#moth went to con!

[moth-murdock]

large yappuccino, extra silly style

ordered by @capybaramurdock, @bunmurdock, @upended-jellyfish, and @foxmurdock💜☕

ALRIGHT BITCHES (affectionate) HERES THE CON REPORT (pretty long ramble)

ok so real talk i got there hella late. like "missed the time frame for my photo with elden" late. BUT i explained to the staff, and they were so kind! they asked elden and he was willing to stick around for an extra minute after the cast photos so i could get my pic! i waited in front of like a side door for the breeze, and i got to just casually SAY HI TO WILSON FUCKING BETHEL when he was walking in for the pictures! i could always see where vincent was in pics even through the cutrain bc his head was so shiny 😭. and then fucking jon. this asshole. so im standing like 3 feet in front of the door with my back turned to the outside and, by consequence, him. and when he walks through the door he doesnt even say excuse me or like gently nudge me or even fucking say hi he just walks around me. (didnt bump into me, let me clarify. just fully acted like i didnt exist) like dude would it kill you to just say hi. also he had that look like he was mad so idk. also he was wearing The Boots so that was a little lol in the moment. there was someone else in the same picture situation but with a wilson pic rather than elden, so when i went into the little tent thing they both were like are you here for me or him? it was kinda cute. ANYWAY i got my pic with him and i was able to give him a piece of coffee flavored candy to which he said "i love coffee flavor!" and then i asked his favorite song and he was trying to think but his handler lady was like dragging him away so he just said anything by Led Zeppelin. after that, i found out that Deborah didn't end up attending, which meant i had an extra 60 dollars from what i was going to get from her. SO GUESS WHO GOT AN AUTOGRAPH AND A SELFIE WITH ELDEN MUAHAHAHA. he had a little pile of gifts on the table but i didnt see the candy i gave him so im assuming it was in his pocket. while waiting in line for his autograph i heard elden talking abt his tattoo on his finger to someone else and he said smth like "yeah i got this one after i got divorced" and me and oomf who went just both went "*oh.*👀". after the autograph, oomf said i should have given him my number. (i should have💔💔)

after the autograph, i had time to kill until the panel, so i went people watching and saw a bunch of cool cosplays including a million mandalorians, a master chief, cookie monster and frieza taking a selfie, jack sparrow, a buff guy in a maid outfit (he ate tbh), escanor, squirrel girl, invincible, the lorax, scout from tf2, skull kid, a baby as sailor moon, a daredevil walking around with loaded cheesy fries and a hot dog, magik walking with a winter soldier and emma frost (my worst nightmare as a jeff main), muay thai ropes matt 💜, leon kennedy, a singular other elektra accurate to marco checchetto when she becomes daredevil, and a daredevil i said "i see you" to and they said "i dont!"

when i got to the stage for the panel, imma be real it smelled like piss. then i saw a matt cosplay kiss a frank cosplay and my soul was healed. someone asked to take a pic with me and i thought it was bc of my cosplay, but it was literally just my chest up and the pic was in negative? and then he asked which pokemon to draw and i said alolan ninetails. oh and i saw a luigi and daisy walking around together.

so the cast walks on stage and jon isnt fucking there lmao. charlie was asked about the new suit and fucking wilson leans over and draws the d's on charlies chest with his finger and says "i just drew on charlie coxs tits" AND FUCKING CHARLIE GOES "Right on my double d's!"

elden was asked why he faked his death (which he just shrugged to lmao), charlie mentioned having a shit ton of avocado gifts from fans (and confirms that he likes avocados!), elden said hes returning because "theyre called flashbacks, people" 💔💔. vincent said "he fuckin hates it" in regards to kingpins mentality as mayor lmao. wilson said fisk "good and properly fucked dex's mind". when asked about the new dynamic between matt and dex, wilson started to say "its like a redemption-" and was quickly cut off by charlie who goes "please stop talking". wilson said charlie was obsessed with crowd size and charlie goes "its all i have..." charlie casually mentioned being ON SET JUST SEVEN HOURS EARLIER LMAO. when talking about spoilers, wilson gave the best babygirl voice and goes "sure! ill spill! just ask nicely!" while doing that hand flip thing like a total girliepop. in regards to what happens in future episodes, vincent said "we have no fucking idea". the fan theory of foggy being alive was brought up and charlie goes "i heard his heart stop! he's pretty dead!" girl if you dont stop this tomfoolery... not to mention that they had to repeat oretty much every question for charlie like babe youre supposed to be blind, not deaf 💜. another fan theory was brought up asking if matts identity would be made public and charlie my beloved goes "well then how would we make another season?!"

notable fan questions that i really liked (even though i was too far back in the line and didnt get a chance to ask mine) ((also i am 80% sure elden recognized me while i was standing in the line but wtv i guess im that gorgeous))

someone asking vincent a question and mentioning that their mom says hi and he goes "hi :)" while theyre talking and then at the end of his answer says "tell your mom i send hugs and kisses :)))"

Someone asking what the funniest fail on set was and both vincent and charlie go 👀👀 around wilson (who was between them) and my sweet boy wilson goes "LET ME GET AHEAD OF THIS, BECAUSE I KNOW WHAT THEYRE GOING TO SAY ABOUT ME" turns out theres a scene where he punches through a wall but he fucking MISSED the soft spot in the wall and BROKE his hand😭💔 AND THEN CHARLIE COX THE LITTLE SHIT HE IS he proceeds to tell us that while wilson was recovering, he (charlie) texted him and was like "they just sent me the new bullseye logo!" so obvs wilson is like oh shit fr?! and charlie said he sent a picture that hedrew of the normal bullseye logo but with the cross offcenter 😭😭

SOMEONE MENTIONED GUSTAV AND CHARLIE SAID IT TOOK HIM LIKE FOUR HOURS TO GET ALL THE LINES RECORDED LMAO

second to last question is what a scratch and sniff trading card of each character would smell like! they agreed that foggy would smell like death (😭💔), dex would smell like desperation, fisk would smell like blood, AND MATT SMELLS LIKE SPANDEX AND PIT-SWEATS💀 (thank you, elden my baby)

and the last question was someone asking elden how he felt about there being a multiverse and a reality where foggy didnt die. and Wilson goes "HE JUST SAID HES HAPPY ABOUT NOT HAVING TO WORRY ABOUT THIS STUFF (accidental spoilers, etc.) ANYMORE!! LEAVE THE MAN ALONE!"

and then after i got home i watched the hunger games mockingjay just to see elden again, realizing i should have asked how hard it was to memorize his lines for that role (hes mute lmao) and then realized i actually should have asked if he learned ASL for it or only the signs he used on screen. but alas. im just a girl. oh yeah also i was OBSCENELY wet when i finally got a chance to use the bathroom but thats kinda a given when you go see the daredevil cast i think

[flowersforbucky]

moth to a flame

bucky barnes x reader / winter soldier x reader

"I know you. even when I know nothing else, even when I don't know myself, I know you."

word count: 4.9k

summary: bucky is triggered into the winter soldier during a mission and then goes MIA, until he seeks you out in the middle of the night.

warnings/tags: SMUT, canon divergence (bucky hasn't been successfully deprogrammed in this), kind of dub-con, language, some violence, reader is afab, no use of y/n, friends with benefits situation, angst with a happy ending, 18+ only

“You've reached Bucky. I can't answer the phone right now but leave me a mess–”

You hang up before the voicemail recording finishes. You already knew he wasn't going to answer, just as he hasn't answered any of the other thirty-something times you've dialed his number over the course of the last few days. Or read any of the two dozen text messages.

The messages had stopped delivering and the calls had started going straight to voicemail almost two days ago at this point. And yet you still got your hopes up every time you checked your phone, only to be met with gut-wrenching, nauseating disappointment.

It had now been three days of this - not to mention picking your cuticles until they bleed, flipping back and forth between every news station on your TV in hopes (and fear) of seeing his name, a few collective hours of sleep each night, and too much Red Bull.

Just when you were thinking about trying to kick your caffeine addiction, too.

Three days of feeling completely and utterly helpless.

You place the phone back down on your coffee table, staring down at the thick, white cast encasing your left leg from your foot to just under your knee.

Useless.

You knew you were doing what you physically could - the spread of laptops and tablets on the table in front of you continuously supplying data from facial recognition programs across the United States.

Realistically, you knew he could be on the other side of the world by now, but that didn't stop you from checking. It was the only thing that you felt you had any control over right now.

But it wasn't enough. Not when Steve, Sam, Natasha, Sharon, and every other currently able-bodied team member are out scouring every safehouse and known former HYDRA base in the tri-state area while you're holed up in your apartment with a fractured fibula and a brain that won't let you stop reliving the moments before he went missing.

“This is as straightforward as it gets,” Steve re-assures you both for what felt like the dozenth time that day. “You'll be in and out in no time.”

“So straight-forward that you're going to hang back here while we do all the dirty work?” You joke as you make the final adjustments to your parachute.

“We've been monitoring this base for months,” he reminds you. “This place is as abandoned as they come. Get in, get the intel from the database, and get back to the jet.”

“And then blow the place to smithereens,” Bucky adds with a devious grin.

“And then blow the place to smithereens,” Steve agrees.

If only things had been as simple as he had expected.

You had a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach from the moment that you and Bucky landed on the ground outside of the HYDRA base. You told yourself that you were being irrational - but you couldn't shake the looming feeling that something was going to go wrong.

“See?” Bucky says after removing the USB drive from the computer. He sticks the device in the breast pocket of his tactical vest before edging you towards the desk. “Easy-peasy. You've been worried for nothing.”

“I have not been worried,” you deny, leaning against the edge of the desk. “This place is just old, and smelly, and creepy.”

Bucky takes a step closer to you so that there's no space left between you. He places his hands on the desk on either side of you, enclosing you.

“You think that I can't tell when you're nervous?” He says quietly, studying your face. You can smell a lingering hint of cool mint from his mouthwash. “That I haven't spent enough time learning your body to read you like an open book?”

Your thighs clench together and your nipples pebble at his words. You're almost embarrassed at how easily his voice, his scent, his closeness elicits a physical response from your body. Almost.

“What I think,” you murmur against his mouth. His hands come to grip your hips as he nudges your thighs open, standing between your legs. “Is you're crazy if you're thinking about trying to fuck me in an abandoned HYDRA warehouse.”

He exhales a dramatic sigh. “You can't blame me for trying.”

“I am relieved to know that you'd even want to do that here,” you say, hopping down from where you're perched on the desk. “I really think that shows you've processed your trauma–”

You're cut off by the room going completely dark. Every light, every computer, turns to black.

Bucky's flesh hand instinctively reaches to grab your wrist in the dark, tugging you to him.

“What the fuck,” he groans under his breath.

“We need to get out of–” you start to state the obvious but close your mouth when the computer that you and Bucky had retrieved the data from turns back on.

And then a computer to the right - and then across the room - and another to the right - and one to left - until every computer is on and showing the exact same screen. Bucky's hand grips yours so tightly that it borders on being painful.

Displayed on dozens of screens throughout the room is the face of a man. A man who you've never met, but recognize immediately.

“Zola,” Bucky whispers almost inaudibly.

“Sergeant Barnes,” Zola addresses him with a perverted smile. “Welcome home,” his voice pours from every computer speaker throughout the room and echoes off the walls.

“Steve?” You whisper urgently, clicking on the communication device hidden in your ear. “Steve, we've got a prob–”

“There's no use in that,” Zola interrupts you. “It's too late. They're almost here.”

The following sixty seconds were a jumbled blur that you were still trying to piece together in your mind.

You remember hearing the stream of words spoken in Russian.

Longing. Rusted. Seventeen.

You remember Bucky screaming at you to run, the sound of Steve's voice in your ear telling you that back-up was on the way and asking a dozen questions that you were too overwhelmed to respond to.

Daybreak. Furnace. Nine.

You remember begging Steve to hurry. You remember pleading with Bucky to come with you to try to get away; pleading with him to just look at you, just stay with you, help is coming -

Benign. Homecoming. One.

You remember the moment that Bucky went completely still as the room was infiltrated by HYDRA agents.

Freight car.

You knew that Bucky wasn't there anymore. You could sense it in his stance, in the way he wouldn't meet your eyes, in his silence.

Before you could say anything else to him, close to a dozen HYDRA agents came barreling towards you both. He charged through them, taking down one after the next with ease, until there were just a few left standing.

It was a side of Bucky you'd never seen. You thought that you had witnessed his strength, his agility, his determination, his ruthlessness working beside him in this field - but you then saw just how much he had been holding back.

He fled past the remaining few, out the door and down the hallway of the warehouse. The agents turned to follow him, forgetting about you - until you threw a knife directly into one's neck from behind.

Another agent shot at you, the blow hitting your bulletproof vest and sending you flying backwards onto hard cement.

Before you could catch your breath, there was a sharp cracking noise and a blinding pain radiating from your lower leg - but it was short lived.

The last thing you recall is the man's boot swinging towards your face.

You woke up some number of hours later, in a hospital bed with your temple throbbing and leg elevated in a cast.

“Hey,” a soft voice calls from your right. Natasha stands up from the singular chair in the room, both concern and relief evident across her features. “You're okay,” she begins to assure you. “You have a concussion and a fractured–”

“Where's Bucky?” You interrupt her, your voice scratchy. You clear your throat. “Is he okay? Did Steve find him? Did HYDRA get–”

“HYDRA didn't get him. Steve took care of the last of the agents after him,” she stops you from rambling. There's an immediate sense of relief wash over you.

“But we haven't found him yet,” she adds carefully. “Everyone is out searching for him now. You know we won't stop until–”

A gentle knock on your apartment door snaps you back to reality.

You freeze, your heart jumping to your throat. You stand as quickly as you can manage, grabbing your crutches propped up next to you on the couch.

“It's just me,” a feminine voice calls from the other side of the door. Your heart goes from your throat to your stomach. Not him.

“I'm sorry, I should have text you first,” Natasha continues. “But I brought you food. Street tacos from–”

You turn the deadbolt and unhook the chain lock before swinging the door open.

“You look–”

“Like hammered shit?” You finish for her, nodding your head towards the inside of the apartment as indication for her to come in.

“I was going to say exhausted,” she says, walking past you with a large paper sack of take-out food. Your stomach growls at the aroma - when was the last time you ate something more than a bowl of cereal or granola bar?

“Your favorite,” she tells you, placing the bag on the kitchen counter. “Extra salsa verde and lime wedges. Have you gotten any sleep recently?” Her eyes skim across the empty energy drink cans littered around the kitchen.

You maneuver yourself onto one of the barstools at the kitchen's small island, leaning your crutches on the edge of the counter.

“Yes,” you mumble. “For forty-five minutes from 2:30 to 3:15 today.”

She lets out a long groan, rolling her eyes at you.

“You're supposed to be healing from a concussion,” she reminds you, taking a seat for herself. “Which generally doesn't include sleep deprivation and excessive use of computer screens.” She stares in the direction of the array of laptops that overcrowd the limited space of your coffee table.

“Did you find anything in Connecticut? What about Sam, is he back from New Jersey?” You ask, ignoring her concerns as you unbox your food.

“Connecticut was a dead-end,” she sighs. “We're still waiting to hear back from Sam. There's a safehouse up in Vermont that Steve wants to head to tomorrow–”

“You don't think there's a chance of him letting me tag along for that, do you?” You tap the edge of your cast against the base of the island with your foot.

Her eyes soften as she looks at you. You already knew the answer.

“I know this is really hard for you,” she says delicately. “I may not know exactly what has been going on between you and Barnes these last few months, but it's obvious you care a lot for him. We all do. We are going to find him and bring him home,” she assures you.

You nod at her in agreement, not quite trusting your voice enough to speak.

Your eyes sting as you attempt to blink away the tears that threaten to spill over. You had yet to allow yourself to spend any time crying these last few days and you didn't wish to start now.

Her words remind you that no one knows exactly why you are taking Bucky's disappearance so harshly. You assume that your friends have their suspicions about your and Bucky's arrangement but the two of you had agreed to keep it between yourselves.

They didn't know it had started off being a weekly occurrence - late Sunday evenings, your apartment. Or how it had quickly escalated from once a week to twice, and then from two times a week to three - and instead of just your apartment, it would happen anywhere the two of you had a private (and sometimes public) moment - up against the wall of the communal showers at the compound's gym, in the back of the Quinjet after missions while everyone else would be sleeping on the flight back home, even during team meetings with his hand creeping between your thighs while you try to stay quiet enough to not draw any attention to yourselves.

They didn't know you were supposed to be friends with benefits but that at some point during the days and nights spent underneath one another, the line between friends and something more became blurry for you.

