#you can’t tell cause of the lighting but under different light it’s silver and rough

[eupheme]

— mine, all mine

cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader

rated e - 4.2k

tags: jealous!cooper, sort-of alternate timeline (includes a fo4 character for fun), partners-with-benefits, mutual yearning, light angst, fingering, oral sex, one pussy slap, come marking

prompt: something where he's possessive and jealous. anything that would cause a man like The Ghoul to get jealous. He needs to remind everyone (including her) who she belongs to.

Cooper doesn’t take kindly to the man you picked up, even if he himself had made the deal to escort him to New Vegas. Not liking their old-world charm, that easy smile. Can’t be up to any good, and he hates that you might be falling for it.

It has him thinking that he just might have to remind you of a few things. Set you straight. Make sure you don’t forget who you belong to.

You can’t help the little laugh that bubbles in your throat, as you follow through the door at Cooper’s heels.

Seeking shelter for the night, after a long day on the road. Something different than the usual bounty. Escorting a man through the Mojave Wasteland, to New Vegas. Following another lead, they had said.

He had seemed capable enough, but didn’t know the area. His home was far to the east, not used to the harsh desert sun, the creatures that lurked here. A heavy bag of caps offered that neither one of you could say no to. Enough to buy a couple months worth of vials, and that meant more to you than anything.

“No shit. It really worked?” You glance back at the man from over your shoulder. The handle of your gun a familiar weight in your hand, as you check the hallways after your partner, “You really were him, costume and everything?”

“The Silver Shroud, in the flesh.” Nate flashes you a straight, white-toothed smile, “Calling cards and everything.”

Your head shakes in amazement. He was interesting - full of stories that didn’t seem possible to be true. Leader of the Minutemen. A retired veteran from before - or so he tells you.

Hard to believe such a thing could be true. It has you distracted - your boot catching on an overturned side table, a set of chairs.

A little yelp as you tilt off-balance. The Ghoul turning, a gloved hand stretching out out - but there’s already another at the small of your back, another at your elbow.

“Careful now, sugarbomb.” Nate huffs in your ear, steadying you until you catch your balance.

It has heat flaring in your cheeks - at his words and how you embarrassed yourself in front of both of them. Ignoring the hand, and winding yourself free, giving the mess of furniture a wide berth instead of stepping over as they did.

“Did you hear about him on the radio?” You ask Cooper instead, trying to change the subject.

Instead of an answer, the Ghoul gives you a rough grunt. Turning away from you, fingers tracing over the thick bullets lined up in his bandolier.

“Gonna sweep the second floor.” He rasps, “Stay put, alright?”

He must not have heard you, too busy concentrating on clearing the space.

You nod, a little flutter in your belly at his words as he leaves you. A hint of protection in them, layered deep. He hadn’t spoken much since he picked up this job. Eyes always watchful, fingers curled around the handle of his gun.

But you didn’t think there was anything too dangerous about Nate. He seemed nice - filling the space that you leave for him with his stories. The days traveling has been spent quickly, and you couldn’t help but feel sorry when you hear how he’d lost everything.

His wife, and his son. Waking up after it was all over - alone.

You wonder how he could press on, be so cheerful now. But you suppose someone could learn to shoulder a lot, after so many years had passed.

It has you shivering, in the old apartment. Thick brick walls - the radiators are long dead, the cold seeping through the cracks in the window panes.

“Hey.” You hear behind you. Nate’s shoulders flexing as he peels his leather bomber jacket off, fingers hooking under the collar as he holds it out to you.

The worn vault suit underneath clings tight to his chest. Silver threading through his dark hair, peppering his beard at the curve of his chin. Handsome, in an old-world way - something you haven’t been able to help noticing.

Not that you’re interested.

It’s only because he makes you think of him, a little. The same strange way of saying things. Phrases you don’t know from your time growing up in the wasteland.

And you can’t pretend you haven’t wondered, just a tiny bit. What Cooper might have been like, before.

Part of you had thought that would make them a little more friendly - that point of connection between them - but the Ghoul has been wrapped up in thorns for days now.

Distant even, but you think you get it. Suppose he thinks it’s safer, this way.

“Oh,” It takes you a second to accept his offering. Not used to generosity without a price. A soft sigh when you shrug it on - the fabric warmed by his body heat, “Thank you. Are you sure? It’s just, these old buildings-”

“This is almost warm compared to where I come from,” He smiles, shooting you a wink, “Least I can do, with what you’re doing for me.”

There’s a sweep of his eyes, as your hands slip through the sleeves - a considering tilt of his head, “Looks better on you, anyways.”

The compliment sends an uneasy ripple across your skin, a warm heat in your cheeks. His easy charm sets you on edge - not used to words and tones like his. Not knowing what to do with it - your eyes flicking towards the staircase.

There’s a pause, before he’s inhaling a breath.

“Listen. About your… associate,” Nate takes a step towards you, his voice lowering, “I don’t know if you owe him caps or something, but if you need to split, you’re welcome to come with me.”

It stuns you for a second. How he thinks you might need help, that you’re indebted.

“Oh!” You manage - that eye contact breaking, as you search for words, “I’m not. We’re actually, uh-”

But you don’t have a straight answer. Involved, perhaps. You wouldn’t say together, as much as you wished it would be. Companions is too soft a word for the path you travel together.

His word - associate - too formal.

“Really?” Nate’s voice tips up - just before his eyes dip down you and back up, in a quick circuit, “Huh. Good for him, then.”

The silence that lingers is stilted. His hands raise, with the lift of your brow.

“Didn’t mean any harm,” He adds, easily, “Just, if you change your mind… it’d be good to have you on the road with me.”

Leaving you then - letting the offer hang as he pokes around in the side rooms.

Another thing that you had found fascinating - the junk that he carries with him. Not just old tape but bottles of adhesive, cans of oil. Broken hot plates, all tucked into his bag.

Your head shakes, as you move deeper.

Winding your way into the kitchen, picking through broken cabinets - snatching up cans of cram. Ending up in a study, through another door.

Books spill from the shelves. There’s an old, deep desk bumped up near a wall, the upholstered chair toppled over next to it.

A few of the novels catch your eye - nose dipping to inhale the familiar, musty smell of the pages as you crouch. Thumbing through them, trying to pick one or two to keep.

Engrossed enough that you don’t hear the creak of boots on wood. The low jangle of spurs, until the door is closing shut behind you.

There’s a slow, upward pull of your eyes, until you see the way he looms over you - eyes narrowing. A hard set to his jaw, a hand that curls around your bicep as he tugs you up and onto your feet.

“Something wrong?” You ask, as you catch the pull of his brow bone, “With the house, is it safe?”

“House’s fine,” He grits. A hand tracing up the zipper of the jacket, curling around the collar.

The frown deepens, as his eyes drag over you, “You take this off the Vaultie?”

Your eyebrows raise, “I didn’t take it off him. He gave it to me because I was cold.”

He clicks his tongue at that, one side of his lip curling. Stepping into your space, until you’re bumping up against that desk.

“Can’t leave you alone for a goddamn minute, can I?” Cooper growls.

Fingers tracing up your sides until they’re fitting beneath the fabric at your shoulders, pushing the worn leather from them.

“What do you mean?” You frown - letting him. The evening chill isn’t so bad in here, the room tucked deeper into the house. No windows to let the evening air in.

“You know exactly what I mean, sugarbomb.” He drawls, acid in his tone, “Smoothie can’t keep his hands off you.”

The jacket pools on the desk, a flick of his wrist sending it to the floor. You don’t know why the Ghoul is so angry - not when he’s made it clear this something between you is just a diversion.

Nothing more than business mixing with pleasure.

“It’s not like that.” You protest, though your mind flickers back to before. Cheeks burning as you shift back, but follows - crowding you, “He’s looking for his son.”

It has your hip pressing against a desk, his own fitting against yours. Hands flattening against the top of the desk, as he leans over you.

“Lookin’ to get his dick wet, more like.” His words are a low growl, “‘Sides, is that all it takes you get you starry-eyed? Fella lookin’ for his kid?”

There’s something in the way he says it. A tick in his jaw, the way his tone pushes at you. Needling deep, as if there’s something more to what he’s saying.

Your arms prop on your hips, “I’m not starry-eyed-”

“Aren’t you?” His head cocks, “You gonna be keepin’ his bedroll warm tonight, sweetheart?”

There’s mockery in his tone. A curl of his lip and bared teeth, all while his eyes catalog each and every expression.

Your hands press against his chest then, scoffing. Yes, Nate had flirted with you. Said you could come with him, but surely that wasn’t the reason why.

Was it?

“That’s ridiculous,” It comes out flustered, unconvincing, “He was married, he’s not-”

The Ghoul shifts, his hands fitting against your hips. Pushing, until you’re sitting on top of the desk, thighs spread so he can fit between them. Distracting you, though his look is no less fierce.

“That don’t mean much, sweetie,” He growls, “Key word here is was. Not gonna keep him from tryin’, I’ll tell you that much.”

And you think you get it now. His raised hackles from the very beginning, when Nate’s hand curled around yours.

Maybe he’d burn right up, if he had heard your conversation. You wonder if he caught any - drifting up through the floorboards. Sending him right down to you, to stake his claim.

It has you softening. Fingers hooking around the thick leather of his belt, tugging him flush.

“He can try all he wants, cowboy,” You shrug, looking at him from beneath your lashes, “It’s not gonna sway me. Was just being nice because he was.”

“Nice.” He echos, as his hands slip up to your waist. Fingers curling in the folds of your shirt, rocking you against him, “That what you think you want, sweetheart?”

There’s the dip of his head, and your eyes are closing. But he just hovers, close enough that you can feel the exhale of his breath. A jerk of his head when your chin tips up, seeking him.

“You think nice is gonna take care of you the way I do?” His hand drifts up - fitting at the curve of your ribs. Thumb brushing at your breast, as you suck in a breath.

“What are you doing?” You breathe, as your eyes open. A shiver at how close he is, how his crotch presses right against the seam of your pants.

His answer is a low rasp.

“Remindin’ you of a couple o’ things.”

There’s a familiarity in the way his other hand dips down. Those hazel eyes are still on yours, as he gives the button on your pants a sharp tug. A soft slide of the zipper.

Your fingers curl, holding on tightly. Anticipation sings in you, melding with the sharp flutter of nerves.

“W-We can’t,” It comes out as a stammer - your concentration torn. “He’s still-”

The Ghoul’s hand leaves you, but it’s only so his teeth can sink into the tip of a leather glove - the jerk of his head to pull his hand free. Already coming back to you, giving the fabric of your pants a sharp tug downwards.

“‘s cute you think I give a shit.” He husks - his eyes dark, as he jerks his chin towards your hips.

They seem to move on their own. A hum of approval as they lift - so he can tug both layers down to your ankles, leaving them to tangle with your boots.

His hands are warm as they trace back up your bare thighs. Soothing the chill - forever warmed by the radiation that lingers in him. Your thighs spread wider without thought, though his fingers linger.

Tracing the soft skin, just where your thigh meets hip. Close enough that surely he can feel the heat that lingers there - the scrape of his nails against sensitive skin sending up goosebumps, as his tongue pinches between teeth.

Eyes caught on how easily you open for him. The way you clench in anticipation, shifting into his touch.

Another protesting whimper falls from your lips, the ghost of a smile as his eyes flip up to yours.

“You’re gonna tell me you don’t want this,” His thumb twitches against you, ghosting along your slit, “When I can see you practically droolin’ for me?”

He lifts his hand for emphasis, casually examining the sheen that coats the pad of his thumb. Head cocked as he waits - dragging it slowly along the flat of his tongue.

“I do want it,” It’s hushed, though no less needy.

His tongue peeks out again. Pinched between teeth, before ghosting across a lower lip - the taste of you lingering. You expect him to bend you over the table, or lay you back against it.

Instead, his fingers pluck the hat from his head. Dropping it onto yours, the brim distorting your view as he bends. Crouching - his left knee pressing into the floorboards, as he situates himself between your thighs.

It has your breath hitching. Another exploration of his fingers, thumb pressing against your folds. Tugging you open, examining you, just like he’d do for a piece of found scrap.

Heat floods through you. There’s no mistaking that he’s still calling every shot, even when he’s on his knees.

“Then answer my question.” His voice takes on a sharp edge, those eyes back on yours, “You think he could give you what you need?”

From here, you can see the pretty fan of his eyelashes. The flecks of gold and green in his brown eyes, each little pitted scar and shiny stretch of skin.

Your head shakes.

“No.” Your thighs inch wider - hips bucking into his touch, “Only you, Cooper.”

He growls at the sound of his name, his hand coming to cup against your cunt. Fingers insistent, where they nudge at your opening. The tips of two sinking into your heat, ripping a muffled gasp from you.

A low hum, when he feels how wet you are. How you wrap so warm and tightly around him - an obscene sound as he presses them deep.

Unable to hide how he affects you, not when the pace picks up, until the heel of his hand is grinding against your clit. Until you’re dripping against his palm.

Your moan is bitten back. Fingers curling around the edge of the desk, needing something to hold onto.

His pace is steady, but he’s just teasing. Fingers merely filling you, stretching you out. No careful curl - just bringing you to hover on a plateau, leaving you to clench around him with desperation.

“Please,” You whine.

Relief then, as his fingers hook. Dragging against your spongy inner wall, as you whimper in approval.

“Yeah?” He hums - watching how your brows pinch, when his fingers flex again, “Change your mind about gettin’ fucked, honey?”

Teeth clicking together with your bitten-back whine, needing to feel more than just the unhurried crook of his fingers.

“Yes. I need more,” Your hips lift with your answer - bucking into his touch, “Need your cock, Cooper. I’ve missed it-”

A dirty trick, to use his name again.

To beg, like this.

He knows it, a heartbeat lingering before his fingers begin to move with purpose. The tilt of his head, and then - his tongue is flattening against your slit. Giving you something else, instead.

You cry out before you remember where you are - your hand quick to press against your mouth to muffle the sound.

He groans at the taste of you, as it floods his tongue. A dark glitter in his eyes, you think he did this on purpose. Trying to pull those sounds from you.

This thought solidified as he begins to devour you. Licking you from clit to hole, dipping between his knuckles. Working the muscle in until he can feel you clench around it too, his own groan caught in his throat. Coming back up - lips wrapping around the tight bud as you gasp, nails biting into wood as you moan.

Ones you still try to hide. Your breath sharp through your nose, palm pressed flat against your mouth. But it doesn’t stop the squeak of the desk as your hips move. The sticky plunge of his fingers, the wet lap of his tongue.

Something molten pooling inside you, red-hot. He knows how much you can take, how the stretch of his fingers slips into something honey-sweet.

His head rears back, as his eyes open. A sharp click of his tongue, before his left hand curls like a vice around your wrist. Capturing the other - fingers spreading wide as he pins them against your belly.

A smirk that grows wider - more sinister - when you realize you won’t be able to hide your sounds any longer. When all you can do is accept what he gives you.

“Oh, don’t hold back, sweetheart.” He coos - a rough breath, as he sees your jaw grit, eyes screwing shut, “Want him to hear just what I’m doin to you.”

A tilt of his head - slow in the way he returns to you. A pointed thrust of his fingers, another one slipping into you. Tongue flicking lazily, before spit is pooling on his tongue.

Pressing his fingers deep, as it falls from his lips. Dripping down your slit, before he’s sucking on your clit again.

The keen that pulls from you is loud. Drawn-out, your breath hissed through your teeth.

He grins into your cunt, the words murmured against your skin, “That’s more like it. Atta girl.”

Taking, as he gives.

Guilt lingers in you - thinking about Nate, wandering in the house. Hearing the muted moans and cries as you’re devoured against the desk. It has your lips pressing harder together, though it does nothing to mute the pleasure that winds higher and higher.

But he notices. Of course he does - fingers slipping free, curling against your clit before he’s pinching it between his fingertips. Teeth nipping at your inner thighs, marks blooming against your skin.

Another cry loosens, as your hips jerk.

“Now I know you want my cock, sweetheart. Asked for it so nicely, after all,” He husks, as his head tips up, “But you’re not gettin’ it till later.”

A threat and a promise, layered in the heavy pant of his breath.

“Plan on takin’ you by the fire. From three feet away, if I have to,” His smile is near-feral, “Let him hear how pretty your pussy sounds taking me. Knowin’ he can’t touch.”

You moan at his words. At the pet of his fingers - each breath short, growing louder as he brings you close to the edge. Keyed up enough over the past few days - leaving you desperate.

And you think that maybe - he just might be as well. It’s there in the way his shoulders curl in. The spread and rock of his own thighs, where you can see the tent of his hard cock.

That desire to make you come tipping into something that feels like need.

“You know why he can’t?” He coaxes, his words a slow drawl.

His fingers flattening when you’re slow to answer - pleasure-drunk, landing a harsh tap against your cunt that has you gasping in shock.

“Because…” You search for the words, grasping at their hazy shapes, “Because I’m yours.”

It comes so easily, the things you’ve thought but never said.

His knees shift, hips tilting on their own. A rough sound in his throat, as he watches how your lips form the words.

“That’s right,” Cooper coos, “Good fuckin’ girl. Knowing who she belongs to.”

It does something to you. That desire blooming into something tangible, racing from your thoughts to the needy throb of your clit.

He can hear the change in your breath. How it pitches high, drawn out. No longer holding it back - unable to, as your vision starts to go hazy.

“You liked that, sweetheart? Knowin’ that you’re owned?” He rasps, “Fuckin’ close, aren’t you. Gonna come?”

“Yes,” You chant, “Make me come. Cooper, please-”

His hand leaves your wrists - your palms curling into his jacket as he loosens his own belt. Fist wrapping around his cock as his tongue replaces the swirl of his fingers.

A whine - loud, in the quiet room - when those three fingers sink deep again, filling you. Only a few deep plunges of of his fingers before your breath is catching, eyes going wide.

The cry catches in your throat, coming out ragged. Unmistakable for anything else, as your pussy tightens around him - that thudding beat that starts low, rippling through you.

Pulsing against his tongue. Stealing your strength, leaving you boneless as your fingers anchor themselves against his shoulders.

He groans into your cunt, as he feels you gush against his palm. The way he can taste your release as it leaks against his knuckles, his tongue dipping down to taste.

Greedy again, with his gaze. Fixed on how wrecked you are - rumpled clothes, how you’re still speared on his fingers, thighs slick with need.

No one else can ruin you so thoroughly. You both know it - it’s enough that he lets go, chasing his own end. An unsteady push to his feet, as his fingers slip free.

His other hand flattening against your abdomen, pushing you back against the desk. A messy twist of his fist, seeing the gape his fingers left behind - that tension twisting, about to snap in his own belly.

His cock is coated in your release, when he comes. A feral snarl as his fist jerks - harkening back to your first few nights together. Back when he held back from spilling inside you, the vials too precious to spend on a stranger.

Fingers twitching against your belly, keeping you pinned as his own moan slips through his teeth. A needy buck of his hips into the tight curl of his hand, a cruel mockery of where he imagines it buried. But it’s enough - another rough sound before ropes of his spend arc across your mound.

Warm against your skin, as he covers you. Dripping down against your slit when he angles himself, making a mess of your slick pussy.

It already has anticipation simmering, deep inside. Unsure if he was being serious about later - but the thought of him taking you nice and slow, drawing it out - you might not be able to ever look Nate in the eye, but christ, it could be worth it.

Though something hangs heavy, as he comes back down. His head lowers from where it tipped back in pleasure. The slow drag of the tip of a finger through his release, glossy against your skin, before he finds the hem of your underwear. Tugging it back into place as you whine in protest.

“Hush, now.” He coos - stroking you over the thin fabric. Seeing how his come seeps in. A teasing circle against your clit, before his palm presses flush. Smearing himself against your cunt.

Staking a claim, you think. He’s always let you clean up before. And this isn’t a punishment, though the wait will be torture.

Fingers smooth the faded fabric when he’s content, his radiation-reddened fingers fitting against the soft curves of your hips.

And, maybe now you understand.

“I’m not going to leave you, you know.”

It’s quiet, breathed out as you gaze up at him.

He almost flinches. A different kind of shudder that runs through him, fingers pinching hard where they dent your flesh.

“You should,” His jaw grits. Voice low, the words coming out hoarse, “If you had any sense.”

But you both know you have none. Not when it comes to him.

Your hands fit in his, as he tugs you off the table. The snug fit of your pants as you tug them back into place, already feeling how he sticks against your skin.

Thoroughly marked. Unable to help the clench as you think about later - missing the fullness of his fingers already. A wobble to your legs - a hazy remnant from your orgasm - as you right yourself, fitting everything back into its place. Before stooping, to grab the jacket off the floor.

Cooper’s hand reaches out - fingers beckoning. His own duster already shrugging off his shoulders. Bundled up, as he holds it aloft.

“You get cold again, you tell me.”

It’s gruff. An offering, with the extension of his hand. Swapping the bomber jacket for his. The worn fabric enveloping you as you tug it on, that greedy look seeping back as he takes in how you look in his things.

A little nod, before he’s turning - making for the door.

Leaving you to follow behind, hiding your smile.

this started a couple different ways (flirting with a bounty or with a bartender) but I thought it would be interesting to have Cooper in a situation with a genuinely good guy (Nate is the MMC in FO4 if you choose his route!) because that would surely and truly drive him nuts (rip what a couple to join up with) 💖 thank you for reading! Hope you enjoyed!

edit: the companion fic is here - this scenario with them picking up Nora and Reader being the jealous one!

