a Shoggoth one.  

Y] Indeed. It’s an old one. You saw a ripple of waters past, Ms Hendricks.

M] Sorry? 

Y] Do you know of Operation Deep Whisper? 

M] I…I don’t, no. 

Y] Mmmh. 

[She steps forward. I’m unsure of what to do, and in my hesitation, she walks around me. Studying me, her eyes never visible but nonetheless biting into me.]

Y] You’ve met Josiah. Josiah Carter. 

M] Of Psychotronics? 

Y] Of those who wade in pools they will drown in. Tell me. Did he talk about the things they invited? 

M] He mentioned things that…came from their experiments. 

Y] Poor Josiah. He knew only half of what he unleashed. 

M] I don’t think I understand. 

[Yth’Wa took in a deep breath.]

Y] When men take hammers to glass, they should not be surprised when it leaks. Those at the Office, in their uniforms and titles. They frayed the real in order to see through it, and they didn’t like what they saw. What they let through. By the 1960s, the camera obscura  they had made in their blind stabbing through reality had become a tear. A broken fence post, and of course things came through. Things…not under our control. 

M] The things he described sounded horrific. What are they?

Y] Me and mine are…inured to them, somewhat. The Office now calls them Outsiders. Entities from other spaces, other realms, dimensions beyond ours. Beyond the veils. As you can imagine, they are often dangerous to humanity. Physically violent, or ontologically inimical to human life. Often...alien thought patterns, incompatible with the mortal mind. Ontologically incompatible - too many of them, and their reality leaks into ours...impossible geometry, mosses and fungi that degrade the integrity of realspace. Or reality, as humans see it.

M] And you can control them?

Y] More or less. Keep them at bay, influence their behavior. Sometimes they can appreciate something that thinks like them. But all that and more were slowly being unleashed through the world, a secret plague that threatened to collapse the Office’s so called normality. Beasts, anomalies, and forces threatened even our way of life. 

M] So they asked the Yellow Circle for help. 

Y] Indeed. I was not the leader at the time, but the Circle allied with the Office to eradicate this plague. Using resources and funding from the more mundane conflict in Vietnam, we battled the Outsider across the globe throughout the 1960s, and into the 70s. Our people call it Gul’tho Z’Thuth G-Uz, the Conflict of Brother Blood. But the Office calls it Operation Deep Whisper. It is there your posters come into play - propaganda, encouragement for a war against an enemy so alien that they cannot be understood. 

[That smile again.] 

Y] By the Office, anyway.  

M] And it worked? 

Y] You had not heard of Outsiders before you came to the Office, had you? We saved the world, Ms Hendricks. Our world. 

M] I guess we can chalk that one up as a success. 

Y] Indeed. 

M] I don’t feel the need for most of my questions….Yth’Wa. But I guess I had another. 

Y] Speak freely. 

M] You were…human, right? All of you, but especially you. Who were you before you were Yth’Wa?

[There is a moment of silence. Yth’Wa looked…momentarily annoyed, her thin lips turning down at the ends in a way that made my stomach churn. But after a moment, she seemed to reset, relax her posture.]

Y] Who I was is dead. The One Whose Sign Dances saw me for who I was, and made me into something…more. More real, more truthful. Who I was is…dead. Do you understand? 

M] I….I think I do. 

Y] Magnificent. If you had no further questions….

[She steps forward, and I flinch. She pauses, as if attempting not to spook an animal, reaching into her robes and slowly pulling free a single scallop shell. It shined like an oil spill in the dim light, runes and markings along the outside of the shell. They hurt to look at.]

Y] If you wish to see me again, throw this shell into the largest body of water you can reach in a day’s walk under the light of the moon. I will see you, I will reach you. And we can talk. 

M] …thank you, Yth’Wa.

Y] May the Shattered Lord keep you and guide you. 

M] Let the…the Keeper of Yellow—- oh, god, what…what was that? I can taste it. 

[Yth’Wa laughs, leaning in further, teeth gleaming in the odd light.]

Y] Truth. Oh, Ms Hendricks. You’ve tasted truth. 

(Buy the poster here!)

[jooillusion]

have u posted something about jiseok ft. angry/jealous sex cause hear me out...

nope…but here’s some

angry sex w/ jiseok <3

warnings: degradation and praising, rough sex, unprotected sex, choking, spanking (there’s only three slaps i promise), breeding, good ending c:

the grip of jiseok’s hands around your wrists behind your back tightens, the bruising already burning and leaving behind it’s red imprint on your skin. his cock bulldozes itself into your cunt roughly with each thrust he delivers, satisfyingly splitting you open in the process. in contrast to his hips, yours try to run away from his, which is shown to be no use once he uses his free hand to keep them still.