You had just been too chickenshit to tell him.

Natasha sits across from you as you inhale the Mexican food that she brought you. She doesn't say anything else, just keeps you company in a comfortable silence as you eat your first legitimate meal in days.

“Thank you,” you tell her as you're finishing your food. “I appreciate you. I've been going a little crazy here by myself,” you add meekly.

“Of course.” She stands back up. “I would stay longer, but I've got to prepare for Vermont. We're leaving early in the morning.”

“Be safe. All of you,” you remind her. “Let me know if you guys find anything. Just tell me if there's anything at all I can do. And please let me know when you hear from Sam–”

“You'll be the first to know when there's anything to know,” she assures you gently.

“Thanks, Nat.”

“You just try to get some rest, okay?” She requests as she walks toward the door. “Maybe drink some water, possibly consider taking a nice, long shower…”

“Goodbye, Natasha.”

She's chuckling as she closes the door behind her.

You lower your nose to your armpit as soon as the door clicks shut, inhaling.

Maybe she makes a valid point about showering.

Half an hour later, there's a heavy rain beating against the windows of your apartment when you finish bathing. You secure a towel around your chest before yanking off the garbage bag that you had wrapped around your cast well enough for you to rinse off.

Belly full and body clean, you felt somewhat better; at least physically.

You listen to the rain pound down as you sit on the edge of the bathtub, massaging lotion into your skin, and wonder where Bucky is right now - if he's safe, if it's raining wherever he's at, if he's somewhere dry -

You come to a sudden halt in the middle of brushing your teeth. It's hard to tell over the deafening roar of the rain and your bathroom fan, but you could have sworn you heard the creaking of a door or window from your living room.

I double checked the door locks after Nat left, you rationalize to yourself. This apartment is on the fourth floor, no one is going to climb the fire escapes to–

There's an unmistakable shadow visible through the crack at the bottom of the bathroom door. It's gone as quickly as it appears.

Shit. You start to panic as you realize you left your cell phone in the kitchen. As quietly as you can, you look around the small room for something to defend yourself with. A hair dryer, dental floss, a few week’s worth of dirty laundry..

You hear the creaking of floorboards as footsteps seem to creep closer and closer to the bathroom door.

Crutches. You have two crutches. You can clobber them with your crutches.

“I can hear you,” you call to whoever is just beyond the door. “I know you’re out there.”

Silence. No hint of any further movement.

You place one crutch under your left armpit for support, keeping the other one ready to wield as a weapon. “You have ten seconds to get out of my apartment,” you say a bit louder, willing your voice not to waver. “I have a weapon.”

Yeah, a weapon. If you can call it that.

Ten seconds come and go, followed by another ten seconds.

You weren’t going to let someone play this game with you in your own home.

Taking one last deep breath and tightening your grip on the defense crutch, you sling the bathroom door open quickly.

“Oh my god,” you exclaim, immediately relaxing your weight against the crutches, releasing the death grip that you had on your uninjured side.

It’s dark in your bedroom save for a few pale orange string lights hung around your bed frame and the light that spills in from the bathroom, but you would recognize his broad frame anywhere.

“Thank fuck you’re okay,” you exhale, swinging yourself over to where he stands at the foot of your bed. When you’re a little over a foot away from him, you realize he’s sopping wet - his hair dripping water droplets and his skin dewy. His clothing, the same clothing that you last saw him in three days ago, clings to his body like a second skin.

He remains still as a statue, and as silent as one.

“Are you okay?” You ask him apprehensively. You give him a once over, from head to toe. You don't see any noticeable injuries, but he is trembling.

“Bucky?” You ask in a small voice.

His lips are set in a hard line. He doesn't answer, just stares at you. Stares at you like he’s trying to figure out why he’s here.

Stares at you like he’s trying to decide if he knows you or not.

The immense relief that you had felt at knowing he's alive is washed away by a sinking feeling.

His eyes trail from your face and slowly down your towel-clad body. He pauses when he gets to your foot, glancing back and forth from your cast to the crutches on either side. His brows furrow together - almost like he's in pain.

“I'm okay,” you assure him in a shaky voice. “It's just a fracture,” you explain. “I'll be healed in no time.”

You notice that his features relax a bit at your words - just enough to give you hope that Bucky, your Bucky, is in there and he's listening to you.

Do whatever you have to do to keep him here. Don't let him out of your sight. Help him remember who he is, your inner monologue screams at you. Just don't let him run away again.

“Are you cold?” You ask him. You're not necessarily expecting him to answer, you're just trying to put him at ease. “How about we get you some dry clothes?” You add, nodding towards his drenched henley.

You retreat into the bathroom, grabbing a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that he'd left over the last time he had stayed the night - the night before he went missing. They were at the top of the laundry basket - maybe not the cleanest, but better that the wet, dirty clothing he's in currently.

You limp your way back over to where he stands at your bed, leaning against the mattress for support. You set your crutches down and hand him the shirt and pants, which he hesitantly accepts. He makes no move to remove the wet clothes from his body, instead gently places the dry clothes onto the mattress beside him.

“Would you like some help?” you offer cautiously, terrified of doing anything that could cause him to run. You slowly reach towards the clothing that he had just placed on the bed, but he stops you before you can pick the t-shirt back up - grasping your wrist in his vibranium hand.

You can’t stop the small gasp that escapes past your lips. His hold on you is firm, but not painful. You could rip your hand from him if you wanted to - but you don’t.

Instead, you let him hold your hand as he begins to rub his metal thumb in a circular motion next to yours. You’re frozen; watching him carefully as he examines the movements his metal digit makes on your skin.

The goosebumps that appear in the wake of his touch don’t go unnoticed by him. His eyes trail from where his hand holds yours and up the expanse of your arm, until they land on your exposed neck. The towel covering your midsection has started to come loose, hanging low enough to reveal the top of your breasts.

He drops your hand, taking a step closer to you. You have to remind yourself to breathe - your Bucky is in there. Your Bucky, who is gentle, and soft, and would never do anything to cause you harm.

You have to trust that.

He brings his vibranium fingers up to the edge of the towel, trailing them across the mounds of your breasts. Your nipples harden right away, visible through the thin material of the towel.

You would let this play out however he wants it to. However he needs it to.

When his index finger stops where the towel is tucked into itself at your side, you forget how to breathe. He pauses for a split-second before unhooking the cloth and letting it fall to your feet.

He drinks in the sight of you bare before him, his jaw clenched and pupils dilated.

Dozens of times he has seen you like this, and never have you felt so completely vulnerable under his gaze.

And still there's a slickness gathering at the apex of your thighs.

He brings his flesh hand to your waist, putting the faintest bit of pressure against your skin. You close your eyes at the sensation - he's barely fucking touching you and you could melt into him.

Your name falls off of his lips - it's barely even a whisper, nearly inaudible but unmistakable. Your name. He remembers your name.

“Bucky,” your voice cracks when you whisper his own name back to him. His eyes snap up to yours, a mix of realization and hesitation brewing in them.

You bring both of your hands to the tail of his wet shirt, giving him time to pull away before you start to tug the shirt upwards. He doesn't stop you - in fact, he raises his own arms to help you tug the soaked fabric off of him. You toss the shirt in the general direction of your bathroom.

You didn't think there would ever come a time that the sight of him getting naked for you wouldn't make you want to drool.

You unsnap the button of his tactical pants, keeping your eyes on his face the whole time, hyper-analyzing his expression for any sign of reluctance.

You dip your fingers past the waistband of his boxers, his eyes fluttering closed as your hand travels lower.

He's already fully hard as you hold him, stroking him as best you can from inside the confines of his underwear and pants. You pump him in your hand and his head rolls back so that he's looking up at your ceiling.

Fuck, it takes all the restraint you possess to resist leaning forward and sucking on his neck.

Another time, you tell yourself, anxious about overwhelming him.

He curses under his breath - something in Russian that you don't recognize but the expression on his face indicates it to be a praise. There's a shift in his initially reserved, unsure demeanor when you begin to pump him faster.

His head snaps back down, his eyes raking up and down your body once more before he brings his hands to your lower back, maneuvering you against the bed.

You scoot until your back comes in contact with the cool satin of your pillows, relaxing into the bedding. At last Bucky begins to shed the layers of wet clothing covering his lower half, not taking his eyes off of your body as he removes his boots, followed by his pants and boxers.

He kneels on the mattress, crawling above where you lay. You want nothing more than to grab him by the shoulders and pull his mouth to yours, but you are going to let him call the shots.

He nudges your thighs apart with his knee, nestling himself between your legs. He grasps your breast in his vibranium hand, giving it a firm squeeze before rolling your nipple between his icy fingers.

He lowers himself so that he's belly down on your mattress, his face inches away from your pussy. He removes his hand from your breast and you let out a small whimper of disappointment at the abrupt lack of sensation. He uses that same hand to hike your uninjured leg over his shoulder, securing his head between the soft interior of your thighs.

He kisses you, starting at your belly button and working his way to your center. His lips feel like fire against your skin. You keep your hips planted firmly on the bed, fighting the urge to thrust your pussy up to his face.

“Please,” you whine. “Bucky, please.” You swear you can see the faintest trace of a smirk that looks so undeniably Bucky.

You clench your thighs around his face and he lets out a low, guttural groan as his mouth makes contact with you.

Normally, Bucky closes his eyes while he's going down on you - gets completely lost in it. Right now, his eyes are wide open - making sure he doesn't miss the way your mouth gapes when he rolls his tongue around your clit and the way your chest heaves when he nudges his tongue inside you.

You don't know which you find hotter.

You can already feel the tightening of a coil in your lower belly, making it impossible to resist rolling your hips to meet the torturous pace he's set with his tongue. You grind against his face, the thin layer of stubble that's grown across his jaw since you last saw him scratching against the sensitive flesh around your cunt.

You're approaching your climax when he pulls away, making you mewl at the loss of contact. His face glistens with your slick.

He flips you onto your side, placing you on your left side so that your injured leg rests against the mattress. You prop your head up with your hand as he slides in behind you.

His chest presses against your back, the heat of his body warming you all over. His flesh hand juts between your thighs, raising your right leg high enough for him to slap his cock against your pussy.

He strokes himself in his hand while he teases your folds - lubricating himself with your juices.

You turn your head to look at him right as he sheaths himself inside you, filling you entirely in one swift motion.

Fuck, you have to taste yourself on him. You can't handle not having his mouth on yours for another second.

You tilt your head back enough to connect your mouth to his - every worry you once had about coming on too strong and overwhelming him melts away as he opens his mouth for you, moving his lips against yours in an effortless rhythm.

He starts slow, quickly working up to a rapid pace as he repeatedly slams into your cervix from the sweetest angle. The sounds that you're making for him are pornographic - moaning into his mouth as his flesh hand comes around your front, landing on your engorged clitoris. He rubs languid circles while he continues to pound into you from behind.

You pull your lips away from his when you feel your orgasm building. “You always make me feel so good, you know that?” You ask him breathily, your mouth now right next to his ear.

“Every time you fuck me, I'm more sure that no one could ever compare to you. You've ruined me for everyone else. There’s only you for me.”

“Fuck,” he curses and groans your name again - it's the closest he's sounded to his normal self, which only spurs you on.

“I’ve become so fucking addicted to you in such a short amount of time,” you say in between moans as the head of his cock hits your sweet spot just right. “Think about you anytime you're not near me, drives me fucking crazy.”

He flips you - doesn't pull out - so that you're now underneath him. He goes right back to the same brutal pace, bringing his flesh hand to cradle your face as he stares down at you.

Clarity - you recognize it plain as day on his features.

He gives you a few more fast, hard thrusts before you're milking his cock through your orgasm. You crash your lips to his and he's coming - filling you up with his warm seed as he kisses you senseless.

He gradually stills inside you, his body going limp on top of yours as he rests his face in the crook of your neck. You wrap your arms around him, peppering kisses across his scarred shoulder, where flesh meets metal.

“I'm so sorry if I scared you,” he murmurs against the sweat-slicked skin of your throat after a moment. “I wasn't myself. Not even entirely sure how I ended up here - it's like I was pulled in this direction - to you,” he sighs.

You're overcome with such an immense relief at hearing him speak that you could cry. You tighten your hold around him, rubbing your hands up and down his back.

“You could never scare me, Bucky,” you assure him. He pulls out of you, rolling off of you onto the bed beside you and tugging you to his chest. Your cheek rests just over his heart.

"I know you. Even when I know nothing else, even when I don't know myself, I know you."

♡♡♡♡♡

my masterlist

thanks for reading! as always comments and reblogs are extremely appreciated!

[shopwitchvamp]

This isn't an ask so much as it just praising the skirts. I went out to the local author festival in the goth moth maxi skirt and everyone LOVED the fit. I kept telling everyone I got it from Witchvamp. I feel like when I go to events I should start handing out business cards 😂 it was really cool in the heat too! Here's the fit 🥰🥰🥰🥰

Aww thank you!! You look amazing and I'm so happy to hear this 🥰

Business cards & stuff for customers to give out would be a good idea! I haven't really had any since I stopped going to cons, but just because *I'm* not often at a place where people want them doesn't mean people don't want them.. 🤔 I gotta make some free "spread the good word of Witch Vamp" packs 😁!

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Meat.

Pairing: Yandere!Ayato x Reader (Genshin).

Word count: 4.5k.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Branding/Burning, Prolonged Imprisonment, Forced Marriage, Possessive Behavior, Descriptions of Gore, Implied Stalking, Mentions of Pregnancy, and Suicidal Ideation. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

You always thought you would wear red on your wedding day.

It was a family tradition – passed down with dutiful care for as long as anyone could imagine. Your grandmother had given her dress to your mother who had gifted it to you, her only child, on your eighteenth birthday, years before you would so much as think about getting something as permanent as marriage. Still, you safeguarded it with a religious devotion, never going more than a week without laying it out to check for signs of moths or mold. When you found yourself on a boat set on a course for Inazuma and could bring nothing but what could fit in the space underneath your bunk, her dress was the only item you truly could not bear to leave behind.

It was one of the few things Ayato let you keep, when he first brought you to his estate. He hadn’t wanted to, but he’d known that you’d throw yourself off the nearest cliff if anything ever happened to that dress. You still would, if he so much as touched it without your permission.

The kimono you were being fitted for now was not red. The fine silk was pure white, the detailed embroidery along the hems and sleeves dark blue and bright, shining gold. The symbol of his archon glowed violet on the swell of the train – meant to appease the other factions of the tri-commission who protested when Ayato announced his intent to not only marry a commoner, but a foreigner. You hated that embellishment most of all, more than the sickly way his colors crawled over your body, more than the irritating smoothness of his favored silks where they hugged against your form and groped at your skin. It marked you as a tool, something to be used to one end or another. It marked you as a sacrifice – and an unwanted one, at that.

“Just as exquisite as I knew you’d be,” Ayato announced, his voice strong and unabashed. You’d begged him not to, but he’d insisted on sitting in on your appointment, making sure you couldn’t correct seamstress or overrule any of the choices he’d made on your behalf. The tailor hummed as she fastened a temporary sash around your midriff, tight enough to press uncomfortably against your ribs. If you needed to cry on your wedding day (which, in all likelihood, you would), it would have to be loosened. “How do you like it?”

You hated it.  You despised it. You wanted to claw it apart with your own pristine nails, separate each thread and seam with your very own teeth. You would’ve set yourself on fire just to see it turned to ash that much sooner.

“It’s perfect.” Your own voice sounded distant, distorted. There was no façade of sincerity. He knew as well as you did that there was nothing he could force onto you that you wouldn’t loathe, and you knew that any word uttered as to your hatred for him outside of the privacy of your shared bedroom would result in a collection of fresh rope burns to decorate your wrists, the better half of a night spent bent over his knee. “So long as it pleases you, my lord.”

You dropped your eyes to the floor, attempting to spare yourself what suffering you could, but your resistance didn’t matter; you could hear the sharpness of his smile, picture the way his head tilted to the side as he basked in his own self-satisfaction as he went on, addressing the tailor. “If there’s a veil, you can get rid of it.”

You didn’t think you would ever get used to the way his voice seemed to grate when he was happy with himself.

 “I think my heart might give out if I’m not able to see my beautiful fiancé’s lovely smile.”

~

After meeting Ayato, you began to dream in red.