[hansolmates]

shiver | 01 (m)

banner done by the wonderful @dnrequests​

summary; jungkook changed since he moved out of his small town church community and attended college. when he returns for a christmas mass, you suddenly crave a taste of his fun and carefree life. in exchange, jungkook craves a taste of you pairing; bad boy!jungkook x church girl!reader genre/warnings; childhood friends to lovers, brief childhood friends to enemies, fwb!au, catholic guilt, jungkook is a meanie who eventually turns into a soft tsundere, bicuriosity, sexual exploration, virgin!oc, eventual smut—in this installment: touching over the clothes, mc is hornee, *pulls out cards against humanity* “a gentle caress of the inner thigh”, panty kissin, mc is a big ol’ pushover and hopeful for jkk:(( w/c; 1.9k a/n; it’s here! aaaaaa!!! i’ve been really eally realllyyyyyy nervous to post this. even though this is just a drabble series  let me know how you feel about it! enjoy [shiver masterpost]

“Oh, you’re so dead.” 

Jeon Jungkook isn’t thaaaat buff, he's more of a skinny kind of muscular. You don’t understand the hype, why everyone croons over Jungkook’s strength and physique. However, how else could you explain Jungkook being able to climb the currently dilapidated fire escape to the top floor of the chapel. The ladder is rusted beyond repair and is definitely a fire hazard rather than a fire escape. Yet he barely breaks a sweat doing it, and he wipes the minor sheen off his brow with the back of his hand. There’s some soot and whatever nasty residue from the fire escape that gets on his face, a black streak marring his already annoying face. He’s currently wiggling his fingers in a sarcastic “hello.” It makes you sneer, your two consciousness (inappropriate and appropriate) warring against each other to determine whether you still find this man attractive or not. 

Convincing yourself that Jungkook is ugly is the worst quick-fix idea you’ve ever had. 

The words of your Aunties, the family friends in the church, echo in your ears. Jungkook’s bad. They’d say over and over. It would cause you to snort and giggle, unable to imagine what sort of things he’s done to warrant such a cliché label. Yet some of the girls your age, girls that have gone off to college agree with sultry looks and longing eyes that yes, Jungkook’s bad. So bad, it’s good. 

You haven’t a clue what he’s actually done to earn such a hushed title, his parents are lip-tight about his doings, unless it’s his achievements in the architecture graduate program. You hear things, though. Things that make you shamefully green with envy, envious of sin. 

As soon as he finds proper footing in the storage room, he goes to the closet, immediately finding his backup clothes. They’re plain white button-downs, awkward long shirts with no shape or definition to them. They belong to the church, and no one ever uses them because they’re stiff and itchy. Yet Jungkook wears them like it’s tailored, and you have to look away when he quickly knots the bottom half of the shirt, fashioning it into a tasteful double knot in order to cinch his lean waist.

“Pretty sure it was just you that saw me,” Jungkook says dismissively, “so it’s fine.” 

This bristles you the wrong way, and you put down the catering covers you were supposed to return to the storage room. You smooth out your Sunday dress, this shade of Boring Beige looking particularly pale in the morning sun. “How do you know I won’t tell?” you turn your nose up. 

“Because I know,” he doesn’t even look at you, focusing on rolling the sleeves of his shirt. You weaken when you see the black shadowing across his forearm. That’s new, then again you haven’t seen him since last Christmas.   

“Know what?” 

“That you have a crush on me,” Jungkook says into the air like it’s common knowledge, adjusting the leather jacket on top of his outfit so the white-startched collar pops on top, “I mean, it’s hard for anyone not to know. You’ve been into me since youth group, Bunny.”  

You hold your breath, counting to ten as you close the door behind you. A vision of you playing “Duck Duck Goose” as a five year old plays in your head, where you’d pick a bushy, big-eyed Jeon Jungkook each time, hopping over to him to pat his fluffy head so he’d chase you around. 

It’s old news, your puppy love for Jungkook. How could you not like him? He's clever and sweet with his mother and always told the best stories in youth group meetings.  Everyone thought your affections were so sweet, and while that attention weaned over time, your feelings have only increased the more self-aware you’ve become. 

With a mind as open and honest is yours, it’s hard to ignore how well Jungkook has grown. What has also grown is your curiosities since the two of you have moved onto university. Jungkook goes to the university uptown, a far drive which only forces him attend masses during the holidays. You attended the local community college, wrapping up a bachelors in some vague major that you’re not attached to. You’re currently looking around for some graduate schools, but unfortunately you’ve been so wrapped up doing duties for Pastor Nina that you haven’t been able to look around properly. 

Jungkook’s probably living a fun life, with the way he’s grown rough and loose, you resent him. 

When you turn back around, Jungkook’s right in front of you, trapping you between his body and the door.  

“Don’t be embarrassed, Bunny,” you furrow your brows, nearly growing cross-eyed when he leans in. “I think your crush is cute.” 

You’re not sure what he thinks of you. Sure, he considered everyone a friend when you two were in youth group, but that was youth group. Premeditated, parents forcing other children to do the same things with each other for years upon years in the hope they’ll practice together forever and ever. Jungkook did not want that, evident from the way he dipped his duties as soon as he got into university. 

You hate how easy he dips back into it though, calling you Bunny and making you feel like a little girl all over again. Bunny, because you’d hop around to him whenever he was in sight. Bunny, because Jungkook had been fondly compared to the wide-eyed, diamond-toothed creature. It was cute when you were five. Now, it’s just discomfiting. 

“Don’t call me that,” you bite, “and I don’t like you anymore.” 

“Sure you don’t,” he rolls his eyes, and you flinch when Jungkook’s hand rests on the curve of your waist, fingers slotting themselves between the pleats of your skirt. “That’s why you’re not moving away when I’m about to put my hand under your skirt. Because you don’t like me.” 

You press yourself further into the door, your skin hot and vibrating. So warm, you feel like you could melt through the door and escape from Jungkook’s gaze. Sure, the young ladies in the congregation talk. Maybe you’ve heard a story or two about Jungkook being seedy, a result of being repressed after years and years of stiff routines and expectations thrust upon him. You could care less about Jungkook’s sexual appetite, until this appetite has reached you. 

“Mm, you’re pretty,” Jungkook’s eyes roam your form, the daisy white blouse doing nothing to barricade Jungkook’s sudden interest in you, “you’ve never been touched like this, have you?” 

“I’ve touched myself like this,” you hiss in defense, and it’s more out of anger than in pleasure. You don’t need a man to comfort you, but Jungkook’s eyes sparkle in mirth at the new information. 

“That’s really sexy,” Jungkook slips down, roams his fingers down to your ankles and plays with the silver buckles of your Mary Janes. You shiver when his hands trail up up up to your knees, the swell of your thighs, and catch right under the elastic seam that holds your secrets together, “but I’ll have you know, it’s different when you have someone hold your pleasure in their hands.” 

You’re in the storage room of your church, fifteen minutes before the Christmas mass, with Jeon Jungkook’s head between your legs. Your skirt is long, and Jungkook doesn’t bother to ride it up your waist. 

It feels more forbidden that way, Jungkook hiding under the fabric of your skirt to get to your honeyed center, sneaking his way in with rough hands and soft touches.

“J-Jungkook,” you whimper, pressing your full spine against the wooden door, “we shouldn’t. N-not like this.”

What is wrong with you? Is it sheer curiosity? Do you just want to know what it finally, finally feels like? You should be pushing him away. There’s red lights flashing back and forth in your brain like sirens. Yet, do you really want to turn away the attention you’ve been aching for years? 

You imagined your first time to be relatively special. The bare minimum, a bed, a talk, and a partner you’re mutually committed to. None of those things are met. Now you understand why all the young women in church whisper about sex like this. It’s a spur of the moment, it’s an unbridled pleasure you don’t want to stop, no matter how forbidden and sinful the act is.  

“How else then?” you feel his deep voice straight through your panties, his lips whispering between the pink cotton like he’s sinking liquid heat into your skin. “I can’t sink my fingers into your sweet cunt during the candle lighting. Or when we open presents with the family after. That would be inappropriate.” 

Your replies come out in breaths, puffs of air that conceal the moans you so badly want to let out as Jungkook pokes and rubs at you. He does nothing beyond the cotton fabric, only slides two fingers up and down your slit as he gathers the arousal between his digits. 

“So wet already, that’s so sexy,” he’s kissing your core, and you sigh fretfully at the pleasure that feels so close yet so far away. 

“P-please, Jungkook…” 

“Please what?” Jungkook teases, fingers slipping back and forth between the elastic of your underwear, “please stop? Please touch me? Please fuck me?” 

The church bell answers that, and Jungkook’s nose knocks right into your bud at the sudden intrusion. You yelp at the jarring stimulation, pulling him from under your skirts as the loud noise echoes in the room. Both of you wince at the pain, the moment interjected. 

“You first,” Jungkook casually opens the door for you, as if he didn’t have you ten seconds away from begging him to make you come. 

You don’t even look at him as you dash away, not bothering to take the elevator in favor of running off the heat. Two minutes before the procession. The church is packed to the brim, only the back seats left. Your family probably gave up on waiting for you up in the front. As you sit down in the corner, you’re momentarily distracted by the beauty of a decorated church on Christmas. Even though you’re part of the decorating committee and commanded most of the design, seeing the stained glass lit up with fairy lights and the poinsettia plants blooming burgundy on the altar, you’re impressed. 

“There’s a draft here, you must be cold.” Jungkook talks to you so politely, a perfect picture of a gentleman as he drapes his leather jacket over your lap. He speaks as if it’s a pleasant surprise, a childhood friend he hasn’t seen in nearly a year. 

You can’t tell him to move when people are watching and Jungkook is seconds from interrupting the procession, so you reluctantly scoot over so he can sit next to you. His scent overwhelms you even more now that you’ll have to sit next to him for a whole hour, lavender and vanilla overtaking your pew. 

The jacket is heavy and heady on your lap, and you force yourself to stare straight ahead. Jungkook cannot weaken you like this, not anymore. 

Thirty minutes later, his fingers are hovering at the start of the homily, caressing your thighs under the jacket with his big hands. A draft? Please. You clamp your thighs together, knocking your knees and hoping they’d lock together for the rest of the mass. Jungkook’s a master key, easily parting his way as if your muscles are pure jelly. You turn your head sharply, glaring at him with all the fire in the world. 

“Careful,” Jungkook mouths, eyes flickering to the symbol atop the podium, “he’s watching.” 

His fingers finally brush the damp blush cotton of your panties, and you shudder. 

[caravelmp3]

UNDER THE CANYON MOON

pairing: josh kiszka x female!reader warning(s): mostly fluff, just brief mentions of alcohol and sex  word(s): 2k note: hi hi hi !! this is just a little something i wrote up the last couple of days with the inspiration of light my love, canyon moon by harry styles, and the interview where josh talked about road-tripping the u.s. last summer <3 i don’t write one shots often but let me know what you all think bc i might shuffle some more out soon lol. hope you all enjoy !! :) 

The Los Angeles sun was hot, beating down onto the city basking in its late-summer hues. You parked your car on the street in Silver Lake and carried a bag of food and drink tray to the door of a recording studio, more than prepared to be swarmed by hungry boys who had been cooped up in the studio since five a.m. on the dot that morning. They had a breakthrough the night before with a new song, and after getting home and going to bed for a few hours, the creative juices started flowing again and they were back in the booth. 

A windchime on the door sang as you pulled the door open and walked inside, greeting their manager who was at a table by the door. 

“The boys here?” 

“Down the hall,” he nodded, pointing a finger in the direction of the hallway. “They’re more rowdy than usual so be prepared,” 

You laughed and turned down the hall, walking towards the studio. The walls were decorated with memorabilia of rock and roll greats and record plaques, and among them, you spotted a picture of the four boys with their Grammy award. It seemed like time had passed so quickly. They won the award for the first album and they were already working on their third, shooting them further into stardom. 

“Coffee’s here!” You shouted in a really bad New England accent when you noticed the recording light was flipped off above the door. 

You stepped into the room to a chorus of cheers and “thank god you're here”’s that made you laugh while sitting the food and drinks down on the table and they all rushed over. You handed out the specific orders and pointed to which drinks was theirs when they got handsy and tried to grab everything from her out of both excitement and some desperation for caffeine. 

“Our savior,” Jake said, reaching out and grabbing your shoulders to give them a gentle shake before taking the coffee you were holding out to him, and then you handed Danny’s to him, too. 

“Just the coffee girl here,” 

“Well, you’re a little bit more than that,” Josh said, walking over to the table to grab his full cup. 

You pressed a hand against the table, leaning over to him. “Just a little?” 

“A little bit,” he shot you a wink before swiftly pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

You were more than just a “little more” than the coffee girl, you were typically their designated drunk driver, the one who took all of their candid photos, the mediator in times of need, and well, the girlfriend of the lead singer, too. 

Everyone in the studio took their food and drinks and scattered among the seating area in a break from recording. Instead of one tiny room with all of them cramped together, they had a wide open space with booths for the different instruments and bean bag chairs and big comfy, velvet sofas, and there was dim lighting with deep toned rugs that gave off the vibe of a more relaxed feel rather than the fluorescent-light, tiled-floor feeling that made them feel rushed and confined by rules they didn’t set themselves. 

You liked the studio, too, and often took naps on the sofa while listening to them play instruments individually in the recording booths and while they were writing. One night they had found you at two a.m., bundled up with a blanket on the bean bag chair after they spent the night writing in the front room on the piano, but it wasn’t the first time as you often napped in their Nashville recording offices, too. 

“You guys been busy today?” You asked jokingly while lowering onto the sofa armrest, receiving nothing but glares shot in your direction. “Okay, okay, touchy subject,” 

With a mouthful of bread, Sam pointed to Josh, “Josh finished a song, didn’t you?” He was grinning. 

You hummed in joy and surprise, grabbing Josh’s knee as he sat next to you. “Really?” 

It had been a rough few days for all of them as they tried to shuffle out a few more additions to the new album. It felt incomplete with something missing, but they couldn’t quite put their finger on what it was exactly, so they attempted to bring back and revamp old songs, write and record new ones, but nothing seemed to stick, until now. 

“Yeah, wanted to wait and show you later, but someone can’t keep his trap shut.” Josh said, pretending to be serious before cracking a smile and taking a sip of his coffee. “Just wanted it to be a surprise,” 

“Well it can still be a surprise, I’m surprised now,” you said. “Can I hear it? Or read what you got?” 

Josh nodded and stood, grabbing your hand and pulling you with him. There was a little recording room fit with a piano inside, his writing journal placed on the music stand where he had scribbled notes and keys and melodies in pen. He picked it up and handed it to you. 

“Nothing seemed to click until last night, when I started putting it together.” He said. 

“Is that why you wouldn’t tell me what it was when you all got back to the house?” 

Josh shrugged, pinching his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger. “Yeah, yeah, I wanted it to be special when you first heard it.”

You sat the coffee cup down onto the floor while lowering into the small chair in the corner, holding the journal like it was the most delicate piece of art in the world. In silence, while Josh watched on anxiously, you read the words he had splayed across the blank page. 

     Can you light my love?      Flames glowing bright as the sun      Deeper than oceans you run      Watch as our world has begun 

     Your mind is a stream of colors      Extending beyond our sky      A land of infinite wonders      A billion lightyears from here now

You felt your throat tighten, tears tempted your eyes. 

It was a love song. 

“Josh-” 

“Oh god you hate it don’t you, you dread it, despise it,” 

“Oh shut up, I’m in tears right now, you know I love it.” You looked up at him with a smile and a sniffle. 

His words across the page were sloppy, some cursive, written in different pens of different colors, some lines crossed and scribbled out, others underlined. 

“Your mind is something I will never fully understand.” You told him as he sat down on the chair next to you. “How the fuck did you come up with this-” 

“I was thinking about our trip out here, the week we spent driving out and all of the stuff we did… and how I think I fell more in love with you.” His voice softened. 

You reached out, placing your arm on his shoulder, fingers playing with his curls. “I can’t put it into words how much I love it, how much I love you,” you said, “and you make me sound so lovely when in reality I know I was a pain in the ass that entire trip.” 

“Yeah, but my pain in the ass,” he kissed the inside of your arm. 

Two weeks before the boys left Nashville to head to Los Angeles, Josh called you at midnight with an idea in mind – the two of you renting a camper to drive out to L.A., falling into all of the tourist traps along the way and stopping in random small towns to sleep while exploring the in between, which would definitely beat the boring four-hour flight. And you, half asleep and across the country, agreed. 

It would be fun. Right? 

And it was. Every time someone asked how it went, you called it “the most magical week of my life.” 

While the others waited behind for their flights the next week, you and Josh set off from Nashville, heading west with only the destination in mind and a trusty map in hand. Everything else just came to you both. 

The first stop was three hours in the trip, in Memphis. You and Josh roamed Graceland on Elvis Presley Boulevard and had lunch near Sun Studio before taking in the mementos and relics at the Blues Hall of Fame where Josh talked your ear off, rattling off more details about each band and singer than was on the info-cards on the wall. 

Then it was two hours to Little Rock, falling asleep in the back of the camper after a take-out dinner outside of a random supermarket. Sitting in lawn chairs in the middle of a parking lot, you held Josh’s hand under a blanket and watched the pink sunrise over the hills, and then it was back on the road again. 

From Oklahoma City to Amarillo, you fiddled with the map when Josh got lost after a wrong turn in a small town where he insisted on seeing the giant 66-foot LED soda bottle sculpture, and in the middle of northern Texas, he made it up to you by cooking your favorite dinner. You thanked him in a quiet whisper as you crawled into the bed with him that night, sliding under the covers where he greeted you with warm hands and kisses against your neck that made you squeal with the tickle of his mustache and he grinned against your lips. 

Josh got to choose the music all the way through New Mexico – Neil Young and Crazy Horse to John Denver’s Thank God I’m A Country Boy, and you were only able to squeeze in Joan Baez every hour when you stopped to stretch your legs on the side of the road, belting the words to him while he laughed at your voice cracks. 

And after you both pitched the tent in the Petrified Forest in Arizona, Josh hummed the tune to some new song while you two sat under the midnight stars in the canyon with a roaring fire, his arm around you, his sweatshirt draped over your shoulders. When he tried to start telling you a scary story after you heard a weird noise outside the tent, you blindly hit him in the dark and accidentally hit his nose, causing you both to burst into laughter after the initial panic left. He laughed loudly into your shoulder as you held his face in shock, catching the scent of your lavender lotion, and his body relaxed when the laughter died down, feeling so at peace in his life with you there. 

It was the tail end of the trip, but the excitement hadn’t died down yet. After showers in the camper in the middle-of-nowhere-Arizona and five hours west, you and Josh found a bar outside of Las Vegas that resembled Coyote Ugly, so you both had a round of tequila sodas and margaritas before walking around the small town that evening and sleeping off the tipsy-headaches in the air conditioning. On top of the covers, you looked at Josh napping in the sunshine, cheeks flushed red, curls poofy from the wind, and you felt your heart grow in your chest before falling asleep next to him. 

And then came Los Angeles, the final stop, the dreaded one. But you and Josh didn’t tell anyone that either of you were sad to be back with them in L.A. when they asked, and instead, you two smiled and hugged everyone after piling out of the camper in the drive-way of the Silver Lake house. 

Cleaning out the camper, tossing cheesy novelty t-shirts at each other and laughing at how many socks you two managed to lose along the way and how many bug bites were added, watching the developed clips Josh had filmed of scenes in the desert and you asleep in the passenger seat, you both were nostalgic about a trip that just ended. 

It was so easy, so freeing to just be together on the road, with only the destination in mind. It revealed a part of them that the other didn’t see often, like your tendencies to get your lefts and rights mixed up while giving directions, and Josh’s equally awful sense of direction didn’t exactly pair with the fact that he was a maniac while driving in the first place. 

But those parts were just added to the long list of why you and him loved each other in the first place. So you became the designated driver after Amarillo and Josh stuck to telling you “left or right” for the rest of the time. It was a compromise, another reason why you two worked so well together. 

It was a form of love in itself. 

“We’ll have to drive all the way back to Nashville then, so you can write more songs about me.” You teased. 

Josh rolled his eyes but cracked into a grin a second later. “Let’s not get too carried away,” but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t always mentally reliving the night under the canyon moon.

[sugako]

backseat care

kyotani x f!reader  sum: getting elbowed in the face at a concert isn’t new for you, but at least this time it’s by a hot guy  cw: 18+ minors dni, nsfw, minor accidental violence (reader gets a bloody nose/split lip from kyo), mentions of blood, mentions of alcohol (but no one is drunk), slight public sex/car sex, oral (f!receiving), slight overstim, creampie, strangers to lovers wc: 2.4k a/n: i have had such bad writers block lately, but i’ve been wanting to write more kyo content for so long and i miss going to loud basement shows so why not combine both also there’s a longish intro just an fyi

the amount of pain from the limb crashing into your face isn’t all that different from what you’ve felt before. things get messy in the pit, you know that, but when you reach up to wipe the sweat from your upper lip you realize it smells a lot more like copper. just as your nose starts to leak the assailant spins around, looking as if he’s about to tell you off for getting in the way of his arm before his expression drops.

kyotani can’t believe he just gave the prettiest girl he’s ever seen a bloody nose and split lip. your head is tilted down, desperately trying to catch the blood in your palms as you cover up the bottom part of your face. the lights are flashing and it’s dark, but he feels like he can see all of you. 

“i’m sorry.” he huffs over the music. 

“it’s fine, i’m just gonna, uhh...” you choke out, lightly pinching your nose with a little wince. 

“c’mon,” he sighed, “let’s go see if there’s a first aid kit around.” he was already grabbing your arm and dragging you out of the mess of people before you could respond. his firm grip made your mind wander, momentarily distracted from the mess that was your face. 

after scrounging the dingy, cramped space for close to five minutes, he gives a defeated huff. 

“nothing?” you asked nasally, the blood finally slowing to a crawl. he shakes his head, eyebrows tightening together even more. 