“fucking take it, whore.” he grunts out roughly into your ear. behind the tears that well up in your eyes and the small cries that slip through your gritted teeth pushed against your pillow, you can’t deny how much you’re enjoying the way the tip of his cock hits your cervix repeatedly. he feels it in the way you clench around him every time he opens up his mouth or every time a slap lands on your ass. jiseok chuckles, easily becoming intoxicated to the sound of the loud slaps that echo in your bedroom each time his hips kiss yours harshly.

“‘s too much jiseok,” your response comes out weak. “‘can’t take it…”

“do you fucking hear yourself right now?” jiseok picks up the pace in his hips, the squelching noise of your arousal loud and proud. he stills his hips and buries himself deep, making you squeal as he leans down to your drooped down head. his hand leaves your hip to trail to your neck. he forces your head to look up at the headboard but your eyes are closed, feeling the lightly tight grip on your neck. his breath runs warm on the shell of your ear. “are you actually clueless or do you put on an act until you finally get what you want, hm?”

you and jiseok swore the desire for each other wouldn’t push past casual sex, you two don’t even kiss each other and leave each others rooms after your whole ordeal. however, upon seeing another dude stumbling out of your room pulling his pants up, he felt heated. your blank expression turns into shock when you see jiseok entering the hallways and watching the guy leave your apartment.

not even another word was spoken nor did you have the time to explain. jiseok was already pushing you past your door frame and back inside of your room.

“you let somebody else in my house and fucked him?” he pulls out until half his cock is exposed from your hole. “and not only that you let me use you like you’re some slut off the street?”

you wanted to answer. you wanted to tell him so bad what really happened and question him why does it even matter. but his hand around your throat has you unable to answer. you can’t though, especially since the wind is nearly knocked out of you when jiseok begins to roughly thrust into you again. the way your moans are turned into gasps flips a switch inside of him, his orgasm just a few thrusts away. your wrists move into his grip, loosening along with the grip on your neck.

the feeling of your walls suffocating his cock rips a groan out of his throat, letting go of yours and landing a harsh slap on your ass. your body goes limp into his hand, falling back into the pillow that muffles out your loud moans that quickly turn into whines when your orgasm burns into your abdomen. jiseok slaps your ass again to catch your attention, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“cum before me and you’ll have another thing coming. i’ll make sure you’ll be begging on your knees for the rest of the week.” your ears obviously catch it but it takes you more than a moment to process, and when it finally hits you tears slide past the brim of your eyes into the pillows, trying to ground yourself from holding it in.

luckily for you, you can hear it in the way jiseok’s breath rapidly grows and the way his hands lets go of your wrists to grip your waist so that you go nowhere, thrusts growing sloppy. he holds your body up as if you’re a ragdoll and though jiseok’s being rough, you note how he’s not as selfish as he made himself seem.

“ah fuck…” jiseok slurs out slightly, leaving one more rough thrust before his eyes roll into the back of his head, hips stilling again and his warm cum filling you up. he groans loudly, slowly beginning to thrust into you to help you ride out your own orgasm. it doesn’t even take long, your sore arms falling to the bed under you, the sheets balled tightly under your fists.

each slow thrust he does pushes his cum deeper inside. he makes sure you’re full enough so that it doesn’t drip out, pulling out and giving a light satisfied slap to your ass when his cum stays inside. jiseok flips you over, your wet fucked out face and tear stains on his pillow. his hand wipes your tears then caresses your cheek soothingly.

“you’re so good for me, love.” he smiles tiredly, plopping down next to you and pulling you into a warm embrace. he holds back the urge to leave kisses along your neck, only rubbing circles into the flesh of your waist.

you two stay like that for a while, half due to catching your breaths which is the only thing that can be heard in his room and the other half being due to questioning if you should let jiseok know about your feelings or not.

“y’know,” you start. “it didn’t feel right with somebody else. that guy didn’t even touch me.” jiseok snorts out behind you.

“i wonder why it only feels right with me.”

“are you actually clueless or do you put on an act until you finally get what you want?” you repeat the same words he told you earlier. you can’t see the blood that rushes to jiseok’s ears when he hears it. “i fucking like you, idiot.”

there’s a brief silence between you two, one of his hands moving from your waist to your jaw. his hand cups your chin, turning your head so that you face him. he looks at you one more time, his half lidded eyes closing when he leans in to capture your lips in a tender kiss. it catches you completely off guard but you follow behind quickly, pulling away once you start to feel lightheaded. jiseok smiles.

“well if you didn’t say it sooner i would’ve.”

rushed bc i wrote this on my break at work and now im proofreading at 2 am but im tired </3 but i hope you enjoy anonie <333

please remember that this is a pure work of fiction.