It was more of a pink, at first – during the first few weeks of his courtship, when the extent of his intrusive affection was a few dendrobiums left on your doorstep and a lingering glance as the handsome young commissioner passed your stall during his weekly stroll through the city market. For a short while, after his possessive habits began to rear their head and you were able to catch his guards in your peripheral more often than not, your subconscious was tinted a near-violent shade of scarlet, the kind that would leave you drenched in your own sweat and half-suffocated by the time you forced yourself to wake up. Recently, since he announced your engagement, they’d taken on a darker shade; choking velvets and deep crimsons blurring the distorted setting as Ayato’s faceless body moved on top of you, as his mouth unhinged and his lashing tongue dragged you down his waiting throat. On your worst nights, he’d tear you apart with his hands, first, divide you into neat, orderly pieces that he could slip past his lips and savor one at a time, one after another, until there was nothing left of you. He’d always preferred you in your most consumable form.

It was ironic, really, considering just how little red he let seep into your waking life. Maybe you had a deficiency; like a pregnant woman craving fish to make up for a lack of calcium. The closest you got to red from the doorway to his study were a few cherry blossoms fluttering past the window, their color dulled by age and their tree nearly stripped bare by the approaching winter. He looked away from his paperwork as you shrugged past the screen door, his pale eyes lighting up as he saw the tea tray in your hands. It was Thoma’s handiwork, but you doubted Ayato cared. He wanted to see you in the role of a caretaker, playing out the part he wrote for you to the best of your limited acting skills. What happened behind the curtain was none of his concern.

“To what do I owe the honor?” he asked as you set the tray on his desk. “I can’t remember the last time you visited me on your own.”

You flashed him a small smile. “Can’t I dote on my soon-to-be husband freely?”

He visibly straightened at the word ‘husband’, a familiar zeal infecting his expression. There was a quirk to his grin, a light tap to his thigh, and the tea went ignored as you obediently fell into his lap, your legs hanging over the side of his chair as his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you snug against him. If he was a monster, he’d be one with a thousand hands and a million fingers; he couldn’t seem to go a full minute without clutching at your hips, groping at your chest, burying his face in the crook of your neck with a deep, relieved sigh. “Husband,” he repeated back to you, all spellbound awe and deceiving wonder. “Archons, I can’t wait to be your husband.”

You wondered, sometimes, if it was his childhood that made him the way he was. After so many years of loneliness, so many tiny disappointments and frigid betrayals, you could only imagine he’d be eager to grab the first warm body he could and refuse to let you go. But, he let Ayaka come and go as she pleased, and seemed to take a certain delight in sending Thoma off on long-winded, far-flung errands. Whatever cruelty his upbringing had bred, it was clearly reserved for you.

His hand slid underneath the slit of your yukata, his breath turning hot and unpleasant against your collarbone, and you drew back with an airy laugh. “I do have an ulterior motive,” you admitted, hoping his curiosity would offset his insatiability, if only for a few seconds. “It’s about my wedding dress.”

“The breathtaking and priceless dress I’m having made by the nation’s most talented tailors so that all of Inazuma will know that I’m marrying the most beautiful person in Teyvat?” He raised his head, clicking his tongue. “What about it?”

“It’s not that I don’t like it,” you said, because he wouldn’t listen to you if you didn’t and you needed him to listen to you. “It’s just— I’m such a long way from home, and I know my family won’t be able to come, but—” You cut yourself off, swallowing back the bile that threatened to spoil your sweet smile. “I was hoping we’d be able to incorporate my mother’s dress, somehow. If it’s not too late.”

It wasn’t. You’d been tracking the progress of his tailors meticulously, counting down the days until your wedding like a prisoner waiting for their execution date, and if it was one of his whims, another row of bedding added onto the sleeves or a new embroidery pattern worked onto the train, you knew that there’d be all the time in the world to make any adjustments he asked for. Still, his smile wavered, a brief sigh slipping past his lips as he shook his head. “My love,” The petname lulled off of his tongue as if it’d been coated in sugar and syrup and all the worst things you could think of. “That’s quite the risk to take. The poor thing’s so old, it might fall apart as soon as the tailor’s needle touches it.”

He'd been crueler, before – called the dress a rag as he looked at you with disdain-tinted pity, swore that your reliance on the filthy relic must’ve been caused by some inherent failure of your homeland – but your heart still clenched just a little tighter in your chest at his veiled disdain. “I’d like to try, at least.” Your hands curled around his collar, your frown taking on a more pleading note. “Please, my lord?” A pause, a tightened hold. “Please, Ayato?”

It was his given name, loving and tender and so rarely spoken in your voice, that did him in. He relented with an airy groan, letting his head roll forward in faux exasperation. “We’ll see.”

You beamed, but he was too lost in you to notice, already preoccupied with pressing open-mouthed kisses into your shoulders, your neck. The sash of your yukata was drawn loose, your sleeves pulled down to your elbows and your body shifted onto his desk, where he could spread your legs apart and bury his face between them. Your eyes drifted back to the cherry blossoms trickling past the window, but whatever tree they’d been falling from had finally been stripped bare. All you could see was the bright, cloudless sky – blue enough to leave you burnt and begging for a storm.

~

Two springs ago, the Kamisato Estate had been overrun with finches.

It’d been a comedy of errors, in hindsight. Ayaka had taken up a fondness for a new kind of flower – one native to Sumeru, introduced to her by an outlander with golden hair and knowing eyes. Thoma, the miracle worker that he was, quickly found a way to propagate it in the estate’s garden, and within the month, little violet blossoms had consumed all that they could reach despite the best efforts of the gardeners to keep them in-check. It would’ve been a delightful problem to have on its own, but the peak of the infestation happened to align with an annual migration of a type of finch that happened to hold a particular shining for a plant with a similar shape and color and— well, anyone could’ve guessed what happened next.

It was a nightmare for Thoma and the other groundskeepers and, since Ayato was staying in the city on business, paradise for you. You spent your days in the courtyard, showing the servants’ children how to braid crowns out of vines and press flowers between the pages of books stolen from Ayato’s personal library. You and Ayaka fed seeds to the red-crowned invaders and coaxed them close enough to pet and sketch, as little talent as you had for the latter, and she listened as you rambled excitedly about the crane-headed whistles you used to make every summer for a very wealthy ornithologist with very slippery fingers. She was just as lonely as her brother, albeit significantly less deranged, and you – trapped, isolated, desperate you – were the perfect victim for her. The two of you were never quite friends, but you came close that spring.

And then, Ayato returned. The flowers were uprooted, the children sent back to their chores, and the finches driven away with nets and stones and salt. You sobbed for hours the day the final flock left, and by means of consolation, Ayato presented you with a blue-speckled wren in a cage of pure silver, silk flowers bound to the bars with yellow ribbons as a reminder of your lost haven. To this day, you still aren’t sure if he meant it to be as cruel of a gift as it was.

You made it all of two days before risking another month spent shackled to Ayato’s bed and sneaking past the guards posted at the estate’s frontmost gates, the golden cage tucked against your chest. You released it in the woods, somewhere with plenty of tree cover and places to hide while it remembered how to be a wild creature, and watched with a smile as it fluttered past the cage’s door and into the open air, eventually landing on the leaf-littered ground.

It hopped all of three tiny steps before a fox emerged from the underbrush and swallowed it whole.

~

“Are you still with us, love?”

You should’ve gone limp. You should’ve acted as if the pain had gotten to you. You should’ve pretended you were dead to the world and that you couldn’t feel his cock languidly thrusting into you and that you’d gone numb to the searing iron slowly cooling into against the small of your back but, for as resentful as your mind was to him, your body was entirely subservient to Ayato. You tried to respond verbally, and when your voice caught in your throat, you forced yourself to nod, the motion small and shaky. Ayato rewarded you with a breathy chuckle, a fleeting touch to the curve of your spine. A hundred pinpricks of purified agony accompanied his touch.

The silver brand had been commissioned from the finest metal crafters in Inazuma City, made to resemble the warped camellia that was the Kamisato Clan’s crest, and you let out an agonized scream as Ayato drew it back and pressed a calloused thumb into the tender patch of burnt skin. “You always do make such pretty noises for me.” He circled the shape of the white-hot bloom, drawing out another ragged whimper. “It’s a shame I only get to hear them when you misbehave.”

You wanted to apologize, to beg for his forgiveness, but try as you might, you couldn’t seem to remember what you’d done wrong. You hadn’t tried to run away. You hadn’t talked to any of the servants. You hadn’t done anything aside from smile and sit beside him as he spoke with the head of another clan – an older man whose eyes burnt into you for the entirety of their brief conversation. As far as you could tell, he was just a particularly shameless nobleman trying to decipher the curiosity that was the Yashiro Commissioner’s reclusive bride, but Ayato hated letting other men gawk at you at the best of times. Such prolonged exposure would’ve surely brought out the worst of his possessive habits.

You felt something tighten in your chest, catch in your throat, but you only realized you were crying when Ayato’s lips ghosted over your cheek, the gentleness of the gesture quickly replaced with the brutality of his fingers tangled in your hair, your head forced down and into the plush of his bed. You body threatened to collapse, but his free hand fell to your hip, keeping your back arched and your ass raised as he ground lazily into your cunt, in no rush to put you out of your suffering. “I think,” he groaned, lust heavy in his voice. “We’re going to have a big family. Half a dozen kids, at least.”

You beat your fists against the mattress, shaking your head violently, and he twitched inside of you. “They’ll have your eyes,” he went on, a sadistic delight in his voice. “And my swordsmanship, and I’ll love them as much as I love you.” He paused, the head of his cock scraping against something deep and vulnerable inside of you. “Well, almost as much as I love you. As much as I can.”

You tried to struggle, to get away from him, but Ayato held you close, his grip as unrelenting as his slow, aching tempo. With a calculated sort of grace, he leaned towards you, slotting his chest against your back and bringing his mouth to the shell of your ear. “You don’t think it’s too soon to start, do you, darling?”

All you could do was try and fail to scream in response.

~

The first gift Ayato ever gave to you was a necklace the color of freshly split sapphires.

He insisted that you not think of it as a present, that you consider it little more than justified repayment for an item from your stall broken by the clumsy fingers of one of his couriers, but it was a present, it couldn’t be anything else. His courier had paid for the ruined pottery days prior, and yet, he’d sought you out in person to apologize with that sun-bright smile, to let his fingertips brush against yours as he passed you a satin-lined case with a perfect, ocean-blue velvet choker tucked safely inside. It was a beautiful thing, embellished with silver and dripping with transparent crystals, but you’d liked the color most of all. It’d reminded you of Ayato, and there’d been a time when you treasured any excuse to think of him.

You’d worn it the first time you saw each other properly, too. The occasion wasn’t formal enough to warrant something so needlessly extravagant, but you couldn’t seem to stop smiling for the entirety of your brief-meal-turned-seven-hour-conversation, and as your night came to an end, perched on the edge of a cliff underneath the Raiden Shogun’s palace and breathless from laughing, he told you that if you weren’t careful, he might just fall in love with you. You’d told him that, if he waited a few more days, you might fall in love with him, too.

You’d been wearing the same necklace when he broke your heart for the first time. It’d been an overcast day, the sky a clouded blueish grey and the shogun’s fury just barely audible in the far distance. He told you, with that perfect grin and those lonely eyes, that it really was terribly improper for the lover of a commissioner to run some meager stall in a sweat-soaked market, that he owed you better than a cramped room on the outskirts of the city where you had to wade through hours of farmland to reach anything of importance. When you said that you enjoyed your work, that you adored the back-breaking labor of your craft and loved having neighbors who would leave baskets of cabbage and lavender melon on your doorstep in exchange for misshapen cups and off-pattern bowls, he laughed as if you’d said the funniest thing in the world and cupped your face in his hands, pulling you into a kiss deep enough and sweet enough to make you forget whether or not you’d agreed with him.

You were brought to the Kamisato estate less than a full month later and had yet to leave since.

~

The final garment was delivered two weeks before your wedding day. You watched from your pavilion as Ayato met the courier at the estate’s gates, accepting a large package wrapped in scarlet silk and brushing off the guards’ attempts to carry it on his behalf. You were embroidering, that day – a delicate, time-consuming art that Ayato praised in comparison to the messy, unpredictable medium of clay. You loathed the monotony of it, the strictness of the patterns, but it meant Ayato was less likely to break your fingers when he found you scrounging away spare mora in the hopes of some perpetually eventual escape and so, you embroidered.

“My mother’s dress,” you said, as soon as he was close enough to hear you. The wooden hoop was forgotten in your lap as you stared up at him, hope written clearly across your expression. “Do you know what they did with it?”

His grin widened. “Eager, are we?” You nodded frantically, and he added, “If I’d didn’t know better, I’d say you care about a dress more than your own betrothed.”

He settled next to you, the package laid across his thighs. He moved to unwrap it, then pivoted – his attention shifting as his gloved hand took hold of your wrist. He’d been touching you more delicately, lately, something you couldn’t help but link with his long-brewing but only recently materialized desire for children. It was a problem you elected to deal with later on, after the wedding, if only for your own inability to process just how horrific of a problem it was.

(There was a part of you which knew, even before your conscious mind could bear to accept it, that you would never be able to love something he put inside of you. Ayato’s obsession was enduring, able to feed off of nothing and contort reality to suit its needs, but your love had always been a rational thing, bound to end the moment it became inconvenient to house. Your love for your homeland died with your mother. Your love for Ayato died with your abduction. And, whatever love you could’ve had for a child— no, a shackle would die the moment the foul creature was born. You could hold no affection for a child that was made in Ayato’s image, that would be cleaved from your flesh for the sake of his happiness, and if by some miracle you did love the monstrosity, then you could only assume it would be because you’d abandoned all hope for yourself. Both futures seemed equally grim.)

“Ayato,” you simpered, leaning against his side. “Please?”

He rolled his eyes, playing soft as he handed you the oversized package. “It should be wrapped separately. I said I didn’t want to see the finished product until the day-of.”

Your hands shook as you undid the many knots. A smaller bundle sat within, separate from the tumor of ivory fabric you forced yourself not to linger on, and you took it up with a desperate sort of keenness, practically trembling as you tore it open with no regard for the integrity of its packaging. The crimson silk was torn away to reveal—

Blue.

Dark, never-ending blue.

“The color came out so beautifully. I’m glad you protested the way you did – otherwise, I might’ve never known we were missing something on our wedding day.” This time, you didn’t fight as he tore the remains of your mother’s dress out of your hands, holding out a sash the shade of apathetic night. You searched for something familiar, for something you could use to ground yourself, but it was absent of all recognizability, desecrated to the point of being all-but alien to you. “It had to be dyed, of course, but I’ve been told the process only cost it a moment of its integrity. The tailors—”

You blinked, but your vision remained black when you opened your eyes. Your body was lurching forward, and then you were in Ayato’s arms, limp and buzzing. Ayato was laughing, as shocked as you were drained, and you made no effort to pull away from him. “My poor little wife. I know – the anticipation’s almost too much to bear.” He pressed a kiss into your forehead. “Why don’t we spend some time together, like we used to? I think I can push my obligations aside for the day, considering the occasion.”

You didn’t respond, but he gathered into his arms regardless. He had always seemed to prefer you as dead weight.

~

You did end up in red on your wedding day, but you doubted you’d be getting married, anymore.

His own sword slid and out of his back with a wet, gripping noise – only interrupted when the blade slipped in your hands and hit bone rather than viscera. Blood splattered against the white of your kimono with every plunge, staining the susceptible fabric easily and leaving you struggling to keep your feet underneath you as the puddle of scarlet grew deeper, as the screen walls began to drip and your lungs filled with copper and iron. Ayato, the ever-worried lover that he was, had come to check on you before the ceremony, fussing over your blank eyes and the tear-tracks that had ruined your make-up twice, by then. He’d been concerned, but giddy, unable to keep himself away from you despite his many promises of tradition and decor.

He'd made it three, maybe four minutes before beginning to toy with the clasps running down your chest.

You’d taken up the first thing you saw – a hand mirror gilded with shining rose gold – and brought it down on his head.

That, on its own, would’ve left him with a scar and little else, but you’d worked quickly, drawing the sword from its sheath on his belt and bringing it down into anything that seemed vital, anything you could reach, anything that bled calming, soothing red. He stopped moving on the fifth strike, his uncalled upon Vision going dull on the sixth, and on the seventh, you heard someone call for the guards.

You waited until you could hear their footsteps before falling to your knees, bringing the point of your blade to your stomach and clenching your eyes shut, praying to any archon who would listen that you’d hit something they couldn’t be healed, that they’d lend you a more merciful fate than another jail cell, another lifetime of entrapment.  You plunged the blade into your stomach and—

And were met with little more than a cold, blunt sensation and a bottomless pit of despair.