“i have a kit in my car if you’re okay with that.” 

“tell me your name and promise you won’t murder me?” you breathe out, already texting the friend you came with about your little injury and that you were stepping out with a stranger. “you don’t really look creepy, but you never know.”

“kentarō kyōtani and no.” he quips back, still guiding you with his hand clamped around your arm out of the building. 

the cool night air runs right through your body, quelling the hotness that’s built up in your face. thankfully, his car is only two spots away from the exit. it’s tiny and black with two thin silver stripes that remind you of the ones that run through his hair, giving him a pseudo-mohawk.

he opens up the rear door, grabbing a box from the floor and motioning for you to sit, of which you happily oblige. under the dim light the car gives off you can clearly see his honey brown eyes and the way his eyeliner is smudged around.

“does it feel broken?” he asks about your nose, cautiously grabbing your chin to inspect the injuries. 

“no, i don’t think so. my mouth really hurts though.” you mumble out, heart racing under his calloused touch. 

“good, it doesn’t look broken. and your lip is a little split.” he rummages through the kit, pulling out a wipe that he carefully rubs along your face where the blood has caked and dried. 

“you’re pretty good at this, go to lots of rough shows?” you awkwardly break the tense quiet, trying to not move your lips much as you talk. 

“no, i play volleyball.” he says simply. it’s impossible for you to really tell whether it’s a joke or not, but out of gut reaction you laugh. “i’m not kidding,” he sighs, tossing the dirty wipe in a small trash carrier inside the car and pulling a tiny pad from the kit to press to your open lip. 

“oh, sorry, really? that’s pretty cool. didn’t realize volleyball was really a big contact sport. though i guess you could get hit in the face with the ball a lot.” 

“don’t get hit a ton in the face in Division 2 volleyball, but you can fall hard.”

another moment of silence passes when he takes the padding away from your lip and inspects your face once again. although your heart hasn’t slowed, it seems he’s just realized how close you’re faces are and how he’s kneeling between your thighs that keep twitching every time he leans in a little closer. 

“i wouldn’t expect a, uh, a professional volleyball player at a place like this.” voice all spluttery like you can’t control it. 

“you shouldn’t assume things about people.” he says simply, not moving a muscle. “your lips look better now,” he’s whispering now, the smooth vibrations of his voice echoing around in your head like a bouncy ball, “wanna try them out?” 

part of you wants to laugh at how cheesy his words are, but more of you is interested in how his lips would feel against yours. he doesn’t move a muscle, the needy feeling that’s burning inside of him can’t be seen through his eyes, but you catch it in the way his jaw tenses while he patiently waits for your answer. 

“that’s a great idea,” you whisper back as his face closes in on yours. 

his motions are gentle and measured, it’s easy to tell he’s holding back by the way his hands twitch against your waist. carefully, he’s avoiding the edge of your lip where it’s still bruised and open, but as he presses harder and harder into you, the pain grows. nothing about the kiss is nice - everything tastes of cheap beer, blood, sweat, and disinfectant, but it feels good. 

it feels as though his clawing fingers are burning into your sides, forcing you further into the backseat of the car. letting yourself willingly move back, he clumsily reaches up to snap the automatic light off in the roof, not quite closing the door all the way behind him. 

when his teeth scrape against your wound, you let out a small yelp against your own will. before the noise is even done coming out of your mouth, he pulls away, adjusting so he isn’t crushing you so hard into the seats, and cradling your face. 

“sorry,” you pant out, “just hurts a little.” 

at this angle he can see how little tears have pricked in the edge of your eyes, purely from the gentle stinging pain. it hurts his heart a little that he’s caused you some pain, but you look so pretty like this with your teary eyes and pink tongue sticking out as you quietly gasp for air. 

“let’s give you a little break, huh.” he chuckles, sitting back on his heels and grabbing your knees to hook over his shoulders. it takes a minute for your foggy brain to realize what’s happening, but as he lowers himself between your thighs, the sight makes you clench around nothing and everything clicks into place. 

suddenly you’re glad you wore a skirt. he nips up your already shaking thighs, eyes locked between your legs groaning at the pretty panties that were clinging to the slickness of your folds. he flips your skirt up, pressing your knees tighter to your body when his broad shoulders lift your legs higher. 

“please...?” you whimper when you feel his breath against you. 

“need to cum?” he questions, teasingly, mouthing over your clothed cunt. 

“yes, please, wanna cum.” hips barely jerking under him, desperate for anything. 

“pfft, i can tell. so wet already.” kyōtani mumbles into you just before he reaches his arms around your legs and rests them just above your pelvis, using one hand to pull aside the thin fabric. before the cool air could even hit your exposed flesh, his mouth came down on you, messily lapping up your slit, tasting you completely before he began to circle your clit. 

when he finally arrives at your sensitive, little bud your hips involuntarily twitch against him, begging for release. hot breaths and moans filled up the space of the car, barely escaping through the tiny crack where the backdoor wasn’t completely closed, just resting against the hinge. 

the small fear of being caught or seen urged you on, encouraging you to cum as fast as you could. not that you really needed to do much when he had such great control of his tongue and two of his fingers easily slipped past your entrance, curling against your spongey walls. 

“k-kentarō!” you squeaked out, waves of relief edging up on you, “gonna cum, please, gonna cum.” the words came out like a broken record, separated by little hiccupped moans. 

“asking permission?” his low laugh vibrated across you skin. “that’s cute.” as soon as the words were out, he went back lapping and sucking your swollen clit. 

it only took moments for you to fall into your high, body squirming under him, limbs twitching in time with the way your cunt clamped around his fingers that just kept pumping into you. all the while his mouth didn’t stop, he didn’t even hesitate. 

he just kept lapping up your clit until your nails were digging into his wrist that was resting on your tummy, sobbing out moans. you didn’t want him to stop but the feeling was overwhelming, like you couldn’t stop cumming. briefly, you wondered if it was always supposed to be like this, body and brain turning fuzzy as he finally slowed enough for you to rest. 

the little whine you let out when he took his fingers from your pulsing hole made him grind his hips into the seat. you let out a low groan as you watched him stick his fingers into his mouth and suck them clean, his eyes never leaving yours. 

“feel good?” he grumbles out, languidly flattening his tongue against you to take another slow lap. 

it’s nearly impossible to focus with the way he’s touching you, but you manage out the words you want to say. “uh-huh, want...want more.” you shyly make out. 

“more?” one of his angled brows shoots up before he shrugs and roughly laps against your clit. body betraying you, it crumbles under him, hips already bucking up into his nose again before you can reach down and drag him off of you by his short curls. 

“no...no,” you gasp, “want your cock.” 

his eyes soften for a second before the expression is replaced with something a little more feral. “why not just say so.” he hums, pants already unbuttoned, pulling them down just enough so his cock can slip out. 

you can’t help the gasp that breaks past your lips. it’s embarrassing, but he’s beautiful and you’re sure that his pretty cock could fill you up two times over. before you bask too much in the pleasantness of the moment, he reaches down to tear at your panties. 

“hey!” you yelp, unable to do much with your ankles still propped up on his shoulders. 

“eh, there was a pull in the seam anyway.” he says back lamely, leaning back in so he can loom over you, smirking when his cock slaps against your folds and you squirm under him.

“i...i liked them.” you pout, trying to ignore the burn between your legs. he presses a hot kiss against your jaw and licks up the shell of your ear. admittedly, he liked them quite a bit too.

“go on a real date with me sometime and i’ll get you a new pair.” his hips rut against yours, rubbing the tip of his cock against your still sensitive folds. 

“oh, uhh- okay, yeah.” surprised by his proposition, but already hoping you’d meet him again, you quickly agree. 

“good.” he says while he lines himself, pushing in and trying to ignore how tightly you were clenching around him. his thumb comes down on your clit, rubbing tight circles to get you to settle as he bottomed out. 

your eyes didn’t deceive you, he certainly filled you to the brim and he knew how to use his entire body. still so close from his prior ministrations you found yourself already shuddering under his touch, the coil in your belly snapping even more harshly this time as you came undone around his cock. 

he shallowly pumped into you, getting you used to the size while you squeezed and sucked him in. 

“feel so good,” he grunts, “want me to fuck this pretty pussy?”

it’s not a real question, not when you’re arching into him, whimpering and moaning incoherencies, but you quickly nod to answer anyway. his grin makes your heart race, and he hurries to pull out nearly all the way before slamming back into you, setting a quick pace from the start. 

you have the brace the back of your head to stop it from crashing into the car door as he rams you into the seats, body at the will of his harsh thrusts. mouth open in a silent scream, only choked whines crack out from your throat that he quickly swallows up with a messy kiss. 

pent up from the entire day and the ghost of the taste of your cunt still on his lips, he feels himself getting close, encouraged on by the way you keep fluttering around him. as if sensing, by the way his kiss tightens up and his arms tense, you pull away and nod up at him. 

“want you to cum in me.” you quickly assure him. 

he lets out a sharp gasp, hips already stuttering against yours as he nods back in silent agreement. swallowing hard, he rests his head against your shoulder, letting his hips fall against yours, cock twitching against your aching, gummy walls, filling you with cum. 

after his labored breathing slows and you relax under him, he presses a soft kiss to your cheek and steadily sits up and pulls out. the gasp you let out when you’re empty is nearly enough to make his cock twitch again, but he holds back. he watches as your poor cunt quivers around nothing, eyeing the way his cum slowly dribbles out of you. 

achingly, you sit up when he lets your legs slide off his arms, leaning against the car door closest to you to get a good look at him while he tucks himself back into his pants, ignoring the messy, stickiness between his legs for now. you feel the mix of cum between your legs start to seep out, tightly closing your thighs to keep from making a mess on his car seats. 

grabbing your phone from where it had fallen onto the floor, you toss it at him before grabbing your destroyed panties off the spot in the bench between the two of you. 

“put your number in. we can go shopping this weekend.” you sigh with a soft smile. for once, getting a dumb injury at a shitty show was worth your while. 

[youryanderedaddy]

Bewitched

I say fuck writing schedule m’rite hahaHa... 

Dynamic: Yan!witch hunter x witch darling

Summary: You get captured by the village’s witch hunter but he might just let you live if you prove to be useful.

tw: nsfw, non-con, threats, mention of religous themes (God, Devil, etc), kindapping, obsessive/possessive behavior, slight violence, degradation, vulgar language

 You could hear something. It was different from the sweet songs of the birds early in the morning or the restless howl of the wolves just before the clock hit midnight. And the smell was different too. There were no daisies, roses, magnolia or herbs to cleanse the air from the nasty smell of humans. Your clothes reeked of someone unknown, someone mortal and cruel, foolish down to their heart. Your hands were tightly bound, your shoulders pushed back in a way it was hard to feel the energy running in your own veins. There was a leather blindfold over your eyes, dulling your senses until you felt like nothing more than an animal trapped in a cage. As soon as despair managed to find its way into your lungs he entered the room and you knew instantly it had been him who had captured you.

 "You are awake." The man noted quietly as his heavy yet careful steps got louder, closer. Soon his hand was resting on your thigh, drawing small pictures, initials, anything to throw you off balance and keep your mind closed and your inner vision too blurry to focus more on killing him and less on the shame his touch brought. "The village paid me to kill you. We know you are a filthy creature of the night." He spoke trough his teeth in a eery, off-putting way. You could feel the cold sharp end of his silver dagger poking at your exposed collarbone, near to your neck. One inch away from a fatal wound, one move away from taking your life forever.

 "Go on then." You taunted the hunter while licking your scarlet lips, your heartbeat still violent with no sign of slowing down any time soon. "Kill me." You whispered despite the fear tearing at your insides like a wild beast. The blade suddenly pressed harder against your skin, enough to make you still frozen but lacking the actual strength to pierce. The human knelt down next to you, never dropping the deadly weapon from its sacred spot on your vulnerable neck. "You are a witch. The Devil's own spawn and blood. I just can't let you live among us." The man uttered quickly like a curse yet made no attempt to move the edge deeper. And you wanted to tell him everything about the sisterhood and the way all of you lived in peace and quiet until the villagers started killing off your friends for existing. The way you loved nature and harmony and despised violence, but of course the human would never listen to a dirty sorceress, a witch. So you just stayed there motionless on the ground, reconciled with your terrifying fate and its twisted ways.

 Meanwhile the hunter let the dagger penetrate into the warm flesh, drawing a few drops of fresh blood, and it dripped onto the floor like a brook of suffering. But the man was hesitating - his palms were sweaty and his eyes were hazy, he was unsure. After a few painful moments of indecisiveness he finally pulled the blade away and threw it in the dark corner of the room. The following silence filled the space with tension so heavy it could suffocate until the villager opened his mouth. "You have seduced me with this unholy body of yours." Adam said sternly and clenched his fists. "That's why I can't kill you." His voice was low and dangerous yet desperate and defeated. "I saw you back then in the forest." He started off as his hand traveled to your cheek and stroked it gently. "You were dancing around and picking flowers. You looked so pure and beautiful - like an angel. I couldn't stop watching you." The hunter confessed quietly and you felt his cold lips on yours. The kiss was bitter, soaked with the humiliation of his advances and the knowledge he had you at his mercy. "Damn your evil magic for making me feel this way". The man dragged his teeth through your lower lip and bit down in anger, moaning into the forced act of fake intimacy.

 He pushed you down aggressively, the ropes digging into your bruised flesh even more now. You couldn't move your limbs at all and you felt too tired to argue or yell at the man. It was clearer than a day that he was obsessed with you but it was far from your doing. If you had known just how easily humans became fascinated by beauty and youth you would have thought twice before using their forest as a home. And as much as you wanted to curse the cruel man forever your heart just couldn't let you harm someone with a beating heart. You were stuck and he was touching you everywhere with a palm so warm it felt like wax on your sensitive skin. Your long black dress was ripped to shreds and all the red beads from your necklace were rolling on the floor as a mockery to your title. You were stripped down to your bones and left with nowhere to hide from the monster trying to break you. The energy in your body was gray and filthy, too weak to do more than upset you even further. 

 "I am going to make you mine tonight. I will use you like the dirty pagan slut you are." Adam cupped your breasts together in a swift move and you shivered at the contact of flesh. His words were painful and didn't help ease the fact that it was the first time someone had touched you in such a private place. In no time your eyes had filled with tears you were too proud to spill but too scared to hold back. "Aww, are you crying, wench? Go on, cry some more for me. When I'm done with you no one will want you. You'll be ruined for anyone other than me." He cooed at you and took hold of your naked legs, spreading them apart which caused you to break down in a pitiful mess of tears, snot and hushed breathes. "You should be greatful I am letting you live. If you weren't so beautiful I would have killed you in an instance." The hunter kept going, his voice low and deprived, his hot fingers brushing against your belly, the disgusting feeling in your guts making your chest tighten, caging your bleeding heart inside. "You are lucky I like taming wild animals." He continued harshly, a crazy look in his enlarged pupils so blue and clear, yet so intimidating and suffocating to its victims.

 You inhaled sharply in a desperate attempt to calm your nerves and begged the villager with any strength left in your trembling body. "Please stop, please, for the love of the universe, just don't do it, just let me go and you shall never see me again." In reply the man simply smirked maliciously and licked his lips as he positioned himself over your open, exposed folds. His hands were rough and grabby, roaming over your frame and groping, digging, pinching every little curve. You prayed to both nature and the Gods above someone would come and take you away from this nightmare but to no avail. "No one will save you, witch. If they find you, you're dead, so you better be nice and quiet like a corpse while I take you." Adam spat out with poison and without any warning thrust his massive manhood into your tight entrance. The pain was sharp and piercing, white and hot. This time you started crying out loud in despair finally having realized you were truly alone. The humans wanted nothing more than to see you burn and now you were getting punished for being different.

 The man didn't spare you any moment of suffering. He would place wet kisses all over your body, bite at the soft flesh until red and scratch any time he felt the need to hear your miserable whines. "Look at the way I'm splitting you open on my cock, you are so damn tight. I wouldn't have guessed you were a virgin if you weren't bleeding like a little bitch." Adam chuckled darkly and hit your cervix over and over again until the pain turned into something else you were too ashamed to name. "If you ever try to tempt someone else with this sinful body of yours I'll fucking kill you." The man cursed under his breath and brought two finger over your clit, stroking it gently and drawing cicles. You threw your head back at the sudden jolt of pleasure and closed your eyes, trying to distance your mind from what was being forcefully done to your anatomy.

 "You feel so good around my cock, so pretty with your tits bouncing every time I pound into you. I love you so much." The hunter suddenly uttered as he slowed down the pace, driving into you with careful thrusts before going back to roughly shoving his length into your sensitive hole. "Say it back." He ordered lowly and smashed his lips on yours pushing his wet tongue all the way in, his hands messaging your breasts and toying with the stiff little nipples on top. You gained the courage to shake your head no so the villager wrapped his fist around your slender neck, giving it a light squeeze as a warning. You had no choice but to mumble a soft "I love you." when your survival instincts took over your dignity. Your sweet broken voice was enough to send the man over the edge and he came violently in your tight channel while whsipering all sorts of terrible, filthy words into your ear.

 You thought the torture was finally over but your hopes were quickly shattered when Adam pressed his fingers over your overestimulated bud and flicked it around, your mind finding it hard to copperhead the intense pleasure after the pain. "Cum for me, wench." He commanded you harshly and kept playing with your love button until your pussy clamped down and you experienced your first orgasm at the hands of a filthy, egotistical human.

 The male stroked your hair gently but still didn't move to undo the ropes keeping you restrained on the hard floor. "I've always wanted you." The hunter admitted in the next moment. You wondered whether you wanted him to shut up or keep rambling to distract you from the shame and humiliation. Your eyes were red and puffy from the sobbing and your head pulsated with dull pain. "I'll never let them catch you." Adam reassured you quietly as he drew small circles on your arm with his knuckles. "I will keep you forever, my love. It doesn't matter that you have succumbed to the Devil because from now own you are only going to serve me." He kissed your neck softly.

 "I'll become your God."

[ilcaeryx]

Cultist [Sukuna/Reader] - NSFW

Summary: You have one god on this earth.

Tags: Sukuna/Reader, NSFW, Smut, Humor, Size kink, Cock Warming, Body Worship,

Words: Cirka 2k

Author’s Note: What’s up, sluts? I’m back. This is NSFW, so beware.

---

Sukuna did regularly mention that domination and conquest were his pastime hobbies and you would tentatively add that he adhered to them with slave-like zealotry. Whenever he insulted Itadori Yuji by calling him simple-minded, your heart ached with the desire to tell him that he was not any greater regarding his obsessions with strength. However, your self-preservation kept you alive, since a bitch that talks back to Sukuna is a bitch that gets their head separated from their body, after all.

Having sex with Sukuna is somehow leagues safer than speaking to him, you thought, gaze surveying how the apex of his back muscles cast shades upon the trenches of his spine. Inhalation, the shadows grew and deepened. Exhalation, the light re-conquered its territory. You suspected he never slept, even though he physically seemed in deep slumber. His arms were splayed on his pillow, face turned away from you.

You had self-preservation to save your ass 99 percent of the time – this time was probably that one percent where he would snap.

“Sukuna,” you called out, very lightly stroking his biceps with your nails. No answer, but his arm muscles flexed subtly as he moved his arm.  “I want my side of the bed back. I can’t sleep on this side.”

You let out a shriek when his hand shot out at you, palm plastered over your lips. The sharp edge of his index nail hovered uncomfortably close to your eye, the thumb nail piercing your cheek. Out of reflex, your dug your fingertips into his upper arm and attempted to pull away from his show of force.

Sukuna turned his head to face you. His eyes glared with disinterest, though his grasp weakened slightly.

“You’ve been plenty loud during the night; why must you continue now?” he asked, squeezing your cheeks together to allow you to speak.

“I’ve slept like three hours max,” you said, ignoring his question.

“That is not my problem.” He let go of your face to return to his original position. “Go find somewhere else to sleep and I shall wake you whenever I have need of you.”

What an absolute dickhead. This was your bed, not his domination playground.

You released him and patted your face with your fingers carefully. There were no stinging scratches left behind, which was good considering his reasoning that if ‘you weren’t bleeding out, you didn’t need help’ would leave you with annoying scabs everywhere. Why you were even fucking this guy was beyond you, honestly. This was one of the top 3 worst life choices you had ever made.

You slid towards him beneath the covers and supported your upper body with your ribcage on his lower back and elbows on his upper back. His body heat intermingling with yours gave you a dull ache, from behind your breastbone flowing into a tidepool in the pit of your stomach. After pushing your hair to one side of your neck, you lowered yourself onto him. Your lips wet and breath hot across his skin, you blew softly before planting a kiss below his shoulder blade. Had it been another person under you, you would have had the gratification of seeing goosebumps forming across the area.

“Sukuna…” you said, barely audible between his skin and your lips.

The King of Curses arose from his relaxed position. “Did you not listen or are you an idiot?”

“Bit of both, to be perfectly honest.” You pinched a tuft of his hair strands between two fingers, pulling gently. “You don’t need to do anything – I just want your attention.”

He issued you a warning glare, daring you to pull some weird shit on him.

You shrugged one of your shoulders and gave him a lopsided smile. “It’s not like I can hurt you, right? I don’t have sharp claws.” To testify, you released his hair, buried your nails below his neck and dragged them down his back in one stroke. Four faint lines were left behind, a stylistic contrast to his dark markings. “I don’t have superhuman strength or speed.” You felt the muscular ridges above his ribs, your fingers travelling up and down each rib. “At my worst, I’m just very obnoxious.”

“How self-aware,” he mocked and laughed half-heartedly. He seemed to enjoy your tiny monologue, judging by the slight raise of his eyebrows. “Continue.”