[tikosblogg]

Can I request a Jj x reader where they’re riding on his bike and get into an accident

JUMP

JJ x Freader

Summary: As you and JJ run from the police, you have to make a quick decision.

Warning: none

A/N : I basically just did the scene from the show, but added reader to it. Hope you like it!❤️

The wind whipped through my hair, an untamed rush that tasted of freedom and adrenaline mixed with the salty tang of the ocean nearby. I clung to JJ, my heart racing just as fast as the bike's engine roared beneath us. His blonde hair was a mess, just like the chaotic life we led in the Outer Banks, but it was reassuring in a way. It was our wild, unpredictable existence that had me captivated—and terrified—all at once.

“Hold on tight!” he shouted over the blaring sirens behind us, his voice stern. Trust me, I thought as I squeezed my arms around his waist, feeling the warmth of his body seep through my thin shirt. I was all too familiar with JJ’s brand of trouble, but today felt different. It wasn’t just reckless; it was life or death.

Around us, the roads weaved like the threads, unpredictable. I turned my head back to see police lights flashing in the distance, weaving through the palm trees like predatory beasts hot on our trail.

Sweat trickled down the back of my neck as JJ hit the gas harder, the bike surging forward. “We’re not gonna get caught, not today!” he yelled, his eyes alight with excitement and maybe a hint of fear.

But as fate would have it, a massive overpass loomed ahead. I swallowed hard as JJ's voice broke through the chaos. “Y/N! We have to jump off the bike!”

“What?!” I screeched, my mind racing. “You’ve got to be kidding me! We can’t just jump off!”

“Either we jump and live, or we crash off the overpass and die!” he shouted back, genuine panic dancing in his blue eyes. I could see the overpass railing directly ahead, the highway beneath an abyss of asphalt waiting to swallow us whole.

My heart thumped a furious beat in my chest, and for a split second, I hated him for this impossible choice. My stomach twisted violently as reality settled in. Maybe he was right. I dashed through the thoughts of our lives flashing before my eyes—a life filled with deep laughter, bonfires, ocean adventures, and friendships that anchored me during storms.

The blaring sirens and deafening wind assaulted my senses, closing in on me. And with only seconds left, I felt an unyielding urge to trust JJ with all my heart. “Okay!” I yelled, half of me scared and half of me exhilarated by the recklessness of it all.

“Get ready!” he hollered, his hands steady on the handlebars. I could feel his presence like an electric tether, giving me the courage I needed amid the chaos. With a sharp twist, he pulled the bike into a power slide that sent us soaring to the side, the world tilting awkwardly as I let go.

Time seemed to slow in that moment. The ground started to rise, the sky tilted, and I felt weightless as JJ and I launched from the side of the overpass into the nearby woods.

The impact was jarring. The ground rushed to meet me with an unforgiving thud, my body rolling down the slight hill as the bike crashed through the railing, an explosion of metal and plastic erupting behind us. The sound of screeching tires and chaotic shouts flooded my ears as I landed unceremoniously into the dirt. I lay there, stunned and breathless, the dark sky above swirling into focus through blurred vision.

“Y/N!” Panic laced JJ’s voice as he rushed to my side, his face a millisecond away from mine, relief flooding his features.

“I’m okay,” I managed to rasp, even though my chest heaved wildly, adrenaline pulsing through my veins. The world spun slightly, but something about his worried gaze made me want to reassure him.

Before I could process how close we were, he pulled my head forward, pressing his warm lips against mine. It was a fierce connection that sent sparks racing through my veins. “That’s my girl,” he breathed, a mixture of relief and affection in his words as he pulled me to my feet.

A rush of urgency swept over us, and we both turned toward the sound of frantic voices. Kie, Sara, and Pope jumping out of the car, their faces etched with panic. “Y/N! JJ!” I could hear the absolute panic, as they looked over the now destroyed bike.

“I wish I could say I did that on purpose, but that was the gnarliest power slide I’ve ever done,” JJ quipped, dusting himself off with a wild grin.

Everyone’s eyes widened in disbelief, and with a shared sense of adrenaline-fueled insanity. They finally reached us, engulfing us in an overwhelming group hug.

Everyone broke away from the embrace as a voice shouted from above. One of the cops was yelling at us from the overpass, anger and impatience radiating in his tone.

“Pleasantries are nice, but we should really get out of here,” Pope said, running from the group towards the car.

Of course, abandoning the bike wouldn’t be the end of it. With synchronized determination, we piled into the car, a flurry of movement as pope slipped behind the wheel, determination flashing in his eyes. The engine roared to life, and as we sped away, laughter erupted amidst our panic.

I felt a whirlwind of emotions—relief, disbelief, and a growing affection for the reckless boy beside me who embodied both chaos and heart.