You opened your eyes, your gaze flickering from your ice-coated blade to the doorway of your dressing room, now occupied by Kamisato Ayaka, one hand raised and her Vision pulsing at her side. Guards rushed in on either side of her, grabbing at your shoulders and wrists, but your stare never left Ayaka, her parted lips, her flushed cheeks.

Her bright eyes, just as blue and just as lonely as her brother’s had ever been.

[planeteroticaaa]

— ATTENTION

“let’s just go, my dear. cause the way you put it on, made me wanna take it off you.”

nanami was typically a rather patient man, but tonight he couldn’t help the twitch in his eye or the deep scowl on his face as he watched you make conversation with a group of his colleagues. you weren’t aware of the way they gawked at you in that long, black body con dress you wore—their eyes flickering from the generous amount of cleavage the low v-neck flashed to the way the wind blew the slit of the garment to show more of your legs each time your eyes closed when smiling that same smile that wooed him 5 years ago just as it was doing them now.

it wasn’t intentional, he knew it wasn’t. you just wanted to make a good impression, especially because you knew it could tarnish the way people at his job viewed him, but fuck were you doing too good of a job at pretending to care about what that arrogant, asshole of a boss had to say.

nanami hadn’t wished to go to this work party, ready to lie his way out of it and while you chalked it up to your husband not wishing to socialize, his worried were rooted deeper than that…you. he knew his collages would waste no time surrounding you in disbelief that nanami had a wife and in even more disbelief on just how beautiful you were.

how was it that you were the center of attention everywhere you went? that you turned this party from something everyone felt obligated to attend to wishing that it didn’t have to end at 12am because now it was about to be 2am and nanami was in the corner messing with his now loosened tie, waiting for you to finish your last drink so you could leave as he wanted to take that dress off of you just as much as his boss did.

he himself was surrounded by his female colleagues—each in his ear about how you “left him to flirt with other men right in his face,” their words full of malicious intent that would make any other man question had it not been nanami. he didn’t care for these women—hell, nobody did when you were here, hypnotizing everybody with the way that dress hugged your curves or how contagious your laugh was, the sound blessing their ears, the sway of your hips when you walked, that damn smile luring them in like a moth to a flame.

his resolve was slowly crumbling—checking the time on his expensive watch each time these women opened their mouth to throw another jab at you, staring at you from afar, eyes asking—no, begging you to leave for it was late and he didn’t know how much more patient he could be with you looking like that and them looking at you like that. he’s adjusted himself for the nth time tonight, uncomfortable by the strain in his dress pants. you were driving him insane and he hadn’t even realized he started making his way over to you until he grabbed your wrist.

“you ready to go, my love?” he asked, but something about the way he stared at you—his usual kind, brown eyes now narrowed and dark—that he wasn’t asking you. “ken—” “y/n.” was all he said, voice low and sturn, shutting down any chance of argument, tension so thick it left everyone around you quiet.

he was tired, pissed, and needed you more than anything right now and you couldn’t help but to hook your arms around his stronger one, your smaller frame against his with his bicep pressed up against your breast. “i thought you’d never ask,” you said after smiling and pulling him down to your level by his tie so that your lips brushed against his. yeah, he knew you were all his.

“i see the tension rising…i feel the temperature rising.”

in honor of my man dropping this HEAVEN SENT album🤭! but in all seriousness, i wanted to give you guys a little something because school has been kicking my ASSSS, but i got yall again soon! — ♱. erotica

— tags list!: @kashxyou, @lame-xxx, @ninacutebee16, @ynishalee, @im-a-simp-4-2d-men (submit your tumblr username here if you wish to be added!)

[pyronovas]

wishing everyone a belated happy holidays and early happy new year! december was a hectic month for me so i didn't read nearly as much as i wanted to, but these are the fics i enjoyed in the time that i had. i went through a bit of a series binge early this month, as you'll see below. here's to all the fluffy, angsty, smutty goodness everyone is bound to cook up in 2025!

this key will help you figure out which fics are more your vibe, or if you’re just curious of the contents before you dive in:

smut = 🌶️, fluff = ☁️ angst = ☄️

total fics listed below: 18

✎ — 𝐉𝐎𝐄𝐋 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑

↝ hook 'em series by @joeloverture — 🌶️

Trying to get back at your cheating quarterback ex-boyfriend leads you right into the arms of his coach. You plan on staying there for a little while.

↝ smooth operator series by @penascigarette — ☄️, 🌶️

You didn't know why Joel was so different from your other clients. His voice was the first thing to catch your attention, followed closely by words so hot they lit a fire within you. Everything he said drew you to him like a moth to a flame; but that's the problem with fire. Someone is bound to get burnt.

↝ limits by @perotovar — 🌶️

So like, imagine a world where bulls evolved to be bi-pedal and can mate with humans, but it’s not a common practice. Don’t think too hard about it, just imagine you’re a new farm hand/stable boy and caught the attention of one of those bulls, okay?

↝ the one you need series by @loliwrites — 🌶️, ☄️, ☁️

When you move into town hellbent on keeping everyone at an arm’s length, your neighbor Joel finds his way into your life.

↝ stay forever by @mrsmando, part one: stay while — 🌶️, ☁️

You & Joel finally reach jackson, and the life you’ve dreamed of becomes reality — with a few twists and turns along the way.

↝ i'm empty without you, so come grow within me by @chronically-ghosted — 🌶️, ☄️

With winter approaching, Joel takes stock of what he wants and what he has in his life. He wants you, but he’s not quite sure he has you, not in a way that only a life in Jackson can afford. Joel’s an old-fashioned guy, so he’s looking for an old-fashioned love…if he can only remember how to do it right.

↝ mr. winter by @kedsandtubesocks — 🌶️, ☁️

You wrote that letter to Santa as a joke (knowing he obviously wouldn’t answer it) until he does - and he comes with a proposition.

↝ through the glass by @murder-wife — 🌶️

Your neighbor, Joel, seems to have a revolving door of dates. He also doesn't seem to have a taste for keeping his curtains closed. You can't help but watch when it feels like he wants you to see what he's doing to them.

↝ but he's the one i want by @wheresarizona — 🌶️

All you needed was to see if your dad’s friend, Joel, had a spare key to your father’s house. Instead, you get railed within an inch of your life on Joel’s couch. 

✎ — 𝐃𝐈𝐍 𝐃𝐉𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍

↝ shadows by @burntheedges — 🌶️

You were pretty sure the ship was haunted.

✎ — 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐔��/𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐂𝐈𝐔𝐒

↝ guilty as sin by @ovaryacted — ☄️, 🌶️

Being the daughter of a Senator of Rome has it’s pros and cons, you lived comfortably while constantly being reminded of your insubordinate position in society. However, upon meeting General Acacius, your life changes as you begin to grow fond of him. The question is, will he reciprocate your feelings, or cast you out to suffer your impending doom of unwanted courtship?

↝ fit for a goddess by @ozarkthedog

You wear Marcus’s gold laurel crown while he worships you.

↝ propositio by @gracieheartspedro — ☄️, 🌶️

After assembling an army to win back Rome, you finally get to confront the traitor to your cause. General Marcus Acacius.

↝ foxglove downs series by @whocaresstillthelouvre — 🌶️

In the exclusive realm of elite show jumping, where wealth stretches as far as the polished estates, Marcus Acacius and Lucius Verus are locked in a fierce competition that reaches far beyond the arena.

✎ — 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐒

↝ nut vid with the sound on by @syd-djarin — 🌶️

You accidentally send Frankie a text that he wasn’t supposed to see.

✎ — 𝐉𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐀

↝ helping hand by @/mrsmando — ☁️, 🌶️

You and Javi take a bath together.

✎ — 𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐑 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐀

↝ reprieve by @hauntedhowlett-writes — ☄️, 🌶️

When angry, Emperor Geta seeks reprieve in his empress.

✎ —𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐑 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐀

↝ death kink by @s-lverwing — ☄️

Devotion between you and Caracalla is measured in blood.

likes, reblogs, and comments keep the motivation alive, so if you’re taking a look at these for the first time, please leave a kind word for these writers or just reblog, even. support your writers <3

[queenstarlight2]

A plan is put in place, and two elves grow hungry

yandere Thranduil and Elrond (4.5K) (NON-CON)(Final chapter, but might pick it back up if people want me to) part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5 summery: Elrond puts sleeping herbs in your tea, and you meet Thranduil in his chambers alongside Elrond and outcomes ensue

Elrond's mind was a swirling vortex of conflicting emotions as he went about his morning routine. He couldn't seem to focus on anything but the thought of seeing Star for their late afternoon tea. He knew that he had agreed to drug her, and the guilt and unease of that knowledge tugged at his heart, but simultaneously, he couldn't deny the pull he felt towards her, the undeniable attraction that drew him like a moth to a flame.

As the hours ticked by, his anticipation and anxiety mounted, building to an almost unbearable level. The sun rose higher in the sky, painting Rivendell in golden light, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't clear his mind of the thought of her face, her voice, the way her eyes seemed to sparkle when she looked at him. The thought of seeing her again, of being close to her, was addictive, even as the guilt and doubt continued to eat away at him.

His mind seemed to be a constant battleground, his heart torn between the desire to be near her and the knowledge that he had agreed to do something terrible. He knew he shouldn't, knew that he was betraying her trust and breaking the ethics he held dear as a healer, but the pull was too strong. The thought of seeing her made his heart race.

The knock on the door came at exactly the appointed time, and Elrond's heart nearly leaped out of his chest. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, and then opened the door. Standing on the other side, looking beautiful and radiant in the late afternoon sun, was his soon-to-be beloved

Elrond ushered her inside, trying to keep his expression calm and composed. "Welcome," he said, his voice betraying nothing of the conflicted emotions that roiled within him. "Please, come in and have a seat."

As she walked into the room, Elrond couldn't help but marvel at her beauty. She was wearing a simple but elegant dress, the fabric flowing around her like liquid mercury. The sunlight caught in her hair, making it glow like a halo around her face. Her eyes sparkled with a mixture of excitement and curiosity, and her lips were lifted in a small smile. She looked both innocent and mischievous, a combination that was both captivating and dangerous.

As she moved further into the room, Elrond felt his heart rate increase, and he had to force himself to remain calm. He motioned to a low table with a teapot, cups, and snacks already laid out. "Please, have a seat," he said again, his voice a little hoarse. "I have some tea prepared if you would like some."

Star looked around the room, her eyes sparkling with curiosity as she took in the cozy, homey atmosphere. "This is lovely," she said, her voice soft and pleasant. "Thank you for having me." She took a seat at the table, folding her hands in her lap, her expression polite and eager.

Elrond poured the tea, trying to keep his hands from shaking. His mind was a swirling cesspool of mixed emotions - excitement, fear, and guilt all vying for dominance. He tried to focus on the act of pouring the tea, but his thoughts kept darting to the sleeping herb he had mixed into Star's cup. His heart was pounding in his chest, his breath coming uneven and shallow. He knew what he was about to do was wrong, but the thought of having her all to himself was too enticing to resist.

As Elrond handed her the cup of tea, she noticed the slight tremor in his hand and the way his gaze seemed to dart away from hers before fixing back on her face. Concern flickered in her eyes, and she tilted her head slightly, studying him intently. "Is everything alright?" she asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and worry.

Elrond plastered a half-convincing smile on his face, trying to push aside the guilt and unease that warred within him. "Yes, everything is fine," he said, his voice a little too bright. "I'm just a little… distracted, is all."

Star's gaze remained on him, her eyes searching his face for any hint of what might be bothering him. Her instincts were telling her that something was off, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. She took a small sip of the tea, her eyes never leaving his face.

Elrond's heart was racing as he watched her take a sip of the tea. The sleeping herb he had mixed into it would take effect soon, and he knew that once she fell asleep, he would have her at his mercy. The thought both excited and terrified him, and he had to force himself to maintain his composure.

Elrond took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, then sat down across from Star. He tried to maintain a casual, relaxed expression, but his heart was racing, and his palms were sweaty.

Elrond took a deep, shaky breath and forced himself to focus on the moment. He knew he had to keep up the act, if only for a little longer. He fixed his gaze on Star, trying to look relaxed and charming, and forced his voice to come out steady and steady. "How is the tea? I hope it's to your liking."

Star took another small sip of the tea, her eyes still locked on Elrond's. She couldn't quite shake the feeling that something was off, but she didn't want to jump to conclusions. "It's delicious, thank you," she said, her voice soft. "You are a master of all things, aren't you?"

Elrond's heart skipped a beat at her words, and he couldn't help but bask in the praise. Despite the situation, he was secretly pleased that she had noticed his skills. "I do try my best," he said, forcing a smile. "But there's always room for improvement, isn't there?"

Star smiled back, her eyes still searching his face for any hint of what was bothering him. She took another sip of the tea, her instincts still telling her something was amiss. "Do you mind if I ask you something?" she asked, her voice a little more serious.

Elrond's heart rate spiked at the question, and he had to force down the immediate instinct to say no. "Of course," he said, trying to keep his voice neutral. "Ask me anything."

Star leaned forward slightly, her eyes locked on his. "You seem different today," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "Something is bothering you. Can you tell me what it is?"

Elrond's heart constricted in his chest at her words. Her perception was unnerving, and his guilt spiked. But he couldn't tell her the truth, not now. "It's… nothing," he said, the lie sticking in his throat. "Just some work-related stress."

Star's eyes narrowed slightly, her intuition telling her that his answer was only partially truthful. "Are you sure that's all it is?" she asked, her voice quiet. "You can tell me the truth, you know. I won't judge you."

Elrond's mind raced as he tried to come up with a believable excuse. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he could feel sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. Finally, he settled on a partial truth, mixed in with a lie. "You're right," he said, his voice quiet. "Something is weighing on my mind. It's just… I feel guilty for being attracted to you. My wife is in the Grey Havens, and I know it's wrong to feel this way."

Star's expression softened, and her eyes filled with empathy. "It's okay," she said, her voice gentle. "We can't always control our feelings, no matter how much we want to. I understand how hard it must be for you."

Elrond couldn't help but feel relieved that Star had accepted his excuse. He had expected her to see through the half-truths and lies, but she had bought his story hook, line, and sinker. A part of him felt guilty for duping her, but the larger part was just thankful that he had managed to keep her in the dark about the sleeping herbs.

As the conversation went on

Star's eyelids began to droop, and she stifled a yawn. "I don't know about you," she said, her voice slightly slurred, "but I'm feeling oddly tired."

Elrond's heart raced as he saw the effect of the sleeping herbs taking hold of her. Her eyes were becoming glassy, and her head was drooping slightly. "Perhaps you're just tired from the day's activities," he suggested, feigning concern.

As the herbs continued to take effect, Star's mind began to become disjointed and unfocused. She looked up at Elrond, her eyelids drooping heavily, and tried to speak. "I… I need to go," she mumbled, her words slurring. "Thranduil is waiting…" She stopped to yawn and then looked back up at him with a smile. "Thank you for the tea… it was lovely… and you are too…"

Elrond felt a pang of guilt and regret as he heard her words, but he pushed it down, knowing that there was no going back now. "You're very welcome," he said, his voice gentle. "I'm glad you enjoyed the tea."

As the sleeping herbs continued to work their magic, Star stood up from the table, her movements unsteady. She wobbled a little, and Elrond reached out to steady her, his heart heavy with guilt. "Careful," he said, his voice still feigning concern. "You look like you need some support."

Star leaned on him a little, her eyes half closed. "Thank you," she mumbled. "I'm just… tired. So tired…" Elrond felt a pang of guilt as he saw the effects of the herbs on her. Her head was drooping, and she was barely able to keep her eyes open. But he kept a firm grip on her arm, guiding her to the door.

"Come on," he said, his voice gentler than he felt. "Let me walk you to Thranduil's chambers. You shouldn't be wandering around alone like this."

Star didn't protest, her mind too fuzzy to think straight. She simply nodded and let Elrond lead her out of the room and down the hallway. She stumbled a little, her footsteps heavy and erratic, but Elrond kept a steady grip on her arm, guiding her toward Thranduil's chambers.

As they walked, a few guards and servants passed by, eyeing the pair with curiosity. Elrond kept his expression composed, his mind racing with excuses in case they asked questions. But luckily, no one seemed to pay them much attention, and they made it to Thranduil's chambers without incident.

Elrond reached the door to Thranduil's chambers and paused for a moment, his hand hovering in the air. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come, and then knocked on the door.

There was a moment of silence, and then the door opened, revealing Thranduil standing on the other side. His eyes flicked from Elrond to Star, who was leaning heavily on Elrond's arm, her eyes half-lidded and her movements sluggish.

Thranduil's expression remained neutral, but Elrond could see a flicker of anticipation in his eyes. He knew what they had planned, and he was eager to get on with it. Thranduil nodded in greeting, his voice cool and controlled. "I see you brought her," he said.