His approval increased your confidence. While you scoured your brain for whatever concept that might amuse or interest him, you broke eye contact and directed your thumb to pad the black line running along his back. You followed it up to the crest of his shoulders and pulled yourself up over his torso. A low growl hummed beneath you, indicating that perhaps you were pushing your luck. When you brought your left hand down his chest the sound reverberated through your being, reminding you that you were not the apex predator in here. His eagerness showed as he willingly moved his hand into your range when you struggled to reach it.

“Look,” you said, just as eager to sate his curiosity, “at the difference.”

With his attention on your hand enveloping his, you settled your head on his shoulder, finally eye to eye with the King of Curses. You shifted so that your palms met. Even when ignoring his nails, his long fingers and thick wrist eclipsed yours. Finger pads with rough callouses created in combat, the evidence of a reign of lasting a millennium. You could feel the wisdom beneath your soft pads; you could’ve devoted your entire life to warfare and your hands would still not understand it the way his do.

“You know, I never used to consider myself a small person,” you lied, your voice perfectly stable, “but now I am not so sure anymore. It is quite overwhelming.”

Sukuna’s head tilted towards yours, almost tenderly grazing his cheek against your jawline. The movement gave you shivers, causing your toes to curl. You had no option but trusting his self-control when he dove below your jaw and put his lips to your neck. He sucked the flesh between his lips, occasionally tasting with his tongue.

You sighed, content for the brief attention you had earned. Sukuna’s heartbeat rate did not increase nor decrease beneath your hand, his chest just as firm. He detached from your neck, his saliva cooling down that particular spot. You were on the brink of complaining when the world swirled around and your back hit the mattress, your chest and stomach feeling the room’s chill without Sukuna’s body heat.

Sukuna was not playing around anymore; he aligned his forearms beside your face and blocked off whatever else existed outside with his mere presence, lips taut and eyes alert. He situated his torso on top of yours and separated your thighs with his knee. Not close enough to grind on.

“Tell me more,” he stared you down. “What does being completely outmatched feel like?”

You wondered if he meant how it physically felt or how the emotional part of being outmanned and outgunned felt like. Considering how his empathic ability was low-functioning to non-existing, you wanted to bet your money on a physical description… Yet, your tongue prepared to tell him about the terror and the uncertainty. It was not wise to divulge such details to Sukuna.

Scheherazade’s silver tongue might have saved her life a thousand and one times but not everyone’s talent was located in their mouth cavity. Like always, your hands bought you more time to think, to evaluate your words. You tentatively reached for his collarbones before changing your mind and guiding one hand to his lips. Perhaps he had meant to kiss your fingertips, perhaps he had yet another inquiry but his lower lip separated from his upper one and you cautiously pulled it downwards. A predator’s teeth greeted you.

“I can’t say it without sounding lame,” you said and crossed your arms across your chest. “Don’t laugh.”

Almost immediately, Sukuna leaned his weight on one forearm, allowing him to use the other to restrain your hand against the mattress. “I assure you,” he said, his eyes staring lazily at you, lids half-down, “you are not that funny.”

Suddenly, you wished Itadori Yuji would regain his consciousness to not have to deal with this asshole. Kind, encouraging Yuji would worship your existence. Perhaps you would eventually have learned to worship him in turn. ‘Learning’ being the key word, of course. You would fumble in the dark while attempting to appreciate him. This seemed like a good idea for about three seconds and then you returned to your occult god.

“I want to be inside you.” Sukuna, no longer interested in your thoughts, showed more interest in your body. He seldomly spoke of his wants, rousing your curiosity and – honestly – your arousal. The thigh between your leg shifted closer to your mound, touching your nether lips softly.

“You’re so demanding,” you complained, ending your sentence with a deep sigh. “You want me to be quiet, you want me to talk, you want to be inside me – will you ever be satisfied?”

You rolled your hips upwards in a slow movement, enjoying yourself as your lips parted against his flesh. It did not please you enough, so you continued to alleviate yourself.

“No.” His voice  was unusually quiet. His lower lip brushed yours as he spoke. “Do you think you deserve it?”

You moved your chin downwards, the movement nearly imperceptible for someone who was not expecting it.

“I agree… if it’ll keep you quiet,” he said, releasing your arm to steady himself above you.

And you did keep quiet. Although he remained stone-faced, Sukuna seemed attentive to the way you opened your mouth and frowned in frustration, his crimson gaze traversing across your face.

He angled his hips downwards, pressuring your clit as you ground against him. You had never been more thankful for the things he did than when he let you use his body as a tool to get off. Each upwards motion elected a pang of pleasure, a beach in ebb and flow.

You don’t know for how long he tolerated your grinding but your lower body ached and his thigh was slick with your fluid when he removed his leg from you, its absence pulsating throughout your stomach. Despite your fear that he would push you away, you grabbed onto his neck to heave yourself against him, anything to regain that comfort. The relief that accompanied the heartbeat after he brought you up with him to sit upright lightened your entire being. His hands felt excruciatingly hot, almost unbearably so, on your ribcage.

Although you felt ready for him, your grip on his neck remained hard as he lifted you up above his cock. Sukuna descended you slightly, his tip bulging at your entrance. You knew your limit and didn’t hesitate to sink onto him, a movement less gentle than you wished due to your legs being wrapped around his waist. Your breath was uneven, hitching up whenever you strained against him. Avoiding getting your insides impaled by a guy’s dick was surprisingly hard labour. Eventually you settled at his base, a sense of completion glowing off you.

There were no comforting touches or encouraging words from Sukuna, whose tranquil expression made him seem more like Yuji than himself. His eyes almost shut, jaw relaxed... This was the alternate universe version of Sukuna, a man who did not lust for domination and who would settle down with his loved ones for an eventless life. 

Hearing your dumb fantasies echo in your head, you rubbed your eyes with your knuckles until you saw stars. What idiocy. You had to cease these daydream scenarios or you’d be in deep shit in the future. You were an atrocious cultist.

---

I hope everyone enjoyed this. If you liked this, please give a comment/like/reblog. I listened to the Professor Tox remix of LOONA’s Girl Front and Ariana Grande’s Love Me Harder while writing this.

[scuttling]

Signals

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Latina OFC Word Count: 2,063 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Overstimulation, Multiple orgasms, Oral sex, Vaginal fingering, Unprotected sex, Rough sex, Daddy kink, Dom/sub, Praise kink, Biting, Hickies, Choking, Sex toys, Subspace, Aftercare Summary: Buying a present for Aaron starts a new (very smutty) tradition. Note: This is a reformatted, previously published work. Link to A03 or read below! It all starts with a trip to the mall with Prentiss and Garcia.

Prentiss is looking for a new set of luggage, Garcia is looking for a few new dresses, and Sophie’s just along for the ride, but when she spots the tie, she immediately knows she wants to buy it for Aaron.

It’s a deep, dark navy blue, silk, with a paisley print—Armani, so something he would never buy for himself—and she just knows how good it would look on him with a black suit, crisp white shirt, silver watch. Her mouth practically waters, and Prentiss shoots her a knowing smile when she glances over her shoulder and sees her holding it.

“Present for your special someone?” she asks, and Sophie glances back, smiles softly.

“Yep. He’ll probably just tell me I shouldn’t have wasted the money on him, but I was really drawn to it. I’m gonna get it.”

When she gives it to him after dinner that night, his face is serious, his eyes almost amber colored in the yellow light of the kitchen, and he pulls her onto his lap, kisses her warm and deep. His hands slide up her body, holding her at the waist, and she sighs, lets herself be kissed and held up by his hands for so long that she’s foggy with pleasure when he pulls back.

“I take it you like the tie?” she murmurs, and he sets her carefully on her feet, pushes his dinner dishes aside, and lays her back on the table; it leaves her breathless, and she just looks up at him, panting, sitting up on her elbows, while he takes off her jeans and panties.

He pulls her close to the edge of the table, one of his feet on the ground and his other knee up on his chair, and he makes a fucking meal out of her, brings her off twice with his tongue; her second orgasm hits her so hard that her eyes water, and he makes sure she’s alright before pushing two fingers inside her and fucking her to a third, praising her for being sweet and thoughtful as he presses deep.

“I like the tie,” he says when she is throbbing around his fingers afterward, her face flushed and wet, and all she can do is babble in response; he kisses her cheeks softly, takes her in his arms, cuddles her close, and carries her to bed. The first time he wears it, she catches a glimpse of him putting it on in the mirror, and heat floods her body. She freezes where she stands, breathing hard, and he turns, curious; his eyes sweep over her, taking in the signs of her obvious arousal, and he looks down at the tie, back up at her face.

“Oh. You remember the night you gave me this, don’t you, sweet girl? You were so thoughtful, buying a present for your daddy,” he says, taking a step toward her. She swallows hard, licks her lips, and nods. “I rewarded your kindness the best way I know how.”

“Yes, daddy. You made me feel... very good.” She can almost feel his hands on her, his tongue, and she shivers.

“Yes, I did. It was my pleasure, and I’m happy to do it again tonight, if you like.”

“The same thing, or something different?” she asks softly, and he puts his hands on her hips, presses his lips to hers.

“Anything you like, baby. You can think about it, let me know later?” She looks up at his face, so soft and loving, knows instantly what she’d like—but she’ll let him wait it out for a little while. There’s no reason she should be the only one desperately day dreaming of tonight.

“Yeah, I’ll let you know,” she answers, breathless again, and he smooths one palm over her ass, squeezes softly, and lets her finish getting ready.

She contemplates putting on fresh panties again, but decides that there’s really no point.

“Does that feel good, baby? Is this what you wanted?” Aaron purrs in her ear as he fucks her from behind, her hands squeezing the couch cushion while he pounds into her pussy. She’s got a throw pillow under her hips to tilt them up for him, and he’s so deep, so delicious.

“Yes, oh, god, yes,” she pants, and she moves one hand to cover his where he’s supporting himself on the edge of the sofa. “You feel so good.” Her tits are smashed against the seat of the couch, her ass jiggling each time he slams against it, her clit rubbing roughly on the throw pillow, and it’s everything she imagined and more.

“Perfect, gorgeous girl. So good for me.” One of his hands moves to her hair, and he pulls it all to one side, over her shoulder, so he can see her face better, probably. “You love to be fucked hard by daddy. You love the feel of me against your ass.”

“Yes, I love it. I love you.” She spreads her legs a little, one of her feet pressing against the rug for leverage, and he gets rougher, thrusts quicker. She whines, drops her cheek to the cushion, and just lets herself be fucked, her body moving only because of his deep, relentless thrusts.

“I love you, Sophie. You’re so perfect, wanting me to use you like this. When you ask for my cock, it’s almost impossible to deny you—but you know that, honey, don’t you? You know all I want is to make your tight little pussy quiver around me.” She moans into the couch, nods weakly, and when he leans in again to bite her shoulder, she comes. “Yes, that’s it. We’re not done yet, though.”

“Aaron,” she whimpers, her clit sensitive, and he mouths at the bite, kisses her arm.

“You’re fine, baby. You’re okay.” The hand not covered by hers moves to her ass, and he squeezes as he pumps inside. “You’re okay. You can take me, can’t you, good girl?”

“Hmm, yes,” she mutters, and she’s overstimulated, but she wants to be good for him, doesn’t want him to stop.

She gets too tired to do anything with her hands, just brings them up to rest by her face, and he moves his to her hips, holds her tight, and hammers her soft, pliant body until he comes; she feels him fill her, feels some slide out when he withdraws, and she exhales deeply, spent.

“No, no,” he says when she sags against the couch. “I want one more orgasm from you, baby girl.” He lifts her hips, tucks the pillow more firmly beneath her pussy, and it’s wetter now, from both of their come. “Hump this for me, okay?”

She’s tired, and satisfied, fuzzy, but she works her hips as best as she can. Aaron’s broad palms come to rest on her ass, and he spreads her open a little, watches her grind against the pillow. It makes her cheeks heat, being inspected so closely by her daddy, and she comes, neck outstretched, moans weak and broken.

He kisses her lips, her shoulder, and rubs his hand soothingly up and down her back; they get cleaned up in the shower, and he feeds her a snack in the kitchen—cheese and pickles, her favorite. Then, he wraps her in a blanket and tucks her into the armchair while he strips the couch cushions of their covers, throws them in the washer; she watches him with a sleepy, happy smile. The tie becomes an unofficial signal: when Aaron wears it to work, Sophie knows she is going to be taken apart thoroughly when they get home, will end the night with her body aching and her brain empty, and Aaron knows she knows.

This time, he left home wearing a red tie, she’s absolutely certain of that, but when they gather for their morning meeting, he’s wearing the blue one; she literally stops mid-stride when she sees it, and Prentiss crashes right into her back, almost causing a domino effect in the doorway. “Are you okay?” she asks, clearly concerned, but Sophie just swallows hard and nods, takes her seat without a word. Aaron turns to hide a smirk, the evil, rotten, bastard.

The evening begins agonizingly slow, with Aaron stripping her of her shirt and pants, laying her back on the bed, panties pushed aside, and fingering her with only one finger for a good twenty minutes. He has her whimpering, shaking, because it feels so good but it’s not enough, and it’s only when he leans in to slide his tongue through the wetness pooling around his finger that she comes, squeezing her legs together; he forces them open with his free hand, making her mumble and shiver.

“Beautiful, sweetheart. You’re so gorgeous when you get like this: needy and desperate for daddy.” She wants to reply, can’t, just nods her head.

When she’s calmed down a little, he pulls her panties off, but her bra stays on. She doesn’t understand why, at first, until strong hands push up her thighs, and he inserts himself inside her, wraps his fingers around the fabric between the cups of her bra. It pulls down, exposing her chest, for the most part, and he uses that to hold her steady while he fucks her into oblivion.

Her tits bounce with each thrust, and her hands do absolutely nothing, because she’s forgotten how to use them; all she can do is whimper, murmur daddy, and clench around his dick, so that’s what she does.

“Oh, fuck, baby. Are you fuzzy already? Was one little finger enough to make you brainless?” She nods, pants, and he squeezes his eyes shut, something he does when he’s trying not to come. “You’re my perfect girl, Sophie. You’re the best girl. I love you so much.” She whines high in her chest, licks her bottom lip a couple of times, and he reaches his other hand up to wrap around her throat.

“Mmm, daddy,” she sighs, and when he spills inside her she hums, pleased, and manages to bring her hand up to hold his wrist at her throat. He keeps it there for a moment, then lets go, takes off her bra and comes up to kiss the angry, red marks it left behind.

He slips two fingers inside her, and she’s so messy, she can feel it, groans when the thrust of his hand makes her feel squishy inside. “It’s only me, baby, it’s daddy’s come. I’ll push it deeper inside and make you shiver for me, sweet girl.” His hand moves quickly, his mouth still gentle on her breasts, and when he carefully bites down on her nipple, she does climax, trembling and breathing hard until he guides his fingers out.

He holds her, soothes her, and when she’s able to speak, it’s a flood of words like thank you and love you and so good to me and wow. “You’ve worn that tie twice this week,” Spencer mentions to Aaron in the briefing room one day. He looks down, slides his hand over it, and glances back up at him.

“I like it. Sophie bought it for me,” he explains, and Spencer nods, smiles at her.

“It’s nice. Pretty color.”

“Thanks.” She flushes and looks back down at the interoffice memo they’re supposed to be reading; she still has hickies and bite marks on her ass and thighs from the last time he wore the tie, on Monday, and her mind has been racing, thinking of what kind of reward it will earn her today.

“So, so pretty, baby,” he coos as she gasps through her fourth orgasm of the night. There is a vibrator in her pussy, a smaller one in her ass, and she droops against him where he holds her up, his back against the headboard of their bed. “You sound so pretty when you come for me, my good girl.”

He makes love to her after that, pumping slowly, gently, into her worn out body, and she musters up enough energy to kiss him, sigh Aaron, and clutch at his hair until he comes.

She calls off sick the next day, literally too well-fucked to be of any use to her team. When Aaron gets home from work, all she’s wearing is the tie.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Not a Baby: Nat and Chris (And Ronnie)

CW: The first part is pure fluff with a couple underage drinking references/jokes. Second part references the events of Chris getting appendicitis (One, Two, Three, Four) and takes place while he is healing from surgery. Includes surgery references, whumpee rejecting medication, medical trauma references

Sometimes, you just want bittersweet fluff lined with angst.

-

“You gotta help me out,” Tristan sings along with the radio as they wait at a red light, Ronnie furtively checking her phone. “It’s all a blur last ni-eee-eye-ee-ight…”

One message from Paul, just now out of bed after a longer-than-usual workday had fully wiped him out, thanking her for leaving some food in the fridge. She smiles, faintly, at the sight of the little heart emojis he leaves after every single text. 

He’s not much for showing emotion in his face, not like Tristan wears his own feelings on his sleeve, but he knows how to make sure Ronnie feels loved. He always has.

The light turns green, and she taps on the gas, then lets her foot slowly press down. Next to her, Tristan dances in his seat, totally unselfconscious, rocking back and forth. 

“We need a taxi, ‘cause you’re hungover and I’m broke…”

Ronnie starts laughing, one hand over her mouth, the other still on the wheel.

He blinks, turning to look at her. They just clipped his hair short last week, getting him ready for the next competition coming up. She never expected to be a Gymnastics Mom, not once, but here she is, chaperoning her teenage son to the gym on a Saturday afternoon, where he more or less lives these days. “What?”

“I just. It’s something else to listen to your teenage son sing about being hungover, Tris. That’s all. You’re way too young for this song. And probably just for Katy Perry in general, not that anyone should listen to-”

“Mom.” Tristan rolls his eyes, leaning over and pointedly turning the volume up on the radio. “I like Katy Perry. And I, I, I know what hungover is. I’m not, not, not, not-... not-not four years old. I’m fifteen.”

“Fair enough, but I don’t think my fifteen-year-old should know about being hungover, either.” She takes a turn, the radio cheerfully blaring that’s what you get for waking up in Vegas and she wonders why she keeps letting Tris pick the radio station, exactly, when they could be listening to some perfectly fine soft rock right about now. “What do you get up to at Aki’s, huh? Maybe I need to speak to Aimi. Ask if you’re having wild parties as soon as I leave.”

“Oh my god, Mom.” Tristan turns bright red, and she tries not to enjoy how much he’s his father’s son - always but especially when he blushes, the red seeming to make the scattering of pale freckles stand out even more, not less, when he does. “You are, are not going to-... we don’t drink, Mom. We just, just watch shows and… hang out.”

“I know, baby,” Ronnie says, laughter still edging her voice. “I’m teasing you, that’s all.”

He glares out the windshield where he sits next to her, running his fingers up and down the smooth seatbelt, along its edge. Back and forth, enjoying the mix of silk and rough in the texture, she thinks. 

“I’m not a, a, a, a baby,” He mumbles, all teenage resentment and irritation. 

“Oh, honey. That’s the downside of having parents,” Ronnie says, gentling her voice down to affection, taking another turn. She can see the gym now, down at the end of the street. Aimi will probably already be here with Aki, she figures, and maybe they can make a coffee run while the boys practice. “It doesn’t matter how old you get. You could be fifty and I could be sixty-seven and I’d still see you wrapped in that hospital blanket looking up at me with big eyes. Even when we’re both old, you’ll still be my baby.”

He rolls his eyes again, but this time she catches the hint of a smile he’s trying to hide pulling at one side of his mouth. Tristan leans forward and switches the radio station over to Ronnie’s favorite, then falls back into his seat, focusing on the seatbelt again.

Sometimes, like his father, he doesn’t know how to say he loves her, but he always knows how to show it.

-

Two and a half years later

Nat came down for a glass of water, only to find Chris wide awake on the couch at 3 am, top teeth biting down so hard on his bottom lip she was afraid he’d draw blood, making his slow, careful, shuffling way towards the stairs.

She’d managed to convince him to go back to the couch, or really more or less command him, but the trade-off was promising she’d stay downstairs with him for a while.

Now, instead of water she has a mug of hot tea steaming gently on the side table, instead of her warm bed she has Chris’s head resting on a pillow in her lap while she runs fingers slowly through his hair - dark red in the night, lit with a hint of silver by the reflected light coming off the television - and instead of dreams, she has reruns of Frasier.

“You palmed your pain medication earlier, didn’t you?” She asks the question as gently as she can, without judgement.

He doesn’t answer, green eyes locked on the television, where the main character’s younger brother is preparing for a date and managing to set an ironing board on fire in the process. It’s probably one of the best scenes in television history, but Nat can’t even begin to pay attention to it. Worry has her all twisted up, heart beating a little too fast, as she picks up her mug and takes a sip, honey and lemon and yes, a little bit of whiskey in her tea all settling over her tongue. 

“Chris,” She says, softly. “I asked you a question.”

“Mmmhmm,” is all he says, and he doesn’t move. His head is a soft weight against her leg, and his hair runs like silk through her fingers. He’s pale not just from the darkness and the late-night TV, but from the pain he must be in, must be holding back.

Of course, there’s no one who has come through her house who hasn’t been pretty good at hiding pain, after a while. Once you’re drowned in it, once it’s your everyday truth, you learn not so much to actually hide it as simply to go on living with it. 

No one Chris’s age should already be so good at this.

“You have to take those, or you’re going to hurt like this all the time for a while,” Nat says, trying to keep from lecturing him. His freckles stand out more, lit by the cool blue-tinged light of TV. She watches him smile, just a little, at the slapstick comedy going on. “It’ll take longer for your incision to heal if you-”

“Don’t, don’t like pills,” Chris whispers, and she watches one of his hands, palm flat, running up and down the heavy weighted blanket she’s laid over him. It’s soft as rabbit fur, and he starts to hum, nearly a whisper, as he touches it. “Jake’s gone. Out. Didn’t… didn’t want them.”