Thanduil stepped aside and gestured for Elrond to bring Star inside. He watched with a mix of fascination and excitement as Elrond led Star into the room, her steps faltering and her eyes glazed over.

As Elrond guided Star into the room, Thranduil stepped closer to her, his eyes studying her face intently. He reached out and gently touched her chin, tilting her head up to look at him. "How are you feeling, darling?" he asked. "Elrond and I were hoping we could take care of you tonight. Would you like that?"

Star's eyes fluttered open at the sound of Thanduil's voice, and she looked up at him with a confused, unfocused gaze. She didn't seem to fully understand what was being asked of her, but she nodded weakly, her head still foggy from the herbs. "Yes," she mumbled. "Yes, please… take care of me…"

Thanduil led the way to the bed, with Elrond following closely behind with Star still leaning heavily on him. They reached the bed, and with a quick gesture from Thanduil, Elrond gently laid Star down on the bed. She lay there, her eyes half-lidded and her body limp, as Thanduil and Elrond hovered over her. Thanduil's eyes flicked to Elrond, silently communicating his plan.

Elrond nodded in understanding, his heart hammering in his chest. As much as he felt guilty about what he was doing, he knew there was no stopping now. With tentative movements, he reached for the buttons on Star's dress, his fingers shaking slightly as he began to undo them one by one.

Meanwhile, Thanduil stood near the bed, watching with growing excitement as Elrond undressed Star. His eyes glittered with a predatory gleam, and his breath came faster as more and more of her skin was slowly revealed. He reached out and gently ran his hand down her leg, his touch rough yet appreciative.

As they continued to undress Star, the mood in the room grew heated and charged. Thanduil and Elrond's touches grew increasingly intimate, their fingers roaming over her skin with a growing sense of possessiveness. Thanduil's hands slid up her leg, his touch becoming possessive as he spoke. "She's so beautiful," he murmured, his voice low and rough. "She's ours now… ours to do with as we please."

Elrond watched as Thanduil touched her, a mix of guilt and arousal coursing through him. His own hands were on her body as well, roaming over her curves and caressing her skin. "She's so soft," he agreed, his voice thick with need. "So innocent.."

Thanduil's eyes flicked to Elrond, and he smirked. "You're enjoying this more than you thought you would, aren't you?" he asked, his voice a little mocking. "You're not feeling guilty anymore, are you?"

Elrond felt a pang of shame at Thanduil's words, but he couldn't deny the truth in them. He was enjoying this, more than he had expected to. His hands continued to roam over Star's body, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of ownership and power over her. "No," he admitted, his voice a little huskier than before. "I'm not feeling guilty anymore. I want this just as much as you do."

As Thanduil's and Elrond's touches grew more insistent, Star's body began to respond. She let out a soft moan, her back arching slightly as Thanduil's hand roamed over her curves. Her eyelids fluttered, and her head rolled to the side, her hair spilling over the pillow. She was completely at their mercy, her body reacting to their touch despite the drugged state she was in.

Thanduil and Elrond glanced at each other, both surprised and pleased by the sound of her moan. They could feel her body responding to their touch, and it only heightened their desire for her even more. They continued to touch and caress her, their hands and fingers exploring every inch of her body, leaving no skin untouched. Every moan and whimper that escaped Star's lips was like gasoline on the fire of their desire. Thanduil's hands became more possessive, gripping her body with a rougher edge, while Elrond's touch remained a little more gentle but no less insistent.

As they continued to touch and explore her body, Thanduil's thoughts and desires took a darker turn. He suddenly leaned in close to Elrond, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Isn’t she beautiful?" he asked

With a nod, Elrond replied, "Indeed." His heart raced as he watched Thranduil's hands slide up Star's thighs, teasingly brushing against her sensitive flesh. Despite knowing this wasn't right, Elrond found himself unable to resist the allure of their shared obsession. Their actions were becoming increasingly intimate, fueled by lust and possession.

Feeling emboldened by Elrond's silence, Thranduil moved closer still until their bodies were pressed tightly together against her helpless form. His mouth hovered near her earlobe as he whispered words filled with dark promises into her ear. "You belong to us now," he purred menacingly, sending chills down her spine. At once, he slid his hand beneath her nightgown, tracing slow circles around her navel before dipping lower until his fingertips brushed against her damp folds. Meanwhile, Elrond trailed kisses along her neck, his arousal growing stronger by the second as he watched them together. This was wrong—so very wrong—but neither could deny the powerful pull drawing them deeper into depravity.

Unknowingly, Star slept through the entire encounter. Her mind was clouded by the tranquilizers mixed in with her drink earlier that evening - rendering her limbs heavy and numb, and stealing away what little resistance she might have put up otherwise. But even in sleep, she couldn't escape their clutches entirely. Thranduil's hand carefully slipped underneath her dress, finding its way between her legs where he continued to tease and stroke her already swollen clit without mercy. Meanwhile, Elrond moved closer still, pressing his hardening cock against her bare ass cheek which stirred something deep inside him - an urge to claim what was his whether awake or asleep.

Thranduil and Elrond locked eyes again. There was something feral burning bright in those depths that both frightened and excited the other man. Without breaking contact, Thranduil whispered hoarsely, "She belongs to us now… don't you think?" Elrond didn't hesitate to answer, his voice low and raspy with desire. "Yes," he breathed back, "We should never have denied ourselves this opportunity." There was a dangerous undertone to their conversation but also an undeniable thrill that danced along their spines. They were walking a fine line between sanity and madness, lust and violence – and they loved every second of it.

Thranduil slowly pulled away from Star, his hand trailing lightly across her stomach before reaching behind to release his thick cock from his trousers. It sprang free instantly, standing tall and proud against his pale skin. Without further ado, he positioned himself at her entrance, nudging her to open slowly with the tip of his erection. Her pussy was slick with anticipation, welcoming him inside with eager ease. As he pushed forward, feeling her walls stretching around him, Thranduil groaned deeply, losing himself in the sensation of finally being joined by her after a day of tormented longing. He thrust forward powerfully then retreated slowly, savoring every inch of her warmth surrounding him.

Moans of pure bliss escaped her lips as Thranduil's cock plunged deep inside her. Each thrust caused her to buck wildly against him, her body begging for more as it craved the feeling of fullness and belonging that came with being taken by these two powerful Elves. Elrond couldn't resist joining in, taking one nipple into his mouth and sucking greedily while using his free hand to massage her other breast, sending waves of ecstasy rippling throughout her entire being. Thranduil's eyes rolled back in pleasure as he moved rhythmically within her sleeping form. He couldn't believe how tight she felt around him, even in her unconscious state.

Her soft moans filled the air, fueling his lust further. Meanwhile, Elrond watched them intently, his hands roaming over her body before sliding underneath her to cup her firm ass, helping Thranduil's thrusts go deeper. He could feel his release building up, and he knew it wouldn't be long before he succumbed to the intense desire consuming him. "She fits us perfectly," Elrond managed to choke out between labored breaths. The thought of sharing Star sent a thrill through both of them, only heightening the sensations coursing through their bodies. Their combined pleasure echoed throughout the dimly lit chamber, each movement bringing them closer to the edge of ecstasy.

Unable to bear it any longer, Elrond decided to take his place alongside Thranduil. He knelt beside Star, positioning himself so that he faced Thranduil's chiseled abs, giving him an enticing view of the king thrusting into the girl. Gently nudging Thranduil aside, Elrond leaned over to press a hot kiss against her lips, slipping his tongue past her teeth when she parted them with a soft moan. Feeling Thranduil's cock slide out of her, he replaced it with his own, filling her. Their shared lover writhed in pleasure between them, caught in their intimate embrace. Elrond started moving rhythmically, matching Thranduil's pace as they took turns claiming her. They shared knowing looks, their lust-filled minds syncing perfectly. "She's ours now," Elrond growled possessively against Star's mouth before biting down lightly on her lower lip. The thrill of their illicit act only made him more eager to make her fully aware of what was happening once she woke up. Their plan was set in motion - nothing would ever be the same for her again.

As Elrond continued his relentless assault on Star's lips, his thoughts drifted toward the tantalizing idea of double penetration. He glanced up at Thranduil, whose own passion seemed insatiable. "Imagine taking her together," he breathed into Thranduil's ear. "Both our cocks inside her, filling her." The image sent a shockwave through him, causing his movements to become even more urgent. Thranduil paused mid-stroke, considering Elrond's words. His eyes narrowed as a wicked smirk played upon his lips. "Yes," he agreed, "That would truly mark her as ours." Their gazes locked, and for a moment, there was no one else in the room except for them and the beautiful, vulnerable creature trapped between them. They both knew it was wrong - but that only made it feel so much more right.

Lost in their depraved desires, Elrond and Thranduil couldn't help but imagine what it would be like to have Star completely at their mercy – fully aware of their possession. In hushed whispers, Elrond suggested, "Once she's awake…" he trailed off, his eyes sparking with a dangerous hunger as he slid his cock out of her mouth and replaced it with Thranduil's, allowing him to taste her wetness. "We'll show her who she belongs to," Thranduil finished the thought, pulling out from her tight heat so that Elrond could enter her instead. The two elves shared an intense look, their arousal peaking at the thought of having her in every way possible. Elrond thrust into her, burying himself deep as they prepared for what was yet to come. "Double penetration," he said, a hint of malice lacing his tone as he glanced over at Thranduil, "We'll fill her so completely she won't know where one ends and the other begins." Thranduil's breath hitched, and he nodded eagerly, stroking himself as he watched Elrond take her. The anticipation of claiming her fully consumed them, making each movement inside her more urgent and demanding.

Thranduil's gaze remained locked onto Star's beautiful face, her features twisted in pleasure as Elrond claimed her beneath him. He couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy mixed with pure desire. As Elrond picked up speed, the bedrock beneath them seemed to vibrate in tandem with their movements. The sound of their combined efforts filled the room along with Star's increasing moans – and it was music to Thranduil's ears. His cock ached for release, but he held back, determined to make the most of this moment. He leaned over to kiss Elrond's neck, teeth scraping against his sensitive flesh before he asked hoarsely, "Do you think she'll enjoy it? When we both fill her up?" Elrond groaned in response, the mere suggestion driving him wild. Thranduil's fingers tightened around his shaft as he imagined the sensation of pushing into Star alongside Elrond, stretching her even further and hearing her beg for mercy. "She'll beg for more," Elrond finally managed to say, his voice strained with need. Thranduil smirked at the thought, his body shuddering in anticipation. Their wicked plan took shape in their minds as they continued pleasuring her, every thrust bringing them closer to the edge – and to the moment they'd been waiting for since she first arrived in their realm.

Thranduil's control snapped, and he moaned out his release, filling her already overflowing pussy with his seed. The sensation of their combined cum inside her was almost too much to bear – but it was only a taste of what was to come. As he slowed his movements, the evidence of their liaison started to seep out of her, painting her thighs with a mixture of their pleasure. With a satisfied sigh, he leaned down to kiss her deeply, leaving her lips swollen and glistening. Pulling away, he whispered, "Soon, little one, you'll feel us both taking you at once." His voice was filled with a dark promise that sent shivers down Elrond's spine. They would have her fully aware and begging for more – they would make her crave them like she'd never craved anything before. Their plan was set, and Thranduil knew that once it was complete, Star would never be able to leave their grasp. He couldn't wait for the day she woke up to find herself completely owned by them, her body bearing the marks of their passion and her soul forever entwined with their own.

As Elrond cleaned them up and prepared Star for her eventual awakening, Thranduil couldn't keep his eyes off her – the way their combined cum glistened on her skin, the soft moans that still escaped her lips even in slumber. They had done something unforgivable, claimed her without her consent – but they couldn't deny the thrill it gave them. Their hearts raced at the thought of continuing this illicit affair, of taking her together in a way that would bind her to them irrevocably. As they lay beside her, each lost in their depraved thoughts, they knew that their lives had changed forever. The moment she opened her eyes, their story would truly begin. They exchanged knowing looks, each silently promising the other that they would see this twisted tale through to its conclusion – no matter the cost. Their desire for her had consumed them, and there was no turning back now. They would have her – body, mind, and soul – and nothing would stand in their way.

[disarraydoodlez]

Sorry we been more dead than usual guys! Went to a con and the drive really took it out of us!

Anyways doing a bit of Leshy posting with our design, here he is in big boi form! (Tho headcannon he is still one of the shorter followers, yes he is mad about that)

Might line and color a few of these later but here he is prolly getting hit in the face for deserved reasons and also being executed for funny crimes. We're having SO much fun with the tail and claws for this little guy.

These are the first kinda drafts for him, the neck fuzz was kinda to play around with a more moth-look but decided it took away from his whole gremlin vibe. Making your own design for a bush with fangs is really fun.

[youthereader]

Between Silence

pairing: emmett (a quiet place ii) x fem!reader summary: 7.8k. You see him again years after the world ends - Emmett, the man who once lived three doors down and never looked at you for too long. But now there’s nothing left to protect, and nothing left of you but hunger and survival. rating: E for implied/referenced non-con; referenced major character death, graphic depictions of violence, non-graphic sex a/n: I always meant to write this one and I was feeling more inspired this week. Took me forever to get this one together but here it is finally! Emmett lovers unite. ❤️🖤

You never really knew him.

Not really. Not enough to warrant the way he occupied your thoughts then—or now.

His name was Emmett. He lived three houses down, on the corner lot with the cracked birdbath and the rusted truck parked under the elm that never quite lost its leaves. You used to see him out front, sleeves rolled to the elbow, leaning against the hood of that truck with a wrench in his hand and grease under his nails. 

He had two boys - loud ones, always running barefoot through sprinklers or throwing footballs too close to the road. His wife, a quiet woman with thin shoulders and an easy smile, used to leave covered dishes on your porch whenever your mom was sick, or when your father broke his wrist and couldn’t shovel the driveway.

Emmett was quiet. Not in a rude way, he was just someone who didn’t waste breath. He had a way of standing with his weight settled low in his hips, like a man prepared to bear down against whatever came. You used to see him from the upstairs window when you came home from college on weekends - out there stacking wood or coiling a hose, the muscles in his arms moving beneath the fabric of his t-shirt like thick cables tightening and loosening. There were moments he’d look up and catch you looking. He never smiled, just a nod.

You were nineteen and too young to know what you wanted, ashamed of wanting anything at all.

You remember once, at the end of a long Thanksgiving weekend, packing your duffel bag into the back of your car and seeing him across the street, watching from his driveway. You thought he might come over and say something. You stood there longer than you needed to, your heart jittering like a moth against glass. He didn’t move.

It wasn’t disappointment exactly, but something close. Something dull and sad that stuck with you the whole drive back to campus. You didn’t let yourself think about him after that. It felt inappropriate, pointless. He had a wife and kids. A life that was none of your business.

Then the world ended. You came home one last time, later than everyone else. After the news reports had turned vague. After the power went and never came back. After the roads stopped being safe, and the silence stopped being peaceful. You walked the last four miles to your house and found it empty.

No note. No bodies.

You stayed for three days, eating through what was left in the pantry, turning on every light switch like an idiot, waiting for something to click. You slept in your childhood bed. On the second night, you woke up to movement on the roof, too heavy for raccoons.

You didn’t stay the third night. You moved on, drifting from one place to the next. Yoy slept in barns and basements, hollowed-out gas stations. You learned to keep your steps soft, to stop breathing when you heard something that didn’t belong. Your hands grew callused, your hair tangled and rough. Time blurred and you stopped counting the days.

One day, you see him. You come over a rise just as the sun’s going down, and there he is: crouched at the edge of a stream, one knee deep in the muddy bank, his rifle balanced carefully on his back. He’s thinner now, dirtier, and bearded. The way he holds himself hasn’t changed. He’s still solid, still braced. Still Emmett.

You freeze behind a tree. Part of you wants to call his name, just to hear it spoken out loud again. But you’ve learned too much about silence. So you just watch. You soak in the sight of him.

He looks up. Not startled. Not scared. Just… watchful.

Your eyes meet. You raise your hand, palm half-open, something between a greeting and a question. His expression doesn’t change. Not even a flicker. He turns and disappears into the trees with the same ease and purpose as smoke. You stand there a long time until your knees ache and your breath shortens in your chest, then you follow. Not because you think he’ll help you. Not because you expect kindness or safety. There’s nothing else out here that feels even remotely like it belonged to the life you lost. The idea of Emmett - his name, his shape, the memory of him against a backdrop of lawnmowers and slow Sunday mornings - is the only thing left tethering you to yourself. 