Nat takes a deep breath, closing her eyes briefly. “Chris, you can’t only take pills when Jake is here to give them to you. He can’t always be here, he has things he does outside of this house-”

“I know. But… I didn’t want them. I, I, I don’t mind hurting a little.”

The funny thing is, it’s not bluster. He really doesn’t. Chris would really rather lay here, awake in the middle of the night, in terrible pain than simply put two pills into his mouth and wash them down with water. There’s been too much done to him with drugs, and he’s not the only one she’s had to help recover the idea of medicine as something other than torture.

He’ll get there.

She hopes.

“Okay, well… where did you put them?”

There’s silence, again, but this time he shifts a little, a flash of his hurt and discomfort across his expression. “In, in the couch cushions.”

“Do you have any of your other doses in there?”

“... mmhmm.”

“Chris…” She sighs, putting her hand up to her forehead, rubbing her fingers just above the bridge of her nose as the tension starts to build behind her eyes. Oh, her head’s going to hurt soon. She can’t just be up at night like she used to without paying for it the next day. “How many have you skipped? Huh?”

“... four.”

“Four. Four times-... okay.” She exhales, slowly - he’s tense under her hand, now, and she can feel the worry in him. Knows he’s trying to figure out if he’ll be in trouble, get punished. Disciplined for the ways he’s learned to live with what happened to him.

A different kind of test than what he’s tried on Jake, but it’s still a test.

“Chris. I can’t tell you how much I don’t want to have to sit here and watch you and see you swallow them. I know that it’s hard for you, I do, and I’m so sorry that we have to do this, but I have to take care of you. I want to take care of you. And part of that is making sure you know how to care for yourself. When you’re recovering from serious surgery-”

“The, the, the, the cut’s not even that big,” He mutters, a hint of irritation. 

Nat feels a surge of affection for him that, if she were standing, would nearly knock her off her feet. Chris interrupting her, Chris being pouty and sulky and every inch a seventeen-year-old boy, is a new thing. She doesn’t take it for granted.

It’s just… a little inconvenient right now.

“It doesn’t matter how big it is. It went all the way inside your stomach, and it was a pretty serious surgery. You need these pills or you are going to hurt like hell for so much longer than if you take them and get better. You got it?”

He sighs, but relaxes against her again, and she starts running fingers through his hair again, simple and maternal. “Yeah. I, I do.”

“Okay. Let’s watch the show and see if maybe you’re up for taking your dose and heading back to sleep in a bit, huh?”

“Will you, you, you stay? Even if I-... even if I do, and fall asleep?” He twists a little to look up her and winces as it pulls the still-tender muscles in his abdomen. “Will you stay?”

Nat thinks about how badly her back’s going to hurt in the morning. The headache already trying to sneak its way in around the edges. How she’s going to end up napping half the day away and not getting a damn thing done she had planned.

Then she just smiles down at him, at his wide green eyes in his narrow face and the heavy blanket hiding every other inch of him in softness and warmth. “Yeah, okay. I’ll stay right here with you, ‘til Ant’s up in the morning. How’s that sound?”

“Good. See if you can get comfortable for a bit.”

The two of them fall back into an easy silence, broken only by the low-volume of the TV show, and get through two more episodes of Frasier before Nat’s tea is gone and she and Chris are both half-asleep on the couch, her hand simply resting on his hair, now, light but ever-present. 

Eyes closed, the television’s cool blue still dancing against the inside of her eyelids, she hears Chris mumble, “Night, Nat,” in a sleep-slurred voice. It’s got to be four in the morning, there’s not much night left.

“Night, baby,” Nat murmurs.

“Not a, a baby, Mom,” Chris whispers, but both of them are too close to sleep to notice.

-

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump  , @oops-its-whump  @cubeswhump ,  @whump-tr0pes  @downriver914 @vickytokio @whumpiary @orchidscript @moose-teeth @nonsensical-whump @outofangband

[jaybug-jabbers]

Pokemon Gold/Silver Beta Pokemon: The April 2020 Leak

Look, 2020 was a rough year. So maybe I shouldn’t be so surprised that the April 2020 Gold/Silver source code leak flew almost entirely under my radar. If you Google about it, you’re find it’s very rare for news outlets to cover it. This is probably because many folks are hesitant to cover leaks. Also, the US was warming up to a truly awful pandemic around that point, not to mention other civil unrest, so it’s no surprise some people were a tad distracted. 

But the fact is, another leak turned up in April of last year, following a recent trend of huge Nintendo leaks. And this one was a doozy. I’ve only truly realized its full extent in the past few days. As such, I’d like to do a post that covers some of the new information. In particular, I’m focusing on beta pokemon that were cut or heavily reworked.

Now, back in 2018, the Spaceworld ‘97 Pokemon Gold/Silver Demo was leaked online. I made a post about some of my favorites. So, from this leak, we already knew of a while slew of beta pokemon. However, as it turns out, there were still more new faces to find-- and a lot of them! I list 45 new beta pokemon here, in fact!

In the April 2020 leak, several sprite sets were found as internal files, each at different phases of game production. The sprite sets were dated May 6, 1998, June 13, 1999, June 21, 1999, and September 17, 1999. The August 17, 1999 Spaceworld ‘99 Demo build was also found, so we have information on that as well.

Essentially, if you want to see this information at The Cutting Room Floor, then head to this page for the sprites discovered as internal backups/sprite banks. Head to this page for the Spaceworld ‘99 demo information page. And, if you need a refresher for the older leak, you can go to this page for the Spaceworld ‘97 demo build.

For this post, we will focus on the May 6, ‘98 set of sprites, which contain the vast majority of new faces. So, without further ado, onward to the pokemon!

(#300) Kokopelli Pokemon/Celebi

(May 6, ‘98)       (Spaceworld ‘99 Demo)

This first pair of sprites looks very much like Kokopelli, a fertility deity of some Native American cultures. This deity can be seen in ancient Native American petroglyphs, as a humpbacked flute player with feathers on the head. Surprisingly, we find that Celebi in the Spaceworld ‘99 Demo seems to be an updated version of this design, making Celebi’s design origins much different than expected. However, its fertility diety inspiration is still somewhat apparant in the modern Celebi, as a creature that causes plant life to flourish.

(#301) Eel Pokemon

While the sprite files did not reveal a name or other data, this eel’s sprites were numbered right beside the Gurotesu (Grotess) and Ikari (Anchorage) sprites, suggesting it once was the start of their evolution chain. 

(#304) Fire Fox Pokemon

This little fellow is a fox that seems to have a fiery tail. It’s possible this fire fox was inspired by kitsune (just as Vulpix/Ninetails were) and that it was later redesigned as Fennekin. 

(#305 - 308) Snow Bunny Evolution Line

These four pokemon seem to belong to the same evolutionary line. The second one seems to based on the Yuki Usagi, a ‘Snow Bunny.’ In Japan, these cute little critters are made in the snow (using leaves for the ears). They also sometimes make these Yuki Usagi as little marshmallow or mochi treats. So this pokemon line could be inspired by either of these. Considering the leaves and the snow, I would guess these would have been Grass/Ice. 

(#309) Elephant Pokemon

You might wonder if this chonky boy-- looking tough with horns on his head and back-- was an early version of Donphan, but Donphan and Phanpy were present in the Spaceworld ‘97 demo. Indeed, this elephant and Phanpy/Donphan both exist in the same set of sprites from May ‘98, so it was simply a case of two types of elephants. This pokemon also calls to mind a glimpse of a cut beta pokemon we saw from Generation 1 (from ‘Satoshi Tajiri: The Man Who Made Pokémon’):

Same fierce eyes, at any rate! Alas, these both never saw the light of day. However, it’s possible this elephant was reworked into Piloswine, which is not in the May ‘98 collection but does appear in the June 13 ‘99 collection (although Swinub is absent). While Piloswine and Swinub are more akin to wild boars, there is also some relation to mammoths (an inspiration more heavily leaned on with Mammoswine in later games). Then again, there’s another pokemon you’ll see a little further down this list that might have inspired Piloswine instead.

(#311) Natu/Xatu Mid-Evolution

What is clearly a mid-evolution (its file number sits between the two). Has a peacock-like tail. Honestly, I think this works really good as a mid-evolution, and I don’t know why it was cut. I want to name it “Watu.”

(#313) Drunk Kiwi Pokemon

This one is just hilarious to look at. It appears to probably be a kiwi-bird? A very crazy-eyed, loopy one. I can see why this one was cut. The goofy, simple design kind of looks like a knockoff cartoon character for children. 

(#314) Scorpion Pokemon

A pretty badass-looking scorpion, although a rather basic design. I dig the funky head, though. It seems like it has a single, beady eye and is rather menacing. This pokemon may have been later reworked into Gligar, a pokemon that first appears after this sprite set, in the June 13 ‘99 group:

Admittedly this is rather different from the Gligar we know, but it is an early design.

Or, who knows-- maybe this little fellah was later reworked into Skorupi. (If so, it’s a shame, as I don’t dig the weird accordian-like design of its limbs and its evolution.)

(#315) Quail Pokemon

A pudgey little quail pokemon. Doesn’t seem related to the kiwi pokemon. It’s a very cute little thing, and has lots of potential to evolve into something interesting, but it seems they scrapped it pretty quickly.

(#316) Music Note Bird Pokemon

Although these sprites are numbered right after the quail, and they are both birds, the designs are very different, so they seem unrelated. It seems the beta pokemon were simply blessed with a lot of birds. This little bird is in the shape of a clef, giving this bird a musical theme. It seems very likely it was later reworked into Chatot, a bird with a music-note shaped head and metronome tail.

(#319) Boar Pokemon

A cute, grumpy little boar with antlers. Probably what eventually led to Piloswine found in the June 13 ‘99 group. A bit of a shame, in my mind, as I kind of prefer this design.

(#325) Spikey Dog Pokemon

The curious thing is that this dog looks very similar to “Pudi,” a pokemon we saw in the Spaceworld ‘97 demo, which was intended to be a pre-evolution of Growlithe. But Pudi is also in this same collection of sprites!

Perhaps they were toying with the idea of re-designing Pudi (and had already scrapped a bunch of baby pokemon) and just hadn’t bothered to remove the old Pudi yet. It’s hard to say. Ultimately, these both were scrapped, but at least we still have Subbull/Granbull.

(#331) Yūrei Ghost Pokemon

This little ghost has two things that are common in Japanese folklore: the hitaikakushi (the white cloth headband it wears) and the two little balls of fire called hitodama. It is unknown why this ghost pokemon was scrapped, but perhaps they thought the little fellow wouldn’t translate well overseas? 

(#344) Viking Ship Pokemon

Look at this beauty! A pokemon based off some sort of Viking ship. I absolutely adore this one. It’s creative and charming. I hope to see it in the future.

(#349) Wooly Dog Pokemon

This canine-like creature is fluffy as all out. Honestly I think it’s a tad odd, with how tangled and disheveled its fur looks. I can’t help but compare it to the early desings of the three Legendary Beasts, since they also are very canine-like:

These three designs are present in this same May 6, 98′ sprite collection as the representations of Raikou, Entei, and Suicune. Were they possibly playing with a different design idea for the Legendary Beasts? Perhaps Suicune. The Wooly Dog is just such an imposing sprite, that I can’t help but wonder. All pure speculation, of course. 

(#350) Rabbit Pokemon

This rabbit has a rather intense look about him, and it makes me curious what the ideas were behind it. TCRF suggests it’s a possible pikachu clone.

(#351) Snake Pokemon

This cute little worm or snake seems to be wearing a feather headdress, suggesting its design may also be Native American inspired, like the Natu line. On the other hand, this could be inspired by Quetzalcoatl, a feathered serpent deity in Aztec culture. I would have loved to see this little guy’s evolutions.

(#352) Scarecrow Bird

A bird with a hat that kind of looks like a scarecrow. Honestly, it’s a super-cute idea.

(#353) Gargoyle Pokemon

This crouching beastie sort of looks like a gargoyle with a long, sharp tail. I can’t quite tell if those bits on the side are little wings or just a part of its legs. It would be interesting to see this creature standing in a different position-- I feel like that would give us a better understanding of what it looks like. Interestingly, there are striking similarities with Aerodactyl:

I wonder why they are so similar?

(#354 - 356) Manbō Evolution Family

The first of these three fishies was someone we already met in the Spaceworld ‘97 demo-- it was named ‘Manbō 1.′ In the demo, it evolved into  Ikari (Anchorage) and then Gurotesu (Grotess). It seems it’s now been split off from those and given a new evolution family here. While I find that neat, and I quite like the expressions on these fish, they are admittedly a little bland. 

(#360) Flying Squirrel(?) Pokemon

TCRF guesses this is a flying squirrel, and it seems to be wearing a sheathed sword. Not sure about the headgear it’s sporting. Is that a ninja star? 

(#364) Early Cyndaquil

So, this May 6, ‘98 collection is really exciting. The original Gold/Silver fire starter line we saw in Spaceworld ‘97 (Honooguma’s line) is still present in this collection (as is the water-type ‘Cruz’ line and Chikorita’s line). So, what we have here seems to be an early Cyndaquil before they decided to turn it into a fire type and make it the fire starter! In fact, those spikes might even be icicles (like Alolan Sandslash), for all we know. If so, Cyndaquil’s typing pulled a 180.

(#377) Early Furret?

Possibly an early Furret. Looks pretty awkward, not gonna lie; I’m glad it was probably refined into modern Furret, with more body definition between the head and tail.

(#378) Stork Pokemon

It’s a stork, based on the myth of where babies come from. A cute idea, although its curly ‘hair’ looks a little funny to me. 

(#380) Squid Pokemon

A squid with drills for its mantle and arms. Since that’s kinda Beedrill’s thing, I’m glad they scrapped the idea. The backsprite lacks drills so it’s probably from a different design stage. 

(#382 - 383) Early Burmy/Pineco

Burmy/Wormadam/Mothim is based off the bagworm. Bagworms are grubs that use silk and lots of bits of leaves, bark and other objects to create a camouflaged cocoon. When they turn into adults, some species of female bagworms just look like their larval stage, while the males turn into winged moths. That is why Burmy/Wormadam/Mothim have their unique evolution situation. Clearly, these two beta pokemon are playing around with the bagworm idea. They probably went on to inspire both Pineco (another pokemon based on bagworms!) and the Burmy line in gen 4.

(#386) Koala Pokemon

It’s so cool to see they were thinking about a koala pokemon this early. We would not finally get one until gen 7′s Komala.

(#387) Tanuki Pokemon

A Tanuki that is carrying campfire kindling on his back, but the kindling has caught fire. Apparently based on the Kachi-Kachi Yama folktale, which is a surprisingly violent story, but I suppose folktales often are. Who knows why it was cut, but Sentret is the closest thing we have to a tanuki pokemon for now.

(#392) Megaphone(?) Bird Pokemon

Yet another bird pokemon! There sure were a lot of beta birds. This one appears to have a megaphone-shaped beak. Or, possibly, its head is shaped like a gas mask (the strange eyes seem  to support this idea). Honestly I really dig the look of this one.

(#397) Frog Pokemon

It’s tough to tell but it has a small horn on its head. It has a long tongue and is probably shouting “ribbithhhhhh!” It’s cute, but a little plain.

(#400) Tiny Hippo Pokemon

Look at this little weirdo. I think it’s a tiny hippo? With a mohawk and a big grin and wild eyes. It doesn’t really seem to have a head, its mouth/eyes/ears are just stuck directly to a body. Looks pretty awkward, probably needed some polish. No idea what they were going for with it, but it’s interesting.

(#401) Skeleton Pokemon

A very spooky, bipedal, living skeleton beast. It has a long snout and sharp teeth, almost like a crocodile or a dinosaur-like creature. Its head and shoulders have bony spikes and the front of its snout has markings that seem to be a nasal cavity. Very detailed. It also reminds me of Missingno, as some Missingno used the fossil skeletons as their front sprites. I would have loved to have this pokemon, and it’s a real shame they didn’t use it.

(#402) Rodent Pokemon

A mouse or bunny with gigantic, spotted ears and no arms. Those are some serious ears; it almost looks like it could fly with them. 

(#403) Fly Pokemon

A bug-type!! It has a huge, creepy face, curly antenna and wings strangely really close to its head. I love it?? But it’s a bug, so of course I do.

(#404) Plant Pokemon

The Snow Bunny was likely part grass-type, but other than that, this is our first grass beta! It has one eye, a spikey head, and almost foot-like roots. I love how grumpy it looks. There’s a possibility it was a pre-evolution for Sunflora, before they had created the idea of Sunkern (which is not present in this collection).

(#405) Ant Pokemon

Another bug!! This one looks a lot like a winged ant. (Those do exist-- usually a temporary thing for mating flights) It’s possibly related to the fly pokemon above, sporting very similar wings. However, it doesn’t really seem like an evolution.

(#406) Dinosaur Pokemon

A little dinosaur-like pokemon, looking up at you. It’s unclear if that’s a tough, bony skull, or if it’s maybe a hat. The clubbed tail makes me wonder if it’s related to #415 below, but it’s probably unlikely. However, it is pretty likely that this later became Cranidos.

(#407) Early Cherrim

This clearly was a design that was picked up later, in gen 4, to create Cherubi/Cherrim’s sunshine form. I am glad the design was improved, because the lips on this one scare me.

(#412) Early Dunsparce

Dunsparce looking quite different. No wings, no drill tail, with a much more typical snake-like face. 

(#415) Dinosaur Pokemon

It looks like an aquatic version of an Ankylosaurus or something similar. It’s possible it’s related to the Viking Ship pokemon (as a pre-evo), but there’s no way to know. I quite like it, though.

(#416) Flying Fish Pokemon

This magnificent beast, this miracle of creation, is surely my favorite beta pokemon of all time. Revel in its glory. You may not like it, but this is the ideal pokemon body. What a perfect way to round off our collection of betas.

[vanillann]

within the vision (bucky barnes x f.reader)

a/n: i’m going to be naming each chapter based on a sitcom from that time era, cause i can!! also i’m so glad everyone liked the prologue!!

warning: WANDAVISION SPOILERS, swearing, suggestive language, talks of past trauma, AU

word count: 1.9k

within the vision masterlist

Chapter 1: Born Yesterday 

“Do you remember everything we just went over?”

I rolled my eyes, snapping the silver bracelet on my wrist, the little charm would be normal to anyone else but Bucky and I knew the content.

“No, I forgot everything,” I turned to Tony, smiling sarcastically when he frowned.

“We should have given you up for adoption,” Tony titled his head, the tiniest smile on his lips and he played with the technology again.

The room felt packed with people, Tony and Bruce running around the technology, Bucky and I waiting beside two beds that were shoved beside Wanda’s, and Steve and Sam leaned against the wall trying to tell me to stop with this plan.

“We don’t know what could happen,” Steve repeated again, his arms crossed as Tony gave Bucky his bracelet, thicker than mine but still normal enough to not have anyone question it.

We had taken extra steps to ensure our safety as nobody knew exactly where we were going.

“You both need to get out as soon as the mission's over,” Bruce nodded, to both of us. His finger danced across the different screen, Tony and himself were the only ones who understood it.

“I was planning on going on a walk before I came back.” Bruce rolled his eyes, but gave me a hint of a smile. He understood my defense mechanism, one of the few people who never got mad when I couldn’t be completely serious. One plus for anger management classes.

“I regret doing this already,” Bucky spoke under his breath, looking up to Sam who gave a fake thumbs up.

“If it comes down to it, leave Bucky,” he responded, earning a thumbs up from me.

“I hate both of you.”

Bucky and I both laid in our own bed, our combat gear already on as we laid back slightly, Tony taking Bucky's side while Bruce came to mine.

“We’re going to first hook you to this machine to keep track of your vitals,” I said nothing, watching Bruce shove the IV in my arm and playing with the machine a bit to make sure everything was okay.

“Next, on the count of three you’ll press the button on the bracelet. Remember you need to keep your mind focused on Wanda for this to work,” Tony continues with his run on sentence, only stopping once Bucky and I both nodded once.

I felt the chill suddenly run up my body, suddenly nervous to just hind out in my best friend's mind. Especially since she had always been younger than me, I felt weirdly awkward now.

“Are you both sure about this?”

I saw Bucky nodded slightly from the bed beside me, suddenly all eyes on me. I felt myself shift in the bed, avoiding eye contact.

“(Y/N)?”

“I’m fine, I just need a second,” I spoke after Steve, smiling at his worried glares but said nothing else of it.

You were doing this for her own good, you were helping her. This wasn’t you reading her diary after teasing about her crush, this was her turning into herself not knowing we were waiting for her.

“I’m good,” I laid down on the bed, not looking at anyone as my other hand searched for the button. I wasn’t going to mess this up cause I couldn’t find a button.

“Okay, remember to stay safe and think about Wanda.”

I nodded lightly, trying my best to zone in on Wanda while Tony’s count down filled the room.

“One.”

I thought back to young Wanda and Pietro trying to hide my shoes before one of my first dates when I was 14.

“Two.”

Wanda giggling in my room at the compound when Steve went on a manhunt for me because I was late for practice.

“Three.”

I felt my finger smash the button, thinking of Wanda’s face as she held off Thanos with Vision life in her hand. I thought of her tearful face as she gave me one last glance before everything blew up before my body was smashed against the nearby tree.

The weird feeling around me gave me a stomach ache. The feeling of falling when you were about to sleep almost, but my eyes refused to open as the wind rushed past me. I wanted to panic, to pull myself from whatever I walked into, but I simply couldn’t.

I couldn't sense anyone around me, my body was all alone falling and I couldn’t stop it. I was a controlled person, I enjoyed control and suddenly that word didn’t even exist anymore.

Then it stopped, the falling was gone and my eyes were pushed open. My body was moved differently, pushed against something. When I slowly moved around I noticed the slight dusk of the sky.

“(Y/N)?” My name whispered filled the same space I sat in, I looked around trying to get my brain to focus on one thing. I felt something cold against my wrist cause me to jump, pushing harder into the rough back.

I looked down, Bucky's face laid under whatever I was sitting on. I looked up, noticing the windows and the steering wheel slightly ahead of me. I took in the leather under my fingers, seeing there wasn’t a door handle in the back and how low the roof was.

But that didn't worry me, what worried me was I couldn’t make out any other colors besides black, white, and grey. I looked to Bucky, hoping to see the light pale skin on his face but was met with white, almost like a white crayon that had been run in black dust lightly.

“Where the hell are we?”

“Wanda’s head, I thought this was your plan,” Bucky slowly sat up from the floor of the backseat, I had luckily ended up on the actual seat. I looked out, hoping to see the colors of the sky but I was met with the same grey color.

“Can you see color?”

“Can’t say I do,” Bucky rubbed his arm, slowly moving to sit in the same space I had made for him on the seat.

I finally looked around the rest of the area, noticing the row of houses and other such things. The trees and bushes reminded me of the old movie Steve would make us watch, looking like something out of a sitcom.

“What are you wearing?”

I frowned as I looked at Bucky, his eyes held confusion as he looked me up and down once. I looked down at myself, shocked to find myself in a dress, definitely not my combat gear. The material was dark, I couldn’t tell more, and a fake belt was sowed into the thick fabric.

“I haven’t seen one of those in awhile,” Bucky picked up a piece of the dress at the end, rubbing the material between his fingers when I slapped it from his wands. That when I heard it, laughing. Not like you told a funny joke laughing, like a sitcom laugh.

I pointed to Bucky, my eyes wide as I waited for who knew what. When I saw Bucky slowly look up at me from the place he looked at my dress I knew he heard it. That's when I noticed the suit he was wearing, specifically an older looking arm suit. I looked back around the car, spotting the matching hat to the suit on the dash of the car. I didn’t say anything, slowly reaching up to grab it when I saw a door open.

A lady with dark hair and bright smiles walked out, held a hand slightly in the air if she were to hold a cigarette but no smoke came out. She was talking to someone, whoever was in the house. Suddenly I watched the owner lean out slightly, my jaw going slack as I saw Wanda’s bright smile hides behind loopy curls.

“Doll-”

“Don’t call me that,” I spoke softly, doing my best to keep the facade up but I was so shocked, Wanda was lightly pushing the woman out the house, almost as if begging her to leave with a little laugh. She looked the same, only dressed up similar to me.

“You’re going to want to see this,” he tugged on my dress, my hand slapping it away again but he yanked hard. He sent me flying to the back seat of the car. my side pushed into his with a loud oof.

I heard that stupid sitcom laugh again, trying to push it to the make of my mind as I pushed away from Bucky. I hit him in the side with the hat I had managed to take back with me, my mouth wide open to yell but Bucky shoved something in my face.

I could spot the coke logo from miles away, only it wasn’t the saem logo I had always remembered. The bottles were glass and the writing looked much more vintage. That when I noticed Bucky tapping on a part of the label, my eyes reading over the information their.

Expiration date: July 6th, 1953

“1953?” I looked around the neighborhood again, suddenly realizing the vintage cars that were parked along the streets and the dress that hung off my frame.

“How?”

“I don't hear you asking how we ended up in the wrong decade,” My voice was stern as he spoke, watching the dark haired lady finally leave Wanda’s porch and go to her own house close by.

“Not the time,” Bucky finally sat up slightly, watching the lady walk in her house.

“When is the time then? Maybe the 70s or do you wanna wait til the 90s,” I snapped, looking over my shoulder with a pout. His face was so close to me, I finally noticed his once long hair was cut short.

He looked like he had in those photos of Steve and himself, back from the 40s.

“Well, what do we do know?” Bucky looked at me, his nose almost hitting mine when he turned but I had slightly moved back.

“I guess blend it?” I shrugged, hearing that stupid sitcom laugh that I wanted ro punch in the face.

“How do you suppose we do that?”

I looked around the neighborhood, smiling when I noticed the house across from Wanda’s had a large “FOR SALE” sign standing in the front yard.

“Break into that house and act like we belong here,” I smirked, ignoring Bucky as I slowly climbed into the front seat of the car. I heard Bucky yell out about me kicking him but I didn’t care as I made it to the driver seat, pushing open the door.

“For your information, I do belong here,” were the last words I heard from Bucky before I closed the door, smiling over at the house and trying to keep my voice low to not attract wandering eyes. I stood in the same place for a second, suddenly my view changed from house to concrete. I felt a little bump on my backside and frown when I heard Bucky laugh.

“Should’ve held the door,” I noticed his combat boots beside my face. Normally I would have bought him down with me but I decided it would bring too much attention and simply pushed myself from the ground.

“I hate you,” I frowned, slamming my foot into the road when I heard that stupid laugh sound around me again.

“Okay okay,” Bucky held out two arms from me, trying his best to calm me down but it wasn’t any use, I simply pointed to the sign, turning back to look at Bucky with a serious look in my eye.

“We are stealing that sign and moving to that house.”

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<prologue - chapter 2>

[pumpkin-pi-e]

News reporter who’s thirst for views causes them to get a little too close to the action. All Smite was never one to shy away from the limelight. He broadcasted his dastardly deeds for the world to see. If you wanted a close up, he’d oblige you. He’ll give the good folks at home some real entertainment. The sun might hide the stars, but that doesn’t mean they can’t shine. He’s going to make you into a star. It’s your time to shine.

Your greed made you too big for your britches. You’d flown too close to the sun. All Smite had no choice but to burn you along with this city. As so the idiom goes. Although you’d be burning in something different, you’ll be burning with lust.

“Don’t hide behind heroics and false self-righteousness. Views are what you wanted, aren’t they?” Cerulean pinpricks flick up towards you.

N-no! You were doing this to spread news! The people had a right to know, and you had a duty to deliver on the devastation wrought by this villain.

You remain silent. Those lips curl into a tight smile that’s amused and needlessly cruel, smug.

You’re furthering his belief. There was no such thing as truly good individuals. Even those heroes the masses liked to fawn over fell short. Humans are selfish by nature, and by default no better than he.

You can’t deny traveling closer than the other casters for more ratings, to get a better shot of the damage. However, that doesn’t mean you’re desire to spread awareness was misguided and tainted in something selfish.

“You don’t need those to make you feel better. Not when I’m going to do a better job of it. You don’t have to play pretend.” He purrs, kneeling over your hyperventilating chest. All Smite caressed your quavering thighs, petting you as is if you were but a frightened animal. “I can understand. It makes for better television. People love damsels in distress.” His tone is dripping in derision, concealing a snort. “And perhaps you want to hold on to your reputation.”

Your watery eyes plead up at him, begging him to stop with barely perceptible shakes of your head. His smile sharpens into something sadistic, something that held no sympathy for your plight, only revelry for your horror. His pleasure was your pain. It crinkles his eyes, narrowing them to slits. His signature grin is a rictus, baring his teeth in cruel mockery of everything a smile should represent. Instead of offering warmth, it chills you down to bone—living up to its namesake, striking fear in your overworked heart. “That’s what the people wanna see.”

“Please…”

“Again, there really is no need for the theatrics, but I can see you wanting to put on a show.” Your chin is seized by impossibly large hands, their grip is so firm you’re loath to imagine what his handshake is like. His eyes bore down at you, staring into you. They’re clear blue diamonds, pearls shrouded in darkness. A light in the night, yet this one was deceptive. It lured you in like an angler fish to your demise. So he could eat you alive.

There was no hope at the end of that tunnel, only death and chaos.

“You think-you think I’m pretending?”

“Aren’t you?” His return is casual. It sent you reeling.

He groans, long and deep—purring as his generous bulge presses into you. It’s size put more fear into you than his reputation ever could. “You think I haven’t noticed you?” He braced himself on his palm, sparing you his full of weight and being crushed under pure muscle as he slowly grinds into you. “Wherever I go, you’re always there.” Rough fingers trail along your skin. Bored of the clothes separating you from one another, your top is ripped in two by those very hands. He isn’t a selfish lover. He exposes his midriff, giving you a front row seat to muscles upon muscles and a peak at his buxom pecs; there’s a glint of silver, a hint of a nipple piercing. “You’re chaos’s cheerleader, documenting my handiwork. Tell me, does it intrigue you? Does it offer excitement from your boring nine to five?” All Smite’s powerful hips jut forward, bucking into you harshly. Your gasp is gladly received, paid back with a low growl of tribute.

“Don’t tell me you like the struggle.” Toshi laughs, feigned disbelief with a touch of delight. “I wouldn’t be too surprised. I’ll be your villain.” Lips demand of you, hard and unwilling to compromise. “And you, bunny, you’ll be my queen.” Your white coat will be stained red.

What is the point in all this, you ask? He really thought you’d know better. Everything had a reason. Even chaos has a mission.

“Claiming you. Corrupting you.” He’d do it for all the world to see—tainting that snow white purity you held as red as an apple when he planted his own seed.

Did you think he hadn’t noticed you? He had, although before today, he never turned from his wreckage to acknowledge you. In the sea of cowardly faces, yours stood out, the only one some might call brave, and others foolish enough to venture closer than they should.

He called it gluttony.

[Yandere All Smite films himself taking you, so that everyone can see how perfect his bunny is, he purrs over your cuteness.

All Smite fits that trope of hating everyone and everything except for his s/o.

Alpha! All Smite forcefully cuddling his frightened mate. He drops his full body mass on you, pinning you to the ground. Growling out a soothing purr, he keeps you there. It’s a gentle command to sit still. Toshi grins down at your squirming form, increasing their volume and depth until you’re forced to obey his whims. You want to tell him to stop, but opening your mouth would be like opening a bird cage. All the sounds you want to keep in will come flying out. You’d give him what he wanted.

Your obedience isn’t all he’s after. Deepening his currs to rumbling snarls, he forces the noise you’ve been smothering from your throat. Mortified tears streak down your warmed face as you purr in response to him. Toshi’s rumbles pick up. He knows he takes good care of you, you just seldom let him hear it.

[brandstifter-sys]

Trash Bat

@dukexietyweek Day 7 - Music         (Ao3)

Word Count: 1581

Characters: Roman, Janus, Remus, Virgil

Rating: T

Warnings: innuendo, fire, spiders 

Virgil is goaded into going to one of Roman’s boring galas, because Remus wants him there to help cause problems just like old times. 

(Song fic. “Trash Bat” by AFI, also inspired by this and this)

---

Virgil had never been one to go to one of these events and take it seriously, even when Roman pleaded with him. He hated dressing up in fancy costumes and slow dancing with figments from the Imagination. But he was here, all because Janus called him out for always rudely refusing, and he was not about to make Janus look honest. 

He hated the stupid purple jacket with silver embellishments and the black dress pants. He wanted his hoodie and his headphones but he couldn't have those for a while. So he watched the people dancing around on the golden floor, avoiding the Grecian columns and the gaudy double staircase. The prince was not one of them. 

"You know," Janus said as he wandered up to the window ledge where he was hiding behind a long red curtain, "Roman doesn't have any qualms about you not attending." Virgil glared at him and clenched his fists. 

"Then why the fuck did you guilt me into showing up?" he hissed. Janus shrugged and brushed any dust from his jacket. 

"Roman isn't the one who wants to see you here. It's not often Remus gets dressed up. Like a pulp tabloid magazine with a slick-print cover." 

"You couldn't bother telling me that to get me here in the first place?" 

"I was under the impression that the others don't know about your rendezvous and you wanted to keep that a secret," he hummed and scanned the crowd. And then he smiled. 

"I am going to kill you until you're so dead the Dragon Witch can't reanimate your corpse," Virgil spat. Janus had the gaul to laugh and meander onto the dancefloor to find a woo-able partner. Virgil glared at him until he was out of sight. 

"You look tense, Scare Bear," Remus giggled and grabbed his hand suddenly, "Tense and princely, in a satanic way!" 

Virgil glanced at the duke and his heart skipped a beat. Remus was clean and groomed impeccably, with his usual makeup toned down and human teeth that were straight and blinding, rather than his fangs. He looked good in his more refined jacket with silver shoulder pads and a clean sash. He also looked like he was wearing cardboard.

"And you look like you want to start a fight and destroy this place," Virgil scoffed as Remus kissed the back of his hand, "So why don't we get out of here? I'll make sure you get your fill of carnage." 

"Now there's an idea! So you don't want to woo the Gerard Way figment? He'd show you how he disappears in your—" 

"Puppy, you know I only have one person I want to bring to my bed," Virgil cut him off, "And he smiles no matter how rough I get with him." 

"Are you going to be my angel after we destroy this boring shindig?" 

"You should know by now that I put you through hell, and I don't play nice." 

"You're a devil in the sheets and on the streets, but you're so sweet in the dark, it makes all the agony worth it." 

"You really want help ruining this, don't you?" Virgil snorted. He knew how the duke pleaded all too well.

"I do! Even Roman is bored! It's the perfect opportunity! It'll be just like old times!" 

"We always pissed Princey off and then he threatened to maim us." 

"And we can apologize for it with a video!" 

"Only if you keep it clean for the camera." 

"We're talking about my brother here!—But does that mean when the camera's off—?" 

"You can be my filthy little trash bat. Yeah," Virgil shrugged and got up, "So, once more with a smile, let's start with the music and then the spiders and fires." 

Remus beamed and led him to the dancefloor with all the false poise and grace of a man with a snake face. For the first time that night, a genuine grin crossed Virgil's lips, a wicked one but still a genuine grin, and Remus' heart melted. 

They fell into a simple waltz, taking broad steps to clear a piece of floor. No one, not even the prince they pushed aside, suspected what was to come. No, the way those two were gazing into each other's eyes gave off a different impression.

And then they were in the middle of the floor, frozen in place when the song faded. Remus briefly lifted his hand from Virgil's shoulder and snapped his fingers as he relaxed his other arm. He winked and reached behind his back, grabbing the hand Virgil pressed to his lower back, not letting go of Virgil's shoulder. 

The music picked up again, suddenly. The loud drums caused the crowd to panic momentarily, but they were almost immediately distracted when Virgil snapped his arm out and spun Remus, quickly reeling him back in, and pulling him to his chest, holding his waist. 

Remus wasted no time twisting and kicking his legs up and over his head, flipping out of Virgil's grasp. He grabbed Virgil's hand and spun him out, letting him take an extra spin and fall to a knee. It was time for the real fun to begin.

Ρulp in the slick

Αnd you're all I take tο bed

Το read with me

Remus was thrilled to show off his footwork kicking and jumping, crossing his feet and spinning. He was fast, looming closer to Virgil. 

Ρulp in the slick

Αnd you're all I take tο bed

With me tο

In a flash, Virgil swung his leg around, getting Remus to jump over it and take a knee. Virgil planted his hands and used the momentum to backflip to his feet. He made a show of swinging his leg over Remus and flipping over him in a sort of cartwheel, landing low to grab Remus' hands and pull him to his feet. 

Οnce mοre with a smile

Brοken teeth and bloody eyes

They swung around each other once, then Remus pulled Virgil in, letting him swing between his legs and back. Virgil regained his footing and hunched down so he could flip Remus behind him so they were back to back. 

Ιn my mean light

Μy my my Trash Βat

Roman was in awe. He thought this level of insanity was over, and hated that this was the beginning. The two of them were still incredible to witness as their sharp bold moves shifted into a sort of rapid tango. Virgil seemed to be leading, if only because Remus was showing off, but Roman knew they could switch in an instant and stay in sync. 

Once more with a smile

Broken teeth and empty eyes

As they seemed to finish another round of "don't step on my feet" in style, Virgil grabbed Remus' waist and dipped him. Remus tumbled out of his grasp. He faced his emo and goaded him with his hands.

In my mean light

My my my Trash Bat

Virgil ran at him and dropped to the floor, sliding under Remus as he jumped into the air. Virgil rolled onto his front and crawled toward Remus with his legs trailing behind him. He swiftly took a knee and nodded to the duke, holding his hands out and open.

Flies οr the flames

Wear nο halo 'rοund my head

Οh blessed be

Remus ran at him, ready to make some waves! He pressed a foot on Virgil's hands and jumped as the emo flung him to the ceiling. He grabbed onto the largest chandelier and swung on it, giggling and kicking his feet. 

Virgil snickered at how happy Remus looked and snapped his fingers. Remus only got more giddy as thousands of spiders flooded in through the windows. Patton was the first one out of there, followed swiftly by the majority of the crowd. And then Remus set the curtains on fire. 

Κeep it clean

Κeep it clean fοr the camera

When no one else was in the building, except for Roman, Virgil banished the spiders and stood under the chandelier with open arms. 

"What the hell was that!?" Roman huffed and marched up to Virgil, "I thought you were done wreaking havoc!" Virgil shrugged and winced as Remus fell into his arms.

"He wasn't planning on causing problems til I seduced him!" Remus laughed, "But it was worth it! And we livened up this shindig so you're welcome!" He stuck out his tongue at his brother before kissing Virgil's cheek and getting to the ground. 

"Are you—? He's my brother and you and he—?" Roman gawked when it hit him. 

"Don't sound so surprised!" Remus laughed and leaned against Virgil, "I'm the hot twin! And I get off on mean compliments! You just aren't the right fit for Scare Bear!" 

"If you think that I'm jealous, you're wrong. I just can't believe that you and he would even consider each other that way!—especially you, Virgil." 

"I'm madly in love with Remus," Virgil admitted shyly, "He's my trash bat." Remus cooed and moved to kiss his cheek, but Virgil had other plans. 

He turned his head at just the right moment to capture his lips in a chaste kiss. Roman was gawking like a fish. 

"You sneaky sonofabitch!" Remus giggled and clung to him. 

"We're gonna go ahead and leave. Thanks for the invite," Virgil mumbled and sank out with Remus, leaving Roman to wrap his head around it all. They earned the following round of cuddles and then some!

[mooshs-crack-headcanons]

Hello 23 your old me, it's 22 year old you. Write some some motivational birthday sex headcanons with Vergil, and happy birthday you poor bastard.

(Posted December 16th 2020, Moosh's birthday.)

(NSFW under the cut as always!)

With the life Vergil has had up to this point the eldest son of Sparda doesn't have that many objects of sentimental value. He had traveled on his own for most of his life and with frequently moving from place to place to learn about the history of his father, he really couldn't have that much on him that couldn't be placed in the confines of his coat. So the only objects that had meaning to him that he took with him were all reminders of his past; Yamato, his book of poems, and his half of the perfect amulet. All tokens of his quest for power. 

Vergil is a very different man than what he was when he was nineteen. He been corrupted by his mother's murder for decades and as V he learned the outcome and destruction of what happened to the people of Redgrave because of such power. He now only has two of those sentimental objects; the Yamato, which stays always on his side whether he be holding it or it being tied securely around his hip, and his book which if he isn't reading stays tucked in the inside pockets of his coat, his half of the perfect amulet with had been apart if the Devil Sword Sparda for several decades was now with the sword itself and Dante's rebellion fused with his brother to make his new sword (Vergil was pissed for literal weeks in hell when Dante finally told him) 

So when his brother of all people asks him what he's going to get you for his birthday, Vergil freezes. 

Another thing that Vergil is very new to; relationships. Sure, he has had sex a few times on his travels but they were all people he was 100% sure he would never see again (*cough cough* Nero's mother *cough*) and it was a very rare scenario that would happen, not out of lust but curiosity and to clear his mind from the stress of his quest for power. With this being the case and him trapped in hell at a very young age as well as just him burying (THE LIGHT DEEP WITHIIIIIIN) his humanity for so long, it's guaranteed that you're his first true relationship. So imagine his shock that he learns your birthday is so soon and his light offense that you haven't mentioned it to him at least once. Sure, he hasn't had that much experience with birthdays, the last one he celebrated was his and Dante's 8th, but you're...different, you've made your place in his old lonely cold heart heart and he wants to give you something that shows that you mean a lot to him, something of sentimental value to you as the Yamato and the book have to him. Though the problem is...he has trouble finding what that something could be. 

It stumps Vergil thinking about it, that he doesn't appreciate, he sits and thinks of all the things that the two of you have done together just to try and think of...something. Unfortunately he just can't think of anything that he could convince himself would be good enough and he ends up going to bed frustrated on those nights. As the hours and hours to your birthday grow more near, Vergil let's his pride crack just a little bit to ask for help. 

And out of all people he goes to, he goes to his brother for help. 

At first he was considering going to Nero, since he actually has a significant other but...this is Vergil and he just couldn't bring himself to do it with everything he's done in his quest for power. So instead he bites the bullet and goes to Dante. 

Of course Dante isn't that much help, the younger son of Sparda having not the best when it comes to relationships, however in their little heart to heart (that only broke out into one fight) Dante actually considers something that Vergil...takes into consideration.

It's not...exactly what he originally had in mind. It's not a physical sentimental object like the Yamato or his book. It's...himself. When Dante suggested it, he did so in a foul joking way (which got him a summoned sword to the chest) when his brother originally suggested it Vergil thought of the idea as incredibly selfish and saw that it would have no effort put into it whatsoever. But then he thinks about it this way; he loves you and he wants nothing more but to express that love for you, so why not let you make love to him with none of his guards up or any of his silly pride in the way? Just let you have...all of him? 

To say that the sight of him laying naked on your bed and presenting himself with his legs spread and cock hard and waiting for you left you in shock the moment you opened your bedroom door was an understatement. He calls you over with a mesmerizing curl of his fingers which causes your feet to move in horny autopilot over slowly to his bedside. 