You track him as best you can, your steps quiet in the underbrush. It doesn’t take long to lose him. He knows this place better than you ever did. He moves like someone who means to disappear. When the light fades too far to see, you climb a tree. Not out of hope, only habit. You wedge yourself between two limbs and tuck your chin into your knees.

You barely sleep. In your dream, your mother is baking something warm. There’s music playing in another room, low and crackling. Emmett’s sitting at your kitchen table, sleeves rolled up, fingers curled around a coffee cup. He doesn’t speak. He only looks at you. 

Then you wake to the sound of boots in the brush.

You hear voices. Low and male. At least two, maybe three. Not shouting. Talking like men who believe nothing can hear them. They have the confidence that comes with practice. 

“…you’re imagining things.”

“Nah, I saw her. Up there, like a raccoon.”

“You’re always seeing shit.”

Mean and breathless laughter follows, the kind that always precedes violence. You keep your body still, but your fingers twitch around the branch. Your arms ache from holding yourself in place so long. You want to run, but the ground is too far, and there’s no cover.

One of them throws a rock. You don’t see it coming - it hits the tree trunk below you with a crack that sounds louder than it should be. Your leg jerks reflexively as panic sets in.

“There she is,” one of them says, too pleased.

There’s a rustle, fast movement, boots scraping bark. Then fingers around your ankle. You kick blindly, your boot catching something soft - a cheek or a nose. A hiss of pain, more laughter.

They begin to climb.

You scramble higher, but your limbs are numb now, half-frozen and clumsy. You barely get a few feet before another hand grabs your coat. You twist, the fabric tearing under your weight. For a second you hang in the air, held only by the grip on your collar, then it gives.

You fall.

Not far, six feet maybe, but it knocks the air out of you. You hit the ground on your side, hard. There’s mud in your mouth. Lights burst behind your eyes. Before you can draw a full breath, there’s a knee on your back, a hand in your hair.

“Easy now,” someone mutters. The pressure makes you gag.

Another hand pulls at your belt. You thrash, kick, bite. Teeth find flesh and you taste blood. Someone shouts. A fist catches the side of your face. Not enough to knock you out, but the world goes white and ringing.

The last thing you hear before it all goes quiet again is someone saying, “Tie her up. Take her back.”

The trees sway high above you, silent, empty, indifferent.

-

They don’t speak to you directly. They talk around you, about you, like you’re a package, or a find. Something one of them might have stepped in and the others aren’t sure whether to laugh or scrape it off their boots.

“She worth the trouble?”

“Girl’s skinny. But… not bad lookin’, underneath.”

“She bit me.”

“You’ll live.”

You drift in and out. Your head lolls. Your arms are tied at the wrists, cord biting into the skin where your jacket’s torn. Someone adjusts their grip when you slip too far down. You don’t try to move anymore. It takes too much.

They carry you through the trees. You see flashes of the sky - dark and mottled, bruised with clouds. The moon is hidden. You count the shapes of the trunks as they pass. Birch and oak. Then something unfamiliar, then nothing.

Eventually the ground changes. The leaves go softer, muffled. There’s the faint scent of old smoke, then mildew, then something worse - metal and rot and damp air.

They bring you underground.

A cellar. Or something like it with a low ceiling. It has stone walls, slick with condensation. Rusted tools hung from nails. You see a lantern on a hook, and beside it, a set of wire cutters and what might have once been a hacksaw. A bare mattress on the floor. A bucket in the corner.

The man who hit you opens the door with the toe of his boot and drops you on the ground like you weigh nothing.

Your hip hits the concrete, pain shooting up your spine. You groan without meaning to. He doesn’t look down.

“Get the rope,” one of them says.

You start to sit up. Someone kicks your shoulder, not hard enough to break anything, just hard enough to make the command clear.

They retie your wrists to a pipe overhead. Cold water drips onto your face, your neck, the curve of your chest. You shiver, but it’s not from fear, not exactly. It’s the weight of it all. The way your body is slowly remembering itself, cataloging damage.

Someone laughs again. A short, sharp sound.

“Leave her there. We’ll see what kind of mood we’re in later.”

The door shuts, a bolt sliding home.

-

You sit in the dark with your hands tied above your head, your knees drawn in tight, your back against cold stone. The pipe digs into your wrists, the cord’s bite growing sharper as the blood drains slowly from your fingers. You try not to move, try not to shift too much weight to one side or the other. Every small adjustment becomes its own punishment.

You can’t see your legs, but you can feel the ache blooming down your thighs. The raw edge where your hip struck the floor has begun to pulse, slow and insistent. Your shoulder burns where his boot hit. Your mouth tastes like iron.

The sound of water dripping from the ceiling is so rhythmic it becomes something like a voice. Not words. But the repetition of something older than speech.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

You don’t cry. Your body wants to - but it’s not sure how. The muscles tense for it, your chest goes tight, but nothing comes. The tears have dried up somewhere in your spine. Your body knows there’s no point.

The cold has seeped into your clothes, and the fabric weighs heavy on your arms. You imagine taking them off, peeling away every layer of yourself like bark from a tree.

The silence isn’t true silence. There are voices outside the door. The three of them - maybe four, if someone joined them - talking about nothing like this is just another night. You pick up scraps. One of them is hungry. Another complains about the cold. Something about looking for batteries. None of them speak about you, as if you’re not worth naming.

The thought makes your throat clench. Not rage, just something small and ugly. Something like: I want to be worth the trouble.

Time doesn’t pass cleanly. The dark is constant. There’s no window, no clock. Your body keeps score. The sharpness of pain dulls and then blooms again. Your legs go numb. Your hands throb with pins and needles. Your stomach growls quietly and is ignored.

At one point, the door opens. A shape fills the frame, lantern held high, casting gold light across the concrete. It hurts your eyes.

“Still alive?” a voice says.

You don’t answer.

He steps closer. Not the one who hit you. A different one, taller and younger. He crouches down in front of you, the lantern swinging slightly from his hand, casting a slow arc of light across the pipe, the rope, the sharp angle of your cheekbone.

He doesn’t touch you, only looks. You breathe as quietly as you can.

Then he shakes his head - amused, or disappointed - and stands again. The door closes behind him. You’re back in the dark.

Still tied, still cold. Still yourself, somehow.

For now.

-

At some point, your fingers stop hurting.

That’s how you know it’s been a while. Not minutes, but probably hours. Long enough that the nerves have gone quiet, that your arms have sunk into the kind of ache that no longer rises, only settles.

You flex once, testing. Nothing. You’re not sure if that’s good or bad.

The cold keeps creeping in. It’s in your knees now, your feet. You curl them tighter, tucking your chin to your chest, and try not to shiver too hard. It makes the cords tighten and slice your skin. You’ve already rubbed something raw on your right wrist. You can smell it: skin and blood and the faint sourness of fear sweat.

You count your breaths for a while. Then you try songs - half-remembered ones from childhood, the kind with soft choruses and warm harmonies. You hum them into your own chest, no sound at all, just the rhythm moving through your ribs.

It helps, until it doesn’t. Eventually the door opens again. You feel it more than hear it. The air changing. A different weight in the dark. A faint thread of lantern light slices the room in two and you squeeze your eyes shut against it.

Two sets of footsteps. They don’t speak this time. One of them walks up beside you, close enough that you can feel heat rising off his legs. He stands there for a long while, breathing too loud.

You keep your head down. A hand touches your chin, fingers rough, not unkind. The lift your face.

You don’t open your eyes, you don’t give them that.

“Not yet,” someone says. His voice is bored, maybe a little tired. “She’ll break faster if she thinks we’re not in a hurry.”

The hand lets go. A breath of relief slips out before you can stop it.

They leave again and the bolt slides home.

You let your head fall back against the pipe. The metal is slick with condensation, cold enough that you imagine steam rising off your skin. You wonder, briefly, if you’ll die here. If this room will be the last thing you ever see. If Emmett even knew who you were when you raised your hand to him at the stream.

The thought that he might have known is enough to keep you from slipping under. Not hope - nothing as stupid or bright as that. Just the tether of memory. The shape of a man’s back bent under the weight of water and years, the way he nodded once, slow and deliberate, like he was trying not to say something out loud.

You hold onto that as the dark holds onto you.

-

You stop dreaming. That’s how you know the night has changed. Your thoughts no longer rise like mist. They sit flat and heavy inside you. Every sound is louder now, every breath sharper. You’ve passed from waiting into something else - something taut and still.

The bolt slides. You don’t flinch.

Two of them this time. The one with the bitten arm, and the other - the tall one with the laugh that sounds like gravel.

They don’t bring the lantern this time. One of them has a flashlight. It throws a single beam across the floor as the door creaks open. Their shadows enter before their bodies do, stretched long on the concrete.

“She’s not dead,” says the tall one. “That’s something.”

They shut the door behind them. The one you bit kicks your foot, not hard, just enough to feel. 

“Up.”

You don’t move. Hands grab your arms. The rope is cut, your wrists falling limp and useless in your lap. You don’t resist. You don’t speak. You are past those things.

They drag you up by your elbows and force you to your knees. Your legs buckle. You fold in on yourself. A noise slips out - something low and feral. You don’t know if it came from your throat or your stomach.

“She stinks,” one of them mutters. “Jesus.”

Something shifts in the air. You smell sweat. Something older than sweat, something male.

You close your eyes.

The tall one crouches in front of you. He touches your face, then your neck. He hums, like he’s checking a machine for cracks.

“Gonna see if she’s worth keeping,” he says. Not to you. To the other, or maybe to himself.

Your arms are moved. Your coat is pulled open. Hands fumble. You try to disappear - not into the wall, not into the ceiling, but out of your skin entirely.

Nothing is fast. Nothing is frantic. It’s almost worse for how businesslike it is. How routine.

They’re not cruel for cruelty’s sake. Just bored, entitled.

You hear your own breath: too fast, too shallow. You try to slow it, try to shrink the world down to just the air passing in and out of your nose. One of them says something about teeth - how you still have all of yours. Another makes a joke.

You don’t listen.

You go somewhere else.

You stare at the crack in the wall. There’s a dark thread of mildew running from the ceiling to the floor, crooked like a vein. You follow it with your eyes, again and again, until it’s all you see.

They finish. You’releft on the floor.

Your pants are twisted. Your arms won’t work. One of them tucks himself back in, smirking. The other wipes his hand on your jacket.

No one says your name. The door closes again.

You don’t cry, you just bleed.

-

They don’t come every night. That would be easier, something to measure, something predictable. The hours stretch out uneven, wide and empty and strange. Time stops meaning anything at all.

Some nights, no one comes. You think maybe they’ve lost interest. Maybe they’ve gone. But then you hear a laugh through the wall. A chair scraped against concrete. Someone kicking over a bottle.

The silence between visits is worse than the visits themselves. You start to dread the waiting more than the pain.

They take turns.

Sometimes it’s the young one, the one who watches you like a butcher watches a calf. He likes to hold your face in one hand, like he’s studying it. Like he’s testing how long it takes to make you flinch.

Other times it’s the older one, the one with the cough. He never looks at your eyes. Just your mouth, your thighs, the place between your ribs. When he’s finished, he always zips up with one hand and leaves without a word.

There are others, too. You lose track of their faces. One of them wears a ring. Another smells like motor oil. You stop picturing them as people at all.

They call it testing. You hear the word used, once, in argument.

“If we’re not gonna keep her, don’t break her.”

“She’s not broken.���

“Yet.”

They’re deciding, whether to trade you. To use you or leave you.

You wonder if it matters.

Your wrists are blistered now. The bindings are only tied at night, but they’ve worn through the skin in a raw, weeping ring. You don’t bother hiding your limp when they pull you across the floor. You let your body fold however it wants to.

But something inside you still holds.

You think about the man in the woods. Not as a hope, not anymore. That part of you is gone. You think about the weight of his back, the rifle slung over one shoulder. The way he didn’t speak. Didn’t blink, didn’t help.

He saw you. That much you’re sure of.

Sometimes that’s enough to keep your spine straight.

You trace shapes in the dirt with your heel when no one’s looking. You spell your name backward. You write the months of the year. You mouth the words to a prayer you don’t believe in.

No one calls you anything. Not even girl. You tell yourself that means they don’t own you. Not yet.

You make a promise you don’t say aloud, not even in your head:

If you ever get your hands back, you will not be gentle.

-

It starts with a mistake.

A missed voice at rollcall. Not that they have rollcall, exactly but they’re creatures of habit. You’ve learned their rhythms. They eat in shifts. They clean their guns at the same time each day. One of them always pisses with the door open and spits into the dirt. Another counts things - cans, bullets, fingers.

When one of them doesn’t come back, you notice.

You’re lying on your side, one arm crooked beneath you, the other pressed tight to your chest. Your wrists are bare tonight. They stopped tying you down two days ago. You think they’re getting lazy, too sure of themselves like they were in the woods when they found you, talking out-loud. Maybe they like you better when you come willingly.

You don’t, but you stopped resisting in any way they can see.

You lie still and listen. One of them is talking about fuel, another opens a tin of something and complains. No one mentions the absence, not yet. The silence where his voice should be spreads.

Later you hear it again, outside this time.

A thud. Sharp and muffled. Like something heavy landing on wet earth.

You freeze. Not the usual freeze - the practiced, body-numbed kind. This is new. This is blood beating fast behind your ears.

They don’t react at first. But then the young one - the butcher-eyed one - swears under his breath and gets up. His footsteps echo. A door creaks.

Then silence, longer this time.

You pull yourself up to sit. Your body protests. Your thighs ache from what they’ve done to you. Your shoulder is a hot knot of bruised tissue but you ignore it. The air smells different. Less like rot, more like soil.

Something is wrong. Or right, you’re unsure.

The voices return, but they’re hushed now. Not laughing, not smug. Edges of panic around the words. You can’t make them out. Their feet are moving faster. Someone knocks over a crate.

You hear one of them say:

“Tracks.”

Your stomach turns to stone.

Not fear. Not hope, but readiness.

You crawl to the wall, press your ear to the stone. Cold seeps into your cheek, but you don’t move. You breathe slowly, deliberately.

The next sound is unmistakable.

A snap, a branch somewhere.

And then something you haven’t heard in weeks:

A gunshot.

You flinch hard, heart rising like a flare behind your ribs.

A second shot. Louder, closer.

Then shouting. Not organized, not prepared, scrambled.

The door to your room stays shut. The light flickers at the bottom of the frame.

You smell smoke and someone outside screams.

The door crashes open before you can react. Light floods in, too bright, slicing through the dark like a blade.

Emmett stands there, rifle in hand, eyes sharp and dark. His face is hard, worn down by years and loss. His hands are steady.

They don’t stand a chance. He moves fast, brutal. Shots echo, loud and sudden - snaps of violence that tear through the stale air.

One falls immediately, clutching his chest, face twisting into a silent scream. Another lunges toward you, reckless, desperate.

You don’t hesitate.

There’s a knife on the floor nearby - large, heavy, blade nicked and dull from use. You reach for it without thinking, heart pounding like a drum in your ears

Instinct takes over, you grip the heavy knife tight, raise it under his chin, and drive it upward without hesitation.

The blade slides through soft flesh, up into bone with a sickening crack. His eyes go wide, shock frozen there as life drains out.

He crumples forward, silent and sudden.

Emmett’s gaze flickers to the motion but doesn’t waver. No shock, no hesitation. Only the cold, steady focus of a man who’s seen too much to be surprised anymore.

-

Your legs find the floor before your mind catches up, muscles coiled tight, lungs burning.

Emmett moves ahead, silent and sure, rifle ready, cutting through the thick underbrush with practiced ease.

You stumble after him, breath ragged, heart pounding like a drum. The forest around you is dense, dark, alive with pine and wet earth - but weighed down by a shadow you can’t shake.

You don’t look back. Leaves crack beneath your boots, twigs snap. Your breath comes in sharp, desperate bursts.

Somewhere behind, a low, terrible howl tears through the night. You don’t stop.

Branches whip your face; thorns scrape your skin. Pain stings where you brush through brambles, but you push on.

Emmett’s hand suddenly closes around your wrist - firm, steady - and you cling to him like a lifeline.

Ahead, the wooden hatch is partially hidden under leaves and moss. He drops his rifle and drops low, grasping the thick metal hatch. It’s heavy, reinforced, sealed tight with locking bolts. The air hisses faintly as it pulls away the seal.

He pulls open the hatch, revealing a ladder descending into darkness.

You follow, climbing down into the earth.

The door closes behind you with a solid, airtight thunk, sealing the bunker completely from the outside world. The walls are reinforced with thick timber and steel plates, soundproofed to block out even the faintest noise.

The space is cramped - just enough room for a small stove, a couple of handmade beds tucked into corners, shelves lined with canned food, tools, and jars of dried beans. 

The noise outside has stopped. But you know it won’t stay quiet for long.

You press your back to the cool wall, chest heaving, breath sharp and uneven - the fight still thrumming through your veins like a second pulse. Emmett leans opposite, rifle lowered but close, his shoulders broad and still.

Neither of you speaks. The only sound is the soft hum of filtered air cycling through the vent, steady and unyielding. Your eyes catch his in the dim light.

The space between you is small, tight. It’s a breath, a whisper, a razor-thin line holding everything at bay. You don’t reach out. Neither does he.

The silence is electric. Your lungs burn. His chest rises and falls in sync, two ragged rhythms held just apart.

You both breathe into the stillness, letting it stretch, fragile and raw. In this tiny gap, something breaks loose - not a touch, not a word, just a quiet understanding. This small space is a fragile promise: survival, need, something aching and unspoken between you.

-

In the dim glow, you watch him. The way his eyes don’t flit away, don’t soften or hesitate like they might have once. He doesn’t see the girl you were. The one from the neighborhood, the one just starting college, unsure and tangled in quiet shame.

That person is gone, burned away in the long, hard nights and the endless weight of survival. Now, there’s something different in his gaze - a steady, raw recognition.

Not tenderness. Not pity. Not the cautious distance of a man guarding fragile youth. Something stripped down to the basics.

You know it because it’s what you feel, too.

The same quiet hunger that lives in your ribs and makes your heart beat a little faster.

He sees you not as a girl to protect, but as someone who knows what it means to fight, to want, to hold on. You hold your breath, caught in the space between past and present, innocence and the hard truth of this broken world.

In that small, taut silence, you realize you’re not invisible anymore.

-

His voice breaks the silence - your name - low and rough, careful as a whispered prayer.

You startle as if waking from a long dream.

You turn your head slowly, eyes catching his in the dim light of the bunker. His face is tired, the lines deeper, but his gaze is steady, searching.

You don’t say his name. Truthfully, you haven’t spoken in weeks.

You reach for the tin cup by your side, cold water sliding down your throat, steadying the trembling you don’t want to show.

The silence stretches again, heavy and sharp.Finally, you look at him, your voice rough and bare, stripped of all softness.

“You left me.”

It isn’t a question. It isn’t a demand. It’s a fact.

Emmett’s eyes drop, his jaw tightens but no apology comes.

Only the weight of something older, something raw - shame, regret, something like grief folded deep into the set of his shoulders. He doesn’t look away and he doesn’t argue.

You know he’s been carrying this silence, this absence, longer than you have. You stare at him.

For the first time since the world ended, the words hang between you like a fragile truce.

-

Emmett’s eyes stay fixed on the floor, the weight of what you said pressing down between you like a stone. Neither of you moves. Neither of you speaks.

The room shrinks to the rhythm of your ragged breaths, slow and uneven. Exhaustion seeps in like a tide you can’t hold back.

Your body, raw and aching, curls into itself, folding like broken glass and without warning, sleep drags you under. It’s deep and merciless, swallowing the months of fear, pain, and cold into nothingness. Hours pass, or maybe days - time blurring like watercolors bleeding into one another.

Emmett doesn’t wake you. He stays close but silent, a shadow in the corner, vigilant but distant.

The bunker holds its breath with you. When you finally stir, the air feels thick and heavy with unspoken things. Your body still aches, but something inside you feels steadier.

You meet Emmett’s eyes briefly - no words, no promises - just the quiet understanding of survival, and the fragile space between.

-

Days pass in quiet. The bunker feels like a world apart. It’s still, safe, and small.

You move without words, your breathing a soft rhythm in the close air.

Emmett’s presence is steady, silent but near. He is a shadow beside you, a weight you can feel without needing to touch.

You watch him sometimes, the way his muscles tense beneath his shirt, the flicker of something unspoken in his eyes.

One evening, the air thick with heat and quiet tension, you stop pretending the ache inside you can be ignored.

Without warning, you close the space between you. Your hand moves slowly, reaching for him - resting on his chest.

The rough fabric of his shirt beneath your palm, the steady beat of his heart beneath that. You don’t say anything. You don’t need to. That small touch is enough.

His body shifts, stiff at first, then warmth pools low and tight beneath your fingers.

He swallows, voice low and rough:

“I didn’t save you for this.”

The words land between you like stones.

You meet his eyes - dark, unreadable - but you don’t move away.

Instead, you reach down, sliding your hands to the waistband of your pants, pulling them off in one slow motion.

You step toward the mattress, bare skin cool against the air. He follows, silent, climbing over you with a careful weight. Your hands find his arms, steadying him, grounding yourself.

You move together, rough and tender, like the desperate survival you’ve both known.

There’s no kiss, no meeting of lips. It’s too much, too raw, too exposed for that.

Instead, your bodies speak in shudders and breathless gasps, the silent language of need and trust. Your fingers dig into his shoulders; his hands grip your hips.

The world narrows to the press of skin and muscle, the steady rhythm of two bodies moving toward something like peace.

When you come, it crashes through you, wild and freeing, without a word, without a sound beyond the ragged breaths you share.

He follows, silent and fierce, holding himself inside you until the tremors fade.

You lie there, chest rising and falling in the dim light, the fragile quiet between you holding everything unsaid. There are no promises, no words.

Only this.

-

Emmett leaves just after dawn.

He doesn’t say much. He shoulders his pack, checks the rifle, and tells you there’s a break in the weather and it’s now or never if they’re going to eat anything fresh this week.

He hesitates at the hatch.

“You’ll be safe,” he says. “No one knows this place.”

You nod. You don’t ask him to stay, because that would be weakness. It would be asking for something more than food and silence.

When the latch seals above you and the hush returns, it’s different.

Not calm. Not peace. Only the howl of fear trapped beneath your skin.

You press your ear to the earth, straining for movement. Sometimes, you think you hear voices. Footsteps, breathing that isn’t yours.

The dead don’t stay dead long in your memory.

By nightfall, you’ve imagined a hundred ways they might come back. The men he killed, the ones you didn’t. The one you did.

When the hatch finally opens again, you're crouched in the dark, a knife clutched in your hand and your pulse screaming in your throat.

He calls your name before climbing down. The sound of it is rough and hoarse.

When you see his face, something inside you buckles. He looks worse than when he left - mud up to his knees, a streak of dried blood on his jaw, and eyes that don’t blink until he sees you standing, alive, and whole.

“I thought you’d be gone,” he says.

His voice shakes. You’ve never heard it do that before.

You say, “I wouldn’t.”

Then he says it, words heavy like stones.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve—” He swallows. “It’s my fault. You got taken because I left you. That first time.”

You shake your head.

“I’m fine,” you say.

The lie hangs in the air, obvious and heavy. You both hear it.

He crosses to you and pulls you in, not rough, not fast — just gathers you into his arms like he needs to prove you’re real.

His chin rests on your shoulder, stubbled and warm.

When he kisses you, it starts as apology. A soft brush of lips against your neck, your jaw, the corner of your mouth.

But then it changes - his mouth finds yours, and it deepens, opens, turns hot with everything he hasn’t said. His tongue meets yours. 

You pull him down with you to the mattress, your bodies already remembering how they fit, how to ask and answer without words.

The fucking is unhurried but intense - a claiming, a vow, a grief-soaked promise pressed into skin. After, breathless and tangled in the dark, he whispers it into your hair. You're both close to tears.

“I won’t leave you again.”

tagging @lau219

Thank you for reading! I know this one was a bit of a slog. So many kisses for you if you got this far. 🥰

[moth-murdock]

Took me two whole weeks for my brain to come up with the idea of simply censoring my face to post this

Two apples tall 🤏🏻🤏🏻

[vvitchmusic]

Where Flowers Die ❦ Yan!Price x F!Reader

𖤐 Summary 𖤐 : Instincts or him?

𖤐 Warning(s) 𖤐 : Kidnapping, Violence, Gore, Dub/Non-Con touching (eventual), Stalking, Injuries, Minor Ghost x f!reader, Dysfunctional childhood, typical yandere shit. ✢ MDNI ✢

➟ The Captain's List | VVITCH SPELLS

You don’t know where the obsession even began. It must’ve been a long time ago before you had a job at the cafe; serving rude and nice customers alike.

Ironically enough, you’d still remember the same pair of faded blue eyes staring back at your own. Transfixed upon your clueless gaze as his other mates ordered a regular cup of coffee. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of vulnerability under the man’s gaze, so you averted your business to somewhere else. 

Until, it was his turn to speak up. 

The gruffness of his voice and the way he carried himself seemed a bit intimidating. But to others, it looked like the man was just trying to grab a brunch. His taller frame didn’t make it any easier as well.

There was something off about the man that you couldn’t help but identify.

He had this sense of authority engulfing him in a chokehold. Was it the way he was looking at you earlier? Or was it the tone of his voice? 

In summary, you couldn’t figure him out. He looked like any man you would see on a street and pass by. A stranger in their own little bubble.

It was around 10:30 pm when the quaint cafe started cleaning up for closing time. You were busy cleaning near the register and was told by your manager to let the men know that it was time for them to leave. However, the men had booked themselves a private room to discuss amongst themselves.

You wanted to protest at first as it felt like walking into a den of wolves. But you knew better than to lose your job. So you sucked it up and softly knocked on the frosted glass.

The private room eerily quieted down and footsteps could be heard as they made their way to the door. You could see the outline of their figure before greeting you to a masked man with a skull print. 

“Who is it, Ghost?” Huh, odd name. 

“Jus’ some little birdie who’s lost.” Not taking his eyes off of you.

You opened your mouth to say something, but he quickly moved aside for another man to take his place. It was the same pair of stormy blue eyes looking back at your own.

Although, his features were a lot more hardened than last time. Something had clearly gone awry. 

“What is it?” A slight irritation is present in his tone of voice. 

“My manager is asking for your group to leave the cafe since it’s closing time.” Managing your tone to be calm and neutral.

The man nods at this and tells you to give them a minute before they can leave. You acknowledged this and went to tell your manager in advance that they were leaving in a minute. With a small huff, he told you to clock out and that your schedule should be set for next week. The drive back to your apartment was peaceful as always. The music set into the background lulled you into a sense of security and a slight melancholy. You had wondered what it would be like to travel the world and work into a more suitable environment. Maybe an office job would work. Quiet space, an organisable schedule, decent pay, and etc. 

As much as the cafe provided you a stable life, dealing with rude people and idiots everyday was the cost.

There would be a child wailing every now and then due to a neglectful parent not caring about whether or not their child would scream their head off. You had to simply do something in your life for once, being in your mid-20s and all. Back then, you would worry about projects and lecture halls during your college days. Anxiety and caffeine were your only friends and would get you through finals. But those days are over now. 

“Survive and thrive, kiddo. Trust your instincts when you need it most.” 

The words of your father resonating within your head like a mantra of bittersweet self-guidance.

Your father was absent for most of your childhood as well as your mother. You would have to take care of yourself for most of the time. Doing the cleaning, cooking, figuring out your homework on your own, and whatnot.

Whenever they did appear in your life, it would have to be when you would fall ill or take you out for shopping. Although, you noted the schism within their relationship. None really speaking to each other nor staying within one’s presence for longer. Eventually, this led up to their divorce and are now living different lives.

Neither had really tried to reach out to you when you moved out on your own. At this point, you could really care less as all parties are responsible for their own choices and made their own pathways. 

Upon reaching the front door to your apartment, you noticed an eviction letter taped onto the wooden frame. Your brows furrowed as well as a frown tugging at your lips.

You knew damn well you’ve already paid for fucking rent, and now they’re asking for more? Bullshit. Frustration roils through your head like a shaken hornet’s nest.

You sighed out to release a bit of anger before entering your safe haven. For now, the clock ticks and ticks. Its hand moving along before your eventual demise is complete. 

Tap..

Tap..

Tap..

Your eyes slowly opened to the darkness of your room, soon adjusting to its surroundings. Your gaze landed upon the clock sitting atop your bedside table. The red glow of the numbers makes itself the only light source at the moment. 

5:15 AM? What the fuck? 

The same incessant sound of what seems to be tapping quickly captures your attention once more. Your mind slightly comes back to your current situation due to the realization that there may be an intruder breaking into your humble abode. You get out of bed and grab a baseball bat as a weapon. With a silent creak, you push your door open and navigate through the darkness of your apartment.

Your muscles tense as a shuffle could be heard from your living room. Silently inching your way towards the source before stopping at the corner of the wall. You breathe in and out before jumping out to see Moonie; your cat. A gust of wind blows into the apartment making you shiver. You were sure all the windows were locked the night before. Nonetheless, you placed the window back to its respective place; bringing a bit of warmth back to the living space.

Sighing at this, you place the bat onto the plush sofa and pick up Moonie. She purrs in your arms, snuggling close to your body comfortably. You went back to your room with Moonie making sure to lock the door behind you. 

Unbeknownst to you, the pair of faded blue eyes watched your form retreat into your bedroom, his eyes flickering towards the baseball bat placed onto the plush sofa. That was too close for comfort. 

He leaned down to check if the cameras were in operation within your apartment. When all things were clear and set to go, he clicked the tablet’s screen to transition the view to your bedroom.

He relishes in the view of your form snuggled close to the comforters with Moonie sleeping at the edge of the bed. A sense of longing forms in his chest as he thinks about the lonely nights without her touch and voice. She should be his by now. And the only thing that’s stopping him is his missions as a captain for the 141. 

The sudden buzz of his phone snaps him out of his thoughts. It’s from Laswell.

“I’ve got some info for the team, Cap. Thought you might be interested in this.”

“Go on.” Stuffing the tablet back into his satchel. 

“The hacker who nixed our comms last week is affiliated with Makarov. The target has been seen sitting around a cafe near your location, Captain. Bring the target back for interrogation or do the interrogation yourselves.” 

“Any news on Shepherd and Graves?” 

“Their trial will be set 3 weeks from now. As of right now, we are all in a truce.” 

“Is that wha’ Shepherd calls it?”

“John, we both know that if Makarov succeeds in getting the East and the West to fight against each other. The world will be plunged into chaos. As much as we both don’t like teaming up with traitors, this has to be done.”

“Righ’, when will the mission take place?” 

“Tomorrow at noon.”

The call ends shortly afterwards. One can only hope the mission will go well as both sides are teetering on the edge of a war. Either way, if all hell breaks loose, there can be no future for any of them. 

As the morning fog descended upon the town’s street, you were already clocked in and ready to go for another shift at the cafe.

The weather was a bit chilly today, so there weren't many customers to deal with. Your attention turned to the freshly baked bread as you started to slice it away. You hissed a bit in pain from the heat but kept going until you’ve finished your task. Looking down at the gradual reddening of your hand, you proceed to grab a cooling rag to calm down the inflamed skin.

For the next few hours, your boss continued to order you around until it was time to clock out in the afternoon. The cafe was a bit busy, but nothing too overwhelming.

You grabbed onto your jacket tightly as you made your way into the parked area. As soon as your hand reached for the handle, a strong force pushed you back against the car door followed by an unbearable heat. Through the ringing of your ears and the smell of petrol flooding your senses, the muffled screams of people could be heard in the background while some flee away from the scene. Wincing a bit, you turned around to see the cafe engulfed in flames with its bits scattered about on the street. 

Without wasting a single beat, you forced your limbs to move and get somewhere safely. Treading through the plumes of smoke and rubble, you were suddenly pulled into an alleyway causing you to struggle against their restricting hold. You tried screaming for help whilst flailing around like a cornered animal which didn’t last for long.

A sharp pain filled your senses which caused your body to go limp in your assailant's hold.

A sack was roughly pulled over your head before you were tied up and pushed into a room of sorts. You could hear different voices of people pleading for their life, while others were whimpering out of fear and perhaps in pain. 

Your assailants forced you on your knees and left you alone with the rest of the helpless people. After the door was tightly shut and locked, a voice came blaring through the speakers. The accent filled with a dignified malice and unbridled hatred as it began to spread its speech like a molotov. Scorching and unforgiving. 

“Our cause is to put order amongst wild animals. Without chaos, there can be no order left to claim nor conquer. We train our own to become protectors and restore glory to the motherland. The West loves to pick and choose what benefits them the most. Leeching off of resources like the parasite that they are. And yet, claim that they are the strongest in the western hemisphere. A mocking insult to those who truly seize power. Soon, the motherland will expand its hold over the entire world and nothing, nothing will be left unturned.” 

East vs. West. The classic title fight of the century. 