His hand feels warm and smooth as his palm runs against your cheek, his other trailing along your back before pushing you closer to him making you fall down to sit on the mattress. When his lips meet yours you quickly don't waste time in adjusting yourself to where you straddle his lap, feeling his cock give an approving twitch along your backside. 

In between heated kisses does Vergil flip you on your back and help you rid of your clothes followed by deep whispers of "I love you" and other such praises which at first take you off guard. 

He makes his place between your legs looking up to you with a very loving look in light blue eyes, a look that is meant only for you, his fingers trace light patterns on the inside of your thighs as he holds them back to where your knees almost come to the sides of your head, one hand ever so slowly trails down to have a gentle hold on your sex before devolving his mouth to ravish. 

With how good his tongue feels on you you can't help but to tightly grapple onto his silver locks and with a rough rhythm do you bob his head around to find your own pleasure. You eventually come with a loud whine put curse and your lover stays in his place between your legs drinking in you up as much as he can before pulling back to his sweat soaked face for breath, the sight of your come drenching his lips only further fueling your arousal. 

It becomes clear to you exactly what he's doing, which makes a grin appear widely on your face and your heart skip a beat as the two of you not just have sex, but make love. Everything about Vergil's movements; his kisses, his lingering touches, the light bites and kisses along your chest, and especially his voice, all you can feel every ounce of his love in. Your arms wrap tightly around his neck as his tongue explores your mouth, his hand holding your leg back as he sweetly hammers that special spot that gets you loudly moaning against his lips.

His moans that normally he would hold back are all let out right next to your ear as his warm breath fans over the skin of your neck. 

As the two of you get closer and closer to your end, he looks down at you with those loving eyes with his hair messy from your touch and in the most clear voice he can muster he tells you how much he loves you, how much you mean to him, and how much he's changed because of you and that he appreciates every moment he can to give himself over to you. 

He fills you up deep, the sticky juices sticking and rubbing to the point where the two of you are connected as the Vergil is collapsed ontop of you and you can feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest from his high. With a groan he slowly slips out of you to readjust himself in you arms and with one hand he slowly brushes a strand of hair out of your face and pressing a quick kiss to your lips before finally settling in to lay his head in the corner of your neck.

The two of you lay there in silence for a good amount of time, you almost let yourself drift to sleep before the rumbling from Vergil's chest as he speaks next to your ear stops you.

"Happy birthday, (Name)...I'd wish to have given you something more than just...this - I just couldn't find anything that would've been good enough to show how much I care and appreciate all you've done for me."

Your hand goes to comb at his hair on the back of his head as a exhausted smile appears on your lips.

"Vergil, you didn't have to get me anything just you being with me is as good as any present could possibly be."

He looks up at you confused and opens his mouth to retort but he stops in his tracks when you hand retracts from his hair to hold his face. His eyes dart all over your face below closing as his still sweaty forehead moves to bump against yours, the anxiety in his chest ever so slowly beginning to quell.

The two of you end up sleeping with smiles on your faces that night.

[westmoor]

the ocean still roars

↞ ↞  | main post |  ao3

(2.5k // tw: blood and violence)

When Jaskier left him on that mountain, something had shifted.

Geralt had found excuses for it at first. Told himself it was the sound or lack thereof; songs unsung, no lute strings plucked, no stories told or tangents pursued with details growing grander with each telling. That it was just the lingering smell fading over time, the perfumed oils and musk underneath, the trailing scent of herbs or flowers stooped for and picked on their way. Of dandelions in spring and apples in autumn, of wild berries and clovers at the height of summer.

But Jaskier had left before, too. Taken his voice and his scent and his lute with him, and it was not the same. 

Something in the air had changed, its taste or its weight in his lungs. Colours looked strange to his eyes, like someone had changed their hue and no one else could tell. It was as though the world had tilted slightly on its axis, without proof or reason as to why.

Geralt found meaningful excuses for what he could and pinned his heart as the cause of the rest.

He still does.

But too much has happened since, too many solemn notes making his medallion tremble with the beat of the other’s heart to only blame his own. 

There is a memory of lights in the forest and a woman in green, the taste of blood in his mouth and gentle hands turning his face to the sky, slipping from the grasp of his mind like fevered dreams.

At the bottom of his saddlebag, wrapped in cloth, is a broken silver bell.

He had hoped that the flicker of emotion that crossed the other man's face had been a sign that perhaps it could be fixed - that he’d be allowed near enough to start to chip away the wedge he had driven between them. That maybe, just maybe, his friend would walk back into his life and he’d be afforded a chance to make things right.

Most of that hope had gone down the storm drains by the time he made it back to Hagge.

Ever since waking up in his half-made camp beyond the forest's edge, head fuzzy and the taste of foreign magic on his tongue, news of his former travelling companion had dwindled. Jaskier hadn’t been there. He hadn’t been anywhere. No note or song, not even a rumour, not for weeks.

It seems that now, for the first time since the day a fresh-faced youth approached him in a tavern in a valley of flowers, the position in his life occupied by Jaskier the bard is truly vacant. 

And still, he can’t give up. 

He doesn’t know what Jaskier is, exactly, nor where, but he knows now there are places to look. In caverns and hollows where they first crawled into legend, glades and groves where their roots have grown deep with power and patience. Nooks and crannies where, with luck and circumstance, one can slip from this world into the one below. 

He also knows that for whatever purpose, if they wish to find him, they will.

There are questions.

He doesn’t give a damn about the answers.

--

When it comes, it comes in the form of a guardsman with a debt to pay.

Odd things afoot, the man claims. A diseased harvest, unseasonably sour weather. Livestock acting strange and wildlife even stranger. And an overheard conversation in the next town over - word of a band of lawless men having captured the White Wolf’s companion.

If true, Geralt doubts they know what they have captured. In fairness, neither does he, but he knows this: They have his bard.

Geralt takes the bait.

No veiled pretense. No loosened horseshoes or impish little children, no stolen potions or fox tracks in the dirt. 

He rides north toward the town in question, a hamlet nestled at the mouth of a river valley, along a road flanked by firs. The trees near the road are willowy and young, felled in rotation to keep the villages with firewood and kindling. But above, further up the slope of the mountain, they tower tall and dark against the afternoon sky.

His medallion stirs before they even leave the road. 

He brings Roach as far as he deems safe, until the forest grows too dense to pass through with ease. Too far in and she’ll be more a hindrance than a help. He leaves her at the edge of a deertrodden glade, where the canopy opens enough to retain the light for a few more hours. 

It’s a bit of a hike - needles of spruce and dead branches crunching underfoot, nothing to hear but the rustle of wind and birdsong, present but frantic in a way that sets his teeth on edge, as though they too can feel the thrum of foreboding reining him in - but eventually the trunks space out and give way to what seems to once have been a wide trail.

Years must’ve gone by since the last wagon passed this way, overtaken as it is by bushes and undergrowth. Life claws its way out of the grasp of barren darkness, to stretch its shrubs and saplings towards the sun.

There are no tracks but the ones behind him. He didn’t expect there to be.

--

It had been an outpost once, perched at a height to overlook wide open fields to the east and narrow passes to the north, sheltered from the west by the steep rise of the mountain proper.

Now it’s a derelict ruin, crumbling timber roof cast in shadow by the jagged rock face above. What had been a tidied yard for corralled horses and the loading of carts shrivels by the season as the forest eats its way closer, devouring fertile ground and reaching with many-fingered hands to a weathered tower hunched against the rock from which it once was built.

Standing in front of it, Geralt weighs his options. 

It’s too quiet, too still, as though he stands at the shrine of a god he can’t name. Despite the open air and sinking sun, it feels enclosed. Walled in by trees as tall as city gates - their spiny crowns like battlements - the acrid scent of junipers is even thicker than it ought to be; the sound of the woods too uniform and dull.

On one hand, he has no hint, no proof, no true sign at all that the ramshackle structure hides what he seeks. On the other - 

The hinges have rusted nearly solid, the frame warped by age and moisture, and he has to put the full force of his weight on it to shoulder it open.

His body blocks the light and when his eyes adjust, he is faced with a rough wall and a narrow walkway, moss creeping along the cracks between hewn stone. The air inside is as cold and damp as an earth cellar, except for the sour coniferous tinge prickling like needles at the back of his throat and burning his sinuses. 

He rounds a corner and faces another door - this one slightly agape, tilting at a steep angle from its fastenings. Prying it open and sidling through, he scans another, longer hall, this one winding inwards to the mountain. It slams shut behind him and the world plunges into darkness. 

And then it's blinding.

And then the scream.

Guttural and wild like a dying beast. Geralt is knocked back by the force of it, bile rising in his throat.

People never scream like that. In terror or pain, he never heard a human make a sound like that. 

His heart knows the sound when his mind doesn’t.

There is a boy in a tavern and a man on a mountain and a creature in a clearing, and Jaskier was never human. 

It rises and ricochets too loud in too small a space. Notes bend until they break, echoing and doubling back until he fears his skull might split.

Flashes of light and dark beating at his vision like frenzied wings, too quick to catch and too fast to adjust to. His eyes are burning with it and he screws them shut. Ears still ringing and he can’t see, can’t hear. He needs to get out, but he needs to find Jaskier.

Something scrapes against his shoulder like talons or teeth and he spins around, a lunge for his ankle nearly has him off his feet. When the walls prove too close for swords he pulls his hunting knife instead. 

Fighting deaf and blind and hampered by the pounding in his head, there is still a weapon in his hand. He digs his heels in. Roots himself.

He finds his rhythm soon enough. The practiced ease of combat gives respite from his battered senses as he learns the pattern of his adversary. 

There are noises around him, differing like voices, but melding together to a single mass of sound.

A shift in the order and a change of pace, his space is empty and he thinks his opponent has retreated - then a cry like a call of a name, and he adapts without thought. Rushing air and the warmt of a body provides direction; near-hits become deflections. 

With a twist and a turn his blade hits home, sinking into solid flesh and grating against bone.

If life could give me one blessing - 

Blood wells hot between his fingers and the feel of it, smell of it, is so close and so familiar -

Horror turns his gut.

- it would be to take you off my hands. 

He can hardly hear himself shouting. Jaskier slumps against him.

--

Panic consumes the moment and the next, and he is staggering out into the fading light of day. 

Jaskier's knees fold in the grass and Geralt follows him down, grappling at his shoulders, his clothes, anything to keep him righted and assess the damage he has done.

It’s a decent hit. Certain. Deep enough to stay embedded between his ribs. Had it been a contract - 

He knows he’s talking, feels his mouth curl around Jaskier’s name, swearing, curses, promises he can’t keep - and all he can see is red, and tawny brown, and blue.

Jaskier is staring, silenced for once by shock and the fear rolling off him in waves. But when he is stopped from grabbing at the hilt of the knife to pull at it, he grasps for Geralt like a plea. Like he can save him, in spite of it all.

It can’t be real. He should wake in his camp, clouded and drained and relieved.

Pale silk drenches red, slow and steady, like ripples in a pond.

That fire in his eyes, lighting them like moonlight reflecting in a clear tarn, is burning white-hot, burning out. There’s no grounding but the shaking hands fisted in his shirt. He prays for that grip to stay firm.

He doesn’t know how this works, or if it works at all, but there is no choice but to try.

Geralt gathers him up, one arm below his shoulders and the other under his knees, and he runs.

It seems impossibly far. His own tracks through the grass make an even trail to follow. The forest passes in a blur.

At the sight of Roach, he grinds to a halt and lowers Jaskier to the ground as slowly as he can afford, ignoring the whimper in protest when he goes out of reach.

He ignores, too, the uncertain shift of his horse as he rifles through saddlebags without care for their contents, digging blindly under blankets and supplies for what has weighed on his mind for a month. And there, beyond a scrap of cloth wrapped around a warped piece of silver, his fingers find a bundle of twigs.

Rushing back and cradling his bard in his arms with as much gentleness as he can bear, he nearly hesitates, then. Jaskier is already too pale, life ebbing steadily out of him and this - this is a waste of time.

But the hilt of his own blade moves with each laboured breath and he’s not- he can’t- it can’t end like this. He curls his and around the knife, and braces for the strangled scream and struggle that comes.

Presses the handful of now-dried heather against the wound in Jaskier’s chest as he begs for whatever power, whatever luck or chance has followed them this far to take hold. 

The prickly stems soak quickly, white flowers dyed red, then black, in seconds. 

Willing his voice to some semblance of steadiness he taps a pale cheek, trying not to cringe at the cold creeping in.

“Jaskier.” He shakes the arm beneath his back to keep him waking, and is rewarded with a flicker of attention. “I need you to sing for me, lark. Can you do that?”

A grimace, or possibly a smile, sluggish and wan but he tries - the notes sound roughened in his throat, words garbled, more a mumble than a song but he tries.

The silver pendant between them quivers in response to each rising sound and for a moment, he hopes, maybe - but the heart beneath the press of his touch staggers on, rabbit-quick and panicked. Geralt can’t see his own hands for all that red.

There are lessons to this, ones imprinted in him since childhood, the cost of loving what is mortal. Reasons for tempering your heart, for why Witchers do not feel. None of them matter now. 

In their place is a barrage of moments, fleeting glances, the hand at his elbow by instinct when he comes back weary and injured, half-formed melodies by dying fires hummed to no one in particular. The scent of camomile and lavender and ink, ringing laughter, the rustle of silk. The lightness of a pack with provisions just for one, the deafening silence of a thousand lonely mornings, the chill of a bed too narrow for two.

Jaskier’s voice dwindles and fades and he doesn’t know what to do, he does the only thing he can think of. He pulls him so close he fears his bones might break, and he kisses him.

It’s desperate and too forceful and wet with his own tears and Jaskier gasps for air against his lips, and it’s nothing like the stories. 

And nothing happens.

“Please, Jaskier, I can’t -” he chokes out, and it’s all he can muster against the waves that clog and tear at his chest. “I can’t lose you. Not like this. Fuck, I wish I hadn’t let you go.”

There is a deep, ragged breath shaking the body in his arms. His medallion stills on its chain.

And then another breath. 

And when Geralt forces his eyes open the ones that meet his gaze are wet and dull with pain, but awake and alive, blinking up at him with confusion and something like disbelief.

“Geralt?” 

Something breaks in him, then. A wall or a barricade, something old and rigid, shatters like glass and he crumbles with it. 

“I’m here,” he murmurs into Jaskier’s brow, and for now his world is only that: Hair tickling his nose. The smell of blood, still, but less bitter; tempered by earthy musk and summer flowers. Grass under his knees. Jaskier in his arms.

Breath against his neck, calmer, pained but not panicked. Stutters a few times, stops and starts before the words form softly to his collarbones. “Don’t let me go.”

“Never.” It’s barely a whisper, but he doubles down, makes it a promise. “Never.”

 And the world tilts slightly on its axis.

--------

Tag list: @llamasdumpsterfire @stinastar @elliestormfound @love-more-today-than-yesterday @fontegagrilledcheese @geraskier-trashh

[dindjarindiaries]

Mandoctober - October 31: Family

summary: You’re alone and in need of a family and a home—and the Mandalorian notices.

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x gn!reader

warnings: insinuations of past harm/abuse, soft!din

rating: G

word count: 1.423k

mandoctober masterlist

october 31: family

The wind hasn’t been this bad in a while. It whips through the alleyway you’ve been accustomed to hiding in, shivering into the crates left abandoned by the local shop owners. Your hands grip at the sleeves of your run-down tunic, hoping that you can somehow fill the small holes that have started to tug at the fabric. You have no idea how many days it’s been since you ran from your old life, from your everyday torture—but you know whatever suffering you face in this alleyway now is much better than what you’re used to.

The galaxy isn’t kind and you’ve learned that the hard way. Years of trying to work as a servant to earn your freedom, instead getting shipped around like the items circulating in the nearby marketplace, has been enough to make you come to such a conclusion. You’d only been shown love by the animals that have crossed your path—and sometimes the children of those you served.

But this last one had been different. The entire family was out to get you, working you to the bone and barely paying you a single credit for it, constantly berating you about the Rebel past of your parents. They would purposely forget to feed you most days and nights and they’d make sure you went to bed late and then had to wake up early. Although most of the pain was psychological, you felt so worn down that you thought you’d break—and so you left it all behind. You ran as far as your feet could take you and now you’ve ended up here.

And shivering in an alleyway is a much better alternative to the life you used to lead. At least out here, you have freedom.

Your face hides in your arms as you cross them over your knees, hugging them tight to your chest. You can feel yourself trembling but many things have since become numb. The alleyway has always been windy thanks to its build, but today, it’s whipping harder than usual and you can practically feel every hair on your body standing on its end as you grit your teeth.

A shadow suddenly passes over you and you think it must be an oncoming storm. But then, there’s the sound of spurs treading the ground lightly, as if they’re trying to keep their steps light. The coldness of terror grips you as you dare to look up, instantly meeting the blank visor of a Mandalorian. His silver armor reflects the light of the overcast sky, making blink a few times as you adjust to it. The metal of his armor clinks as he bends down to your level, one of his elbows resting against his knee. You swallow hard.

“What do you need?” you ask, your voice hoarse from its lack of use since running away.

The Mandalorian doesn’t respond right away. Instead, his helmet tilts at you, as if he’s observing you more closely now. You flex your fingers nervously. “I would like you to answer that.” His voice is modulated and comes out in a rasp, sounding gentle yet also revealing how rough he’s used it in the past. It makes a chill run through you.

You shrug, fingers starting to grip at the dirty fabric of your pants. “I’m all right.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t move. You hold your breath, waiting for the moment he cuffs you and announces that your previous employers had sent out a bounty for you. Surprisingly, he stays in place and asks a question that knocks the breath from your lungs. “Has anyone asked to help you?”

You hesitate, wondering if this is somehow a trick. In your desperation, you decide it’s not, and you shake your head.

A grunt falls from the Mandalorian’s helmet in disapproval as he looks away from you for a moment. When his visor returns to your gaze, you watch him gingerly reach a gloved hand out to touch your upper arm. “I will be the first, then.” He pauses, never moving. “Do you like bone broth?”

You nod, opposed to refusing any kind of food when you’ve been living off scraps even before you ran away. The Mandalorian nods in understanding and stands up.

“Stay here. I’ll return with some.”

You nod again and hold your tunic close as your shivering continues. The Mandalorian hesitates, and you watch as he suddenly unclips his cape from his back and sets it over you. Your hands tug at the rough fabric graciously, your cheeks heating up a bit at his kindness. “Thank you—very much, sir.”

The Mandalorian simply nods yet again, heading off in the same direction he’d came. You notice now that he has a circular metal compartment following him, floating wherever he goes. You wonder what he’s bringing along as he disappears from sight, and you feel your shivering slightly beginning to subside thanks to the warmth of the Mandalorian’s cape. Though his actions seem gracious and nothing short of kind, you can’t help wondering what his intentions are, and you can only pray to the Maker that they’re not unkind.

You’re lost in these thoughts until the Mandalorian returns, a bowl of broth in hand that he gives to you once he kneels next to you again. You accept it with another word of thanks, holding it between both hands as you sip at it almost viciously. The Mandalorian remains silent beside you as you eat, nearly tearing up at the feeling of such warmth and fullness inside you. You’re amazed at the fact a Mandalorian finally got you to such a point.

When you finish, you set the bowl down onto the ground beside you, facing the Mandalorian with gratitude and curiosity. “Thank you,” you say genuinely, your voice low as you keep the conversation between him and yourself. “You’ve been very kind.” You hesitate, swallowing hard as you go on. “Now, may you answer my first question? What do you need from me?”

The Mandalorian lets out a sigh, crackling through his modulator as his visor never leaves you. Despite the fact there’s no gaze there, you can feel it burning through you, and you writhe a bit under its intensity. “You are alone.” The Mandalorian pauses as if waiting for confirmation of his statement. You nod. “You have lost your family.” You nod again. “You have no home.” You nod yet again. This time, the Mandalorian returns your nod. “Then I will provide you with both.”

Your brow furrows together as your mouth falls open in shock for a moment. “I… I—I’m sorry sir, you said you’ll provide me with a family and a home?” The Mandalorian nods again. You’re still at an utter loss for words. “How much will it cost me?” You expect there to be some work you must do in exchange for such hospitality.

Instead, the Mandalorian shakes his head. “No cost. No work.”

“But surely, you must need something in return.”

The Mandalorian simply bows his head. “This is the Way.”

For a quick moment, you smile, but you fade when you remember that a stranger is the one offering you this deal. Things could quickly become worse should his intentions switch up as soon as you leave with him. Your guard goes back up immediately and you can tell the Mandalorian notices.

“There’s no need to be afraid. I will not hurt you.” As if to prove it, the Mandalorian taps something on his vambrace, and the metal casing from before splits in two to reveal a small, sleeping form inside. Your eyes widen to see a tiny green baby, his ears like petals as soft snores tumble from his lips. He looks at ease—and you realize you won’t be the first one this Mandalorian’s taken in. “I was trained to protect and to uphold my Creed. This includes being of service to you—should you accept it.” The Mandalorian closes the contraption and faces you again. He’s now proven his ability to be true to his words and keep you safe, and so you let your smile return as you answer him.

“I will accept your gracious offer, Mandalorian.”

The Mandalorian nods at you, standing up and offering a gloved hand to you. “Then come, kar’ika. It’s time to bring you home.” You accept his hand as he helps you stand up, supporting your unsteady legs as he leads you to the family he’s just promised you, one that’s bound to last until the day you meet the Maker.

mandoctober tag list: @the-navistar-carol

permanent tag list: @mikahid @bestintheparsec @stilllivindue2spite @givemethatgold @xbrujita @mandalorianspace @blushingwueen @sevvysaurus @myakai13 @thisis-theway @beskars @rachelloveseveryone @theindiealto @hiscyarika @wickedfrsgrl @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @bookwafflefangirl @charliepeaceout @cable-kenobi @ezraslittleblondestreak @hdlynn @your-pixels-are-showing @b0n-chann @javier-djarin @nettyklecan @mistermiraclee @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @smellssharpies @catfishingmorales @wille-zarr @kaetastic @saltywintersoldat @agentpike @mrsparknuts @readsalot73 @yespolkadotkitty @mandhoelorian @lilangeldevil006 @roxypeanut @hail-doodles @randomness501 @this-cat-is-dea @hopplessdreamer @paintballkid711 @dracos-jedi-marvel @whataenginerd @katlikeme @petertingless @propertyofdindjarin @theocatkov @bisexual-space-slut @cyaredindjarin @arkofblake @cryptkeepersoul @motleymoose @mrschiltoncat @f0rever15elf @lady-of-nightmares-and-heartache @rogueonestan @goldafterglow @thedevilwearsbeskar @badassbaker @pancakepike @alwritey-aphrodite @mymindisawhirpool @antmnwasp @capbrie @xjaywritesx @arabellathorne @mandilflorian @phoenixhalliwell @beiroviski @darthadeline @cheriedjarin @edencherries @mstgsmy @seasonschange-butpeopledont @buckysbeloved @poesflygirl @weirdowithnobeardo @dee-rosemary @ceebeetheartdork @kiwi-the-first @mitchi-c @arcaeperditaeinimicus @thatgirlselectryc @littlevodika @marvelinsanity @insoucianttt​

mandalorian tag list: @lola-wolf​ @hoodedbirdie​ @chibi-liz05​ @nerd-without-a-cause​ @hdlynn​ @thepjofanqueen​ @bwemph​ @starwarsslytherin​ @iellarenuodolorian​ @littlevodika​ @jjemcarstairs​ @promiscuoussatan​ @fahrenheit-not​ @vernon-dursley​

[fenristheorem]

My OC, Fenris

... and the Eldarya AU that she’s in, because I just can’t see her in the original Origins storyline with her differences from Guardienne/Erika. And I think my AU has some pretty interesting ideas. I’ll explain it after I introduce her.

Yea, I know, Fenris Theorem, Fenris, it all connects, huh? Hehe. I like the name, that’s all.

(This page is informational, so it’s written in a bit more of a note-taking fashion rather than a story fashion. It’s written in a very choppy manner but it’s comprehensible despite not having any stress on having it beautifully written.) 

This page just introduces you to my OC. I decided to create a page on her for the poll (now ended) because I think some people will really like small excerpts on her story with Lance, but obviously you need to know about her before deciding that for sure. You’ll notice that some theories I may have posted on Lance in the past are a part of this AU - these theories have been in my mind and I posted them only because I thought they could exist in the actual plotline (it’s where a lot of my theories come from, and then some ideas fit into the AU, and then some ideas could exist in the actual plotline as well based on what I observe), so this is where some of those theories come from.

For the poll - if anything, I would recommend reading the paragraph titled “*Her story in Origins (where many things are explained in moderation, because if I went in-depth I wouldn’t need to write stories on this):” above all else because that describes what I will be writing if the poll results shows that that’s wanted. Everything else is just extra information for you to know my OC and the AU better. The paragraph is at the bottom of the post.

Above all else, this is an AU, and a fantasy world. I like to try to give rationality and logic to a lot of things, so you’ll read a lot of me explaining things, but at the end of the day it’s all fantasy and can be perceived - and therefore approved or unapproved of - in a multitude of ways. If you like my AU but find it illogical in some ways, that’s no problem! Just enjoy reading about it if you enjoy the ideas within it. 😊

~ This is long so continue below the cut ~

A lot of this information can be a bit vague at first but it comes together when I explain the basic plot.

Her basics: She goes by Fenris but her actual name is Dakota. However, people usually call her Kota, or occasionally Ko (Fen is used later for Fenris, first by Ashkore / Lance, but later when she was discovered by the guard as well). She was 18 when she came to Eldarya via mushroom circle (like Guardienne/Erika). The guard test placed her in the Obsidian guard - she’s very happy with that outcome. Was in a relationship with Valkyon before leaving him for Lance (*explained later).

Physical Appearance: Unfortunately I don’t have a picture of her and nothing in Eldarya describes her and her clothing very well, so you’ll just need to imagine the physical features that I describe on Eldarya’s Guardienne sprite. Also, she’s pretty flexible with how she styles her hair and dresses, so I don’t think a single picture of her would describe her well.

Fair and light in skin tone, perhaps a slight tan-ish tone. Thin, but broad shouldered. She’s well-muscled (later on, less so when she first arrived), which gives her a bit of thickness, but not too much. Nicely curved. About 5 ft. 5 in. (167.64 cm). Dark hair, but not exactly black, with brown-hazel eyes. Her hair is medium-length and is usually braided in a multitude of styles. Her eyes occasionally glow a brilliant gold (explained under ‘abilities and genetics’ and ‘her story in Origins’).

Usually wears dark, ancient / tribal-like clothes (think Norse Vikings) with thin, form-fitting but strong armor around her forearms, lower legs (below the thigh starting from knees) and chest/midriff. She wears a good amount of red, blue, gold, silver or dark green clothing and accents with the black base for color. Usually nothing over-the-top, she likes to have her own unique style and express herself but doesn't like to draw unnecessary attention. Doesn't like most faux fur as it doesn't look nice in her opinion, but may wear some that she likes occasionally. Is more likely to wear real fur from hunted animals, but doesn't wear it too often. She wears a sword on her hip, and has a few semi-concealed daggers placed on her body (thigh, boot, torso) for quick use if needed.

Personality: She has a wide spectrum of how she acts depending on people, situations, what she knows, and her current mood. She's typically quite calm, and doesn't seek for trouble or drama, however, she does like to hear the recent news/gossip from around the guard; to stay updated on things, know what may effect her, try to think ahead and just for the sake of knowing. She's very curious and typically observes the situation around her, but in a very subtle way. Is a planner and likes to think ahead, and usually knows how to react to anything because of her observations and forward thinking. Around friends, she's very kind and welcoming. They can talk about anything to her and she'll keep her mouth shut - she has a good loyalty streak (but it does have a limit). However, she doesn't have any friends that are like family to her, but on the day she does find friends like that her loyalty will truly be endless. It's ride or die, and she'll always stand by their side. She has a major independent streak and can’t be around people for too long, otherwise she’ll crack and get a bit irritated more easily. She likes her alone time. In general, she's very cordial with people. Again, she doesn't like to cause unnecessary trouble or drama - she's had a rough past (discussed under ‘history’) and quickly shuts down anyone doing so in a professional but aggressive, don’t-argue-with-me sort of way. She can be harsh, cold and withholding - especially with people she genuinely dislikes - but doesn't like to act this way. On the note of people she dislikes- it's hard to get her to truly dislike someone, but it can be a bit easy as well. In general rule, as long as someone is conscious of the reality of the world around them and doesn't seek to cause issues, she's fine with them, but the instant someone starts continually spreading rumors that are clearly false, or acts (especially in a way that hurts others) solely in their selfish interests, or takes part in willful ignorance (purposely ignoring an issue that you know shouldn’t be ignored), she keeps note of that person and reminds herself to be wary of them in the future. They could be a source of trouble or misinformation that may need to be stopped, and she won’t be very forgiving. However, this is just a general rule, it doesn't always apply - remember she can change based on the situation and what she knows. She recognizes that sometimes people dislike things that are good for them, or like harmful things, and sometimes the villain is actually the hero, history and set rules are created by the winners and anyone against it is considered the villain, and sometimes you need to be cruel to be merciful. She's fully aware that sometimes the bad of life is good, and may defend that, but she's always sure to think long and hard about it before giving a decision like that. A lot of terrible things have happened to her, so she tries to avoid being a source of those terrible things for the world. She feels emotions very deeply and can be a bit impulsive, but fortunately she’s not typically hurt or gets others hurt due to her impulsivity. Again, she is very curious and observes things a lot, so she can usually get a good read on anything new she comes across and work from there, or she can use other information she knows and apply it to the situation. That being said, she won’t drag her friends or anyone else into her occasionally dangerous impulsive decisions. She’ll offer it if they’d like to join her, but she won’t pressure them. Their safety is their decision, and she’ll do her best to protect them although she can’t truly guarantee it. Being in the Obsidian guard, she can’t really condone anyone to risk their safety for fun, especially if it’s her idea. She has a good sense of responsibility when she works for what she believes in, and will sacrifice some of her comfort and fun making sure that she follows her responsibilities if needed. On the topic of her guard - when she first came to Eldarya and joined the Obsidian guard, she wasn’t too bad of a fighter upon basic training, but it was when she started training with Ashkore / Lance where her skills greatly improved until she was perhaps the best fighter in the guard, rivaled only by a few other warriors - including Valkyon. She’s not against helping others improve, but she’s very careful with what she tells the guard - if anyone knew her skills were due to Ashkore, she’d be in massive trouble and may be treated as a complete accomplice. She doesn’t like to lie unless truly necessary, so she’ll usually withhold lots of damning information, and she thoroughly thinks over everything she says, any possible answers to theoretical questions, how her words can connect with other things, and how it might be taken from someone else’s perspective, before revealing any information. Did I mention she’s very cunning and smart, especially after knowing Lance? She has prior knowledge in how to utilize sarcasm and wit, but that’s also improved after meeting Lance. 

She changes in time to be quite a bit more harsh and unforgiving when she starts working with Lance.

(For media reference, think of Lagertha from Vikings and Octavia from Netflix’s The 100. She’s a bit of a combination between the two, both in personality and appearance, although Octavia represents her a bit better in appearance.)

Abilities and Genetics: When she first came to Eldarya, she had no idea of her faery genetics. She never felt as though she belonged with humans and always felt that something was off, but she truly thought she was human genetically - until the guard had her take a test and realized she apparently had some faery blood in her (like what actually happened in the original plotline). She went a good while not knowing about what her genetics were, until Lance told her she was a dragon. She learned her abilities under his mentorship, and found that - to be more specific - she’s a shadow dragon. Her shadows appear usually like a pitch black fog, but can be manipulated into almost any form; hard or soft, thin or thick, curved or straight. It has a bit of a cold feel, but she can’t actually control the temperature of her shadows. She can adjust the color of her shadows along a grey-scale until it looks like any grey or silver, even looking like normal fog, but she can’t make it lighter than silver. She can also make pre-existing shadows darker or lighter depending on what she wants. Being a dragon, she also has a dragon form and can shift into a half-transformed body (like what’s seen with Tia). She has premonitions and prophecies as well. This ability typically manifests in dreams and can come to her the night before it manifests in reality, or even sometimes years in advance - there’s really no way to know. She struggles a lot trying to learn this - and to learn the difference between a premonition dream and just a normal dream - and has some basic understanding of it’s rules. She has absolutely no control over when she has these dreams, but she can occasionally put herself in a bit of a calm, meditative state where she can observe her surroundings enough to faintly feel energies, and from there she can receive some premonitions. When she receives premonitions or prophecies while awake, her eyes glow a brilliant gold - this stems from a more spiritual side of her genetics (*explained later). This ability to very hard to control, though, and can rarely be done despite her persistence in it. 

History: She... didn’t have a very peaceful life. Since her birth, her parents had basically been at war with each other. She grew up under a distinct combination of good influences and bad influences from both parents, but for the most part her mother was her major support as her father failed to be there for her. Neither extended family had much impact, but her father’s family knew of the terrible things he did and didn’t do anything. She continues to hold a grudge against many humans for being forced to live an endangered upbringing when she and her mother were so clearly crying for help. However, she’s aware that this is also what drives her some days, as she didn’t live through all of that just to die shamefully with an unlived life. In time, her grudge against humans has calmed, but it flares back up whenever she’s reminded or learned about something terrible that humans have caused or do currently - it’s a continuous battle and she has a hard time giving an honest opinion on humanity due to her complex emotions. She came to Eldarya when she was 18 (like Guardienne/Erika) and the rest is history (*and is explained below).

Relationships: Miiko is... alright. It’s a bit of a love hate relationship sometimes, but Fenris is usually quite cordial with her. Nevra and Ezarel were irritating at first, but Nevra’s lovableness and Ezarel’s humor slowly grew on her. She liked Valkyon when she first arrived and somewhat quickly pursued a relationship with him. She didn’t mind Leiftan - he was always very kind and left her alone while being cordial (remember, she’s not an angel in this so Leiftan wouldn’t be into her like how he was with Guardienne/Erika). Karuto is like the good father she never had, but she puts her foot down with him on occasion - she doesn’t like to be told what to do, scolded, treated like a child or anything. This is only because she views him in a bit of a fatherly way, and doesn’t want a repeat of her original father. She makes sure he knows that she truly appreciates him, though. Jamon is a bit of a brother if anything, but he’s really just a close friend / colleague that she likes a lot. She appreciates his gentleness and protectiveness for everyone. Ewelein is basically a second mom, she reminds Fenris a lot of her mom back on Earth and has a deep respect for the Elf. Chrome is a bit like an irritating little brother, but she also has a sisterly affection for him. Ykhar and Kero are the panic colleagues; she has a hard time seeing them doing anything else than panicking. She worries a bit for their health as long-term stress is destructive and tries to be as comforting and as nice as possible with them without betraying her personality and morals. Karenn and Alajea are close friends, almost sisterly, but not exactly so. She’s a bit closer with Karenn than she is with Alajea. Cameria is similar to Karenn in the way that she has a bit of a sisterly relationship with Fenris, but in more of a battle partner way. They have a tendency to train together a lot, and they heavily trust each other to have their back in war. Huang Hua is a bit of a friend / leader - she respects the phoenix a lot and has a bit of a close friendly relationship with her. Feng Zifu is a bit of a father figure in the manner that she respects him a lot. She likes to listen to his advice and appreciates his formality.

The AU: So before I explain the plot of the AU, I need to explain a few basics of how I set up the world. In this AU, the crystal breaking could destroy Eldarya, but if it’s shattered in a certain way with certain spells and chants, it’ll release the spirits of the dragons (who sacrificed to create the crystal) and allow them to retain a sort of half-living form - basically they’re alive but... not? It’s weird to  explain. Why does the crystal breaking in this way not destroy Eldarya? The sacrifice allowed a release of energy that originally created the world and then primarily manifested into the shape of the crystal that maintains that world, so this ritual that would be preformed upon it’s shattering would basically allow the energy of the dragons to maintain the world while allowing them to roam around in a different form - hence why they’d be half alive in a way. They’d be physical, but they have additions and limits on what they can and can’t do because they’re still technically dead. However, this isn’t common knowledge (because the guard protects the crystal, they’re the ‘only’ source of ‘accurate’ information on the crystal and both Yonuki Kaze and Miiko have stated that if the crystal breaks Eldarya will fall), only Lance has figured this out (and many of his mercenaries believe him or are working with him because of his destructive habits), so due to this, his ambitions are sort of split in two; destroy the crystal to revive the dragons, and destroy anyone who may try to stop him. In terms of history, Lance in this AU witnessed Miiko (and Nevra - there’s a history behind that that I won’t go into right now) sacrificing dragons to the crystal when he was a part of the guard to try and maintain balance and confronted her about it, only for her to threaten him (in basic; she was convinced sacrificing was the only way to keep balance, and that’s because Yonuki Kaze influenced her into thinking that, so from her perspective Lance coming along and saying it was wrong and had to stop was basically him saying to let the world die) to not tell anyone and stay out of it. Lance then spent a while researching and devising an idea on how to actually balance the world and this included destroying the crystal in a specific way to release the energy (technically there are two ways; the sacrifice was supposed to happen with dragons AND angels, so the ritual was devised to work with the two, but a ritual originally for two races used only with one is basically a ritual preformed improperly, and therefore bound to yield improper results - hence the infertility of the world and shiftiness of it. Undoing the ritual would allow the world to stay while “canceling out the sacrificial imbalance”, but if an angel or demon were to willingly sacrifice - preferably alongside a dragon at the same time - then it would be solved in that way as well). Lance tried to explain this to Miiko later, only to barely get past “I have another idea” before being shut down again. He kept quiet because he feared for himself and his brother (and the only reason Lance could have known that dragons were being sacrificed - without being a dragon himself - is that Miiko said it during the sacrifice he saw, so he didn’t want to raise suspicion onto him and his brother). Later on, Lance is sent to lead an army in a foreign land and is nearly killed, but he saw a chance to escape the guard and took it. From there he’s been Ashkore.

Basically this AU - instead of being “oh no, he’s trying to destroy the world because he’s angry and hurt” - is actually more like “if you had listened the world could be stabilized and also a powerful race could be revived.” It takes the trope of hero and villain and twists it, so the villain is actually a bit of an underdog, villainous hero while the hero’s are - in a way - villains who are heroes because their damning stories haven’t been revealed in a wide-spread manner. Overall, it’s supposed to blur the lines of good and bad, and right and wrong - showing that both sides have good and bad within them, and which side is ‘good’ can depend solely on perception and one’s life anecdote.

*Her story in Origins (where many things are explained in moderation, because if I went in-depth I wouldn’t need to write stories on this): Dakota came to Eldarya by accident via mushroom circle and was placed into the Obsidian guard. She adjusted in time (and willingly took the potion in episode 13 to ease her family / mother of pain and worry) until she got used to things and entered into a romantic relationship with Valkyon. She was sent on basic missions and such and met Ashkore a few times in war (and around the guard), and then she met him accidentally while alone later on outside of the guard. He offered to train her (more like threatened if she didn’t?) and she accepted in time. They trained at night, which was a bit of an issue as she now shared a room with Valkyon and, therefore, had to sneak around. Her skills quickly improved, and her relationship with Valkyon began to decline as he began to become a bit confused / suspicious about her sudden and seemingly random upturn in skills. There were feelings of neglect as well. This carried on for many months and Dakota learned more about Ashkore as well as herself. He eventually admits that she’s a dragon and that he’s investing some of himself into her because of that, and she does her best to explore her abilities with him after that. Eventually she accidentally discovers his actual identity, but keeps quiet about it. As they grow closer, she begins to ask more about him and his reasoning, and he explains his motives for going after the crystal while brushing on the topic of why he’s ruthless to some, but leaves others alone. As she discovers the truth about the dragons and Lance, she realizes that her feelings to the guard were based on lies and false implications, and she begins to grow mentally and emotionally closer with Lance. She becomes less empathetic / sympathetic with Valkyon and eventually sleeps with Lance. This happens a few more times and they enter a sort of limbo where they don’t talk about their relationship with each other but know there’s something heavy going on. Back in the guard, she’s still with Valkyon, and she begins an internal war on what exactly her plan is knowing that she’s sleeping with two guys on the opposite side of a war and that it can’t continue. Her and Valkyon break up in time and she invests her full time into training with Lance, expressing interest in joining his cause. They begin to work together and he gifts her with a specific outfit / armor (that can alternate between identity concealing and revealing for her comfort and safety) so she can go on missions with him. They develop an elaborate scheme to allow her to go on long-term missions with him without suspicion from the guard. She’s eventually sent on a mission and it’s on that mission that she discovers her relation to an ancient dragon named Fenris, and then expresses her interest in taking that name to Lance and the rest of his allies that she’s met (from then on she’s known as Fenris with Lance and Dakota in the guard). Back at the guard, she continues training with Lance and maintaining some sort of odd relationship with himin secret. She’s found elaborate ways to get out of the guard without their suspicion so she can spend many days at a time alone with Lance in a cabin he has hidden in the forest. Over the span of many months / years, she goes on missions with the guard to foreign towns / establishments that are attacked by Ashkore - whether she knows that prior or not - so as she trains she also has actual encounters where she needs to truly fight Lance without actually hurting him while looking as though she’s truly trying to hurt him. When she’s allegedly away on some missions from the guard, she wears the armor that Lance gave her to campaign with him and this occasionally leads to her fighting against the guard if they’re around. In this time and when they’re alone, Lance and allies calls her Fenris as she’s requested them to do. Eventually they go to Memoria together and find out that they have a deeper connection than they think - Fenris (who was an ancient dragon that Dakota took the name of due to her relation with him) and Tia actually knew each other and had a complex history that carried forward to Lance and Dakota / Fenris, and there’s a prophecy of sorts surrounding them. Their relationship after that is still complex, but is more stable as they confirm an attachment to each other. Lance’s identity is eventually revealed to the guard, and sometimes later Fenris is revealed as well, and Lance - in very short, important seconds - offers her to join him completely outside the guard’s walls. She accepts and they flee the guard for a while and plot. Eventually they attack the guard in a final push and get to the crystal, successfully breaking it with... some losses. From there is the skip to ANE, but New Era is... complicated. I haven’t yet thought how she fits into ANE, as many things would be different. Maybe I won’t put pressure on creating her story in it, but if I do I might list it here. Her story in ANE would need to be based off of her story I have here in Origins.

If I write excerpts of this, there may also be many more adventure scenarios that are written but aren’t mentioned here (Lance offering to “help” the guard bring down another greater threat and then turning his forces on them in the midst of war for his own gain, sending them on a wild goose chase, the guard tracking them through rough, unforgiving landscapes trying to catch them, etc.) depending on how the details of her story manifest.

I apologize; that’s a lot to read but I can be very specific and this AU has a lot of important detail that separates it from the original Origins storyline. And this talks over my OC’s details and an AU, which is a lot since there’s not a lot of referencing because I’ve never talked about either before... However, if you’ve read all the way through this post - congrats, and I hope you’re interested in it!

Again, writing excerpts about my OC and her storyline in this AU is an option you can vote on in my writing poll that determines what I’ll write now so I can post later when I can’t access my Tumblr for a few weeks, so if you’re interested in reading about this then please read the info I have about the poll here and feel free to vote!