Outside, Price and the rest of his men pooled into the area, scoping through and making sure civilians were tended to by the paramedics. In the back of Price’s mind, he had a nagging feeling of dread. He was sure (Y/N) should’ve clocked out by now and arrived home safe and sound. However, considering the situation in hand, he doubts that any civilian is safe under any circumstance. 

His earpiece crackled before Laswell's voice entered smoothly “John, how copy?” 

“We’ve got multiple civilians injured and some officers K.I.A. My men are searching the area for any traces of the hacker. Konni’s fingerprints are all over this, Kate.”

“Not unless Makarov plans to blame it on Farah’s group for the bombing.” 

“We need to find intel that can leverage us against Makarov. In the meantime, we’ll be searching the buildings in the area. I have a feeling Konni’s hiding in plain sight.” 

“Cap’” Garrick emerged from his side, “Take a loo’ at this.” 

Price’s gaze locked onto a footage of Konni units roughly shoving civilians in a store before closing the doors behind them. The footage then flashes to a different point of view showing most of them tied up with a bag over their heads. Although, one of them is strapped with a bomb vest with C4 on it. 

“This footage was found on the east side of the cafe. Approximately fifteen minutes after the explosion happened.” 

“Righ’, Ghost and Soap will take the westside while you and me will sweep the east clean. Leave no Konni alive.”

➟ The Captain's List | VVITCH SPELLS

[grimalkinmessor]

Okay but Reigen's ability to lie and change masks at will means that he can be literally anyone Mob needs him to be at any given time. And he often is.

I was thinking about this because I rewatched the break-up episode and Reigen's words had always caught me a little off guard when he said all that stupid shit to Mob, because—and yes this is the point I suppose—he's never usually that harsh with Mob. Because the rod isn't what Mob needs, and Reigen knows it, and he usually tries to be the best shishou he can be whilst still lying to his disciple about everything else :'D So I considered Reigen insulting Mob and going after his friends to be largely out of character for him!

But, I realized that the series focuses so much on Mob's inner struggle that we don't get to see a lot of Reigen's. And for Reigen, who has had Mob all to himself for close to three years, the sudden influx of people taking Mob's time and attention would've been highly alarming and disquieting to him. Because for literal years, Reigen was the village raising the child.

Before the series started, Mob and Ritsu were still distant if loving. His parents don't seem to make much of an impact on is life either. And before joining the BIC, Mob had no friends either. He just kind of,,,existed. The only person he could've considered a friend was Reigen. Reigen gives him advice and life lessons like a parent, jokes around and heckles him like a friend, and scolds him when he's being dumb like a mentor. Reigen didn't raise Mob (he does still have parents for that and Reigen has only known him three years out of fourteen) but before canon he did seem to have a great deal of control and say-so over Mob's life.

And yes, again this is bad. It's unhealthy at best. But Reigen's options in the beginning were either fire Mob and send him away so that wouldn't happen, or keep him by his side and encourage him to make friends as they went along and Mob learned more control and social skills from him. The latter might've even been Reigen's original plan once he realized he actually likes Mob as opposed to him just being a random kid. But then, of course :) Reigen gets attached :)) Too attached, even :)))

Enough so that when the time comes and Mob actually DOES start to make friends, Reigen feels deeply threatened. Fondness has blossomed out quite nicely into codependence, and now Reigen—who is also deeply, incredibly lonely—cannot imagine a life without Mob in it anymore. He doesn't like the thought of Mob drifting away. Outgrowing him. So he opens his mouth and puts his foot directly inside, trying to alienate Mob from his friends and secure his spot as top friend dog once again. (Honestly as if there was any question 🙄).

Thankfully, Mob nips that shit in the bud IMMEDIATELY. Because again, he's been with Reigen for the past three years, and other than some of the other bullshit bout spiritual powers, Reigen has been largely very wise and helpful when giving life advice. It was very likely his OWN teachings and words about being wary of being manipulated and conned that helped Mob recognize it that fast.

So Mob leaves, and Reigen...crumbles.

Damn near instantly.

He tries to convince himself that he doesn't need Mob, that he's fine without him and that he never even cared about him in the first place—but later we see that the idea of Mob leaving him for good makes him actually, physically nauseous. That moment in the alleyway, with the moths around the lamp as my witness, was a moment of death and rebirth within Reigen's psyche. Again with the moths there that might be obvious lmao. The singular moth dying there might even be a reference to the fact that only one of Reigen and Mob's relationship problems have been addressed (and somewhat?? solved?? at least in the way that Reigen has acknowledged the need for change in himself on this front).

Idk, I just think it's interesting :3 He was alone in his friendship with Mob for a very long time, and I think he panicked more than made any sort of cold calculated move to be an asshole. He and Mob are similar in that way; they both found someone who needed and understood them, Mob with his powers and Reigen with his tricks and acts, both of them using their abilities for the other's benefit. I love the break-up arc so much, it's so much fun to think about 💖

[gabrielsbubblegumbitch]

How do you think the Vees reacted to waking up in Hell for the first time and seeing their new demon appearance?

Velvette was really fine with her looks. She thought it was sick. I mean, I wish I had something more interesting to say, but look at her - she's just a pretty lady, so she obviously didn't have a lot to process about this change. Maybe after seeing other sinners, she became a little annoyed by her own averageness. She's a short and angry woman, and being one myself, I know she often thinks, "the things I would do if I was a 13ft half dinosaur, that would be over for you fuckers."

Valentino had wings, four arms, sharp teeth, antennae. That was some bad trip stuff. So, he went through a short panic attack, obviously, but when he realized everyone looked weird and he was in hell, he immediately loved it. I think that Val's new body very much aligned with his personality. He was violent and now had four arms to hit people or hold guns. His wings looked fabulous, and he could fly. He was tall, muscular, and sexy. Though he couldn't see well in light, he still had excellent dark vision, which was accurate because he was a predator hunting under the cover of night (This one is based on my personal headcanons because moths are nocturnal animals and those generally cannot see well in daylight; it's just too bright. It makes more sense to me than Val just having bad eyes. That would explain why guns are still his weapon of choice - he can be a good shooter, just only in the dark. That's why he wears sunglasses, not corrective glasses.). Not a single con, it almost felt like his form was an eternal reward.

For Vox, however, his new body was eternal punishment. When he woke up, he was terrified. He had been very handsome; he had made a living with his face. Then, he didn't even have human features. He stood out even among sinners. We saw some messed up forms, yeah, but his head is literally an object. It must have felt horribly dehumanizing. Additionally, it was extremely inconvenient in day-to-day life and fragile. This new body was everything he feared, vulnerable and freaky. Later, he came to terms with it but it took much work (I wrote about Vox's relationship with his body more here).

[backinotomehell]

f*ck it, I cast fireball

Synopsis: Dungeons and Dragons spells but they’re actually the readers curse (5e cause that’s what I’m most familiar with)

Pairings: cursed!reader x William/Harrison/Liam (seperate)

Warnings: non main character death, descriptions of death, just a bit grim tbh with descriptions, somehow still a bit fluffy

reader is gonna be known as birdie/robin, im typing this so late at night so it may be a lil incoherent (or the best I’ve ever written and will never top this)

The Queen had assigned you on your first mission with Crown. According to Victor this mission had been hand picked to truly showcase your abilities and upon entering the scene you knew this was a case the other members of crown would struggle on without you

William

Curse of Snow White - Speak with animals

Pro: the new cursed member was able to speak with animals

Con: the knowledge of the animal depended on how smart they were

Entering the eerily quiet room with Will following behind you, a small pile of bodies lay out in front of the both of you and burnt as much as possible to hide any incriminating evidence and while one of the two could handle the smell, you, the newest member could not.

“Oh my days, alright we need to investigate this… as best as possible,” it was hard for Will to watch the little robin. Despite living with a curse for years, this is the first time they face difficult roads ahead. He watches you from a safe distance, he was here to play Fairytale Keeper today under strict instruction. Although they struggle now, this job allows him the view of watching the little birds wings spread from their cage.

“ohmygodohmygodohmygod” followed by deep breaths of slight panic from said robin filled into Wills ears. A finger had come off one of the victims upon their investigation.

It may take a while for those wings to spread but the wait will be worth it.

He casually takes the finger out of the robins hands, carefully placing it back with the body, “Hmm seems like this may be a challenge to investigate the bodies, what does our robin suggest we do?”

He must admit it was quite cute to watch you think of the next steps, your brows furrowed and eyes concentrated on the ground, as if you were listening to something.

“The cockroaches!” Wills eyebrows shoot up in amusement. When Victor told him about your cursed ability it appeared it had left his mind that it meant you could speak to all animals.

“Hello! I’m so sorry to be a bother, I do have some bread here though if you someone could answer some questions for me,” it was like luring moths to a flame, when there’s 1 cockroach there no doubt there will be 100 more. Luckily you had enough bread for the job. “Alright everyone will get some food don’t worry but I need silence and one answer at a time,”

The sight for William was certainly new and entertaining as he watched such a bright and beautiful person be surrounded by what most call a disgusting pest.

“Yes I know they went very bright but I need a description of who or some clue of who started the brightness,” cockroaches weren’t the sharpest but they were definitely food driven which sent their little braincells into a high time.

“Purple stick? A white square with a pee coloured butterfly? That helps us so much you lot thank you!” And you chuck the bread over before rushing over to William who was waiting by the door, his eyes watching you in pure amusement, “Okay so our leads are a man with a purple cane and holding an envelope with a golden butterfly,”

To find any evidence like that has to be on a fresh dead body, but to have connections that can recognise such evidence? Will knew from here how beautifully you will bloom.

“Congratulations Miss Robin, welcome to Crown,”

“Thank you!” Excitement turns into disgusts as they snap around “I got you bread find your own mates!!”

Harrison

Curse of Frollo - Mental Prison

Pro: victim starts to believe they are surrounded by fire or another hazard while also taking internal damage to the body

Con: the screaming

First mission together and things were starting to go down hill. It was going great at first but as the investigation led you to an underground gambling ring things started to get a little bit trickier. Particularly with Harry’s opponent sitting across from him on the poker table. Usually this would be an easy lie out for him but tensions were building high as he realised every single person in this room was ready to jump you two.

Now with his curse it didn’t take him long to know two things.

One. Everyone was cheating (himself included)

Two. Everyone was cautious of the opponent, who happened to be running the joint as well.

His eyes locked onto yours as you sat at the bar, calmly enough watching the whole showdown of what you gracefully called “competitive math”. This was your mission. You sought and joined Crown similar to him, now time to get you guys out or do something.

Unknownst to Harrison you had a special plan, it first started with schmoozing with the bar tender. Getting information. Finding out the reason no one likes the owner was because of the abuse of power he held. Now it doesn’t excuse the heinous crimes from those he held power over, after all victims can be abusers. But because of the fragile power the owner held, he was afraid of everyone being out to get him if they banded together.

Perfect.

Next was getting close to bastard. A straight approach would be obvious so you watched casually as the game went on. The cheating from all sides made the game a little more interesting but it wasn’t what you looking fo- oh that nasty pig. There it was, his crusty hand had found its way behind a young woman’s thigh and creeping higher with each passing moment.

Catching Harrison’s eye and passing a flirty smile before slowly making your way to him ensuring to keep eye contact, as you pass by the woman, you gently make contact with the geezers hand and soon all hell cuts loose as he starts imagining himself being murdered by the very people he hurt everyday.

Harrison watched you as fear appeared onto your face and body trembling as you ran up to him, “Omg what’s happening, I don’t know what’s happening!”

Lie

“Can we get out I’m scared,”

Lie

An obvious cue to leave, and as they exit the door in a rush Harrison himself becomes a lil scared of the Crowns newest member. Although he will probably forget the sounds of the owners screaming and blood nose.

“If you’re curious, he’s experiencing all those he hurt in that room beating him to death from the visuals right to the pain, don’t worry he’ll survive what I’ve given him.” A small giggle leaves the robins lips “Probably won’t survive the real thing afterwards,”

Truth

Liam

Curse of the Mermaid - Disintergrate

Pro: anything and everything can be disintegrated into sea foam

Con: anything and everything can disintegrated into sea foam and can only work if you’re in contact with them when you make the command.

Your very first mission by yourself was starting to go wrong, the hunter became the hunted. You were supposed to lure a guy, grab info and run off so the others could deal with him. With your clean track record, none of the Crown crew wanted you to go through the sin of murder by yourself just yet. Not because they’re gentlemen but because you gotta slowly build up to that apparently. Well it’s a little gentlemanly they’re waiting to pop your murder cherry.

It’s besides the point right now though as this creep won’t take a hint that you’re not interested as you walk through the streets with him, it’s a risky call but it was time to take the alleyways to try and confuse him.

Liam was invisible as he watched the scene play out like a very bad romance. You said you weren’t interested! And he would’ve stepped in but Victor strictly told the curious kitty to let you handle it all unless it was near death. Did entering alleyways count as near death? Or is that near suicide?

Victor never did mention your curse though, maybe the alleyways were to your advantage? Can you blend in with the shadows? Ooh maybe you’re similar to Lord Elbert, but you would’ve had the opportunity ages ago to step in shadow.

His curiosity now grew stronger as he followed you and the man who was quickly gaining on you.

As you start to walk faster, heart beat starting to race and sweat starting to form on your forehead. You knew in your brain that track record would be dirtied today, much to your horror. What if he was innocent? Well he’s following you into dark alleyways so if he’s not innocent at the very least he’s a quack.

And quacks don’t deserve their blood line continued right?

A sharp pain jolts into your wrist as he’s now got you. You can hear more footsteps nearby and coming closer so it was now or never.

Spinning sharply and looking into his eyes, you focus all your energy on the next word that leaves your mouth.

“Disintegrate”

And it was like he was never there. Never existed and never followed you. He couldn’t even scream or say a word as his form turned. You take the moment to breathe and wonder how you would explain botching your job to Victor. All you have to show for tonight is some notes you jotted down and a pile of sea foam.

Liam on the other hand? Ecstatic. He cannot wait to tell Victor how cool your power is. Is it just humans you can disintegrate or more? And in act of being to excited his invisibility goes away as he runs up and excitedly hugs your now screaming form.

So much for not interfering.

___

a/n: it is now 2am oops

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Hush Hush (Valentino x Charlie)

CW: Dub/Non con, leaning hard toward noncon, Valentino is in hell for a reason, Valentino is a warning on his own, Mirror sex, belly bulge, suggested nonconsensual recording. Rated: Adult Summary: Charlie has had enough of Angel Dust coming back to the hotel broken. She was the princess of hell, surely she could make a deal Valentino would have no choice but to agree to. There was no price too high to buy her friend's freedom but when it comes time to pay the cost, is she willing to?

Requested by @crackrodent on the @voxtekinc discord server: yall know how Val has Angels soul and like thats clearly holding him back from working on himself more? What if Charlie decided enough was enough and went down to demand he free him from the contract but instead Val and Charlie made a deal? One night. No one can know. Then Angel will be free.

Charlie’s heels clicked through the long empty halls, garish pinks, purples and golds splashed across the walls all around her. Her palms were sweaty as she pulled her shoulder back and held her head up high. She reminded herself that she was not just a nobody, going to ask the overlord of the porn district for a favor. 

She was the Princess of Hell and she would do whatever she must in order to ensure he met her demands. There had to be something Valentino wanted she could give him in exchange for the voiding of Angel Dust’s contract. They could surely identify a fair exchange that would meet both their needs. 

Charlie was sure of one thing: she was done watching her friend return to the hotel broken after a night of abuse at the studio. Angel Dust had shown great promise for her redemption project, and beyond that, he had become a valued friend. She needed, no, she would see him out of the shackles that held his progress back. 

The small demon motioned to a large, closed door as he stopped next to it. “He’s expecting you.” 

She thought about knocking before deciding against it. This may not be her hotel, but he was one of her subjects. She was in charge here. Not him. 

The doors opened with a whisper, hinges well lubricated, like everything and everyone else in Valentino’s life. 

“Princesa!” The moth demon never failed to be imposing, even when putting on an air of welcome, as he was doing now. He stood with his arms- all four- outstretched and inviting and hunched slightly at the waist and up his back. It was an attempt to lower his otherwise dominating stature, even among the denizens of hell. “What brings you to my humble studio this hellish morning? I doubt you’re here about a role, but-”

“I’m not.” Charlie said firmly before faltering and adding a softer, “Thank you, though.” That she didn’t mean. 

“Then come, sit down.” Valentino was eager to see what business the wayward princess had with him. 

Charlie walked toward the couches near where Valentino stood. There was a moment of hesitation before she sat down, back straight and shoulders tense. It was better to not think about what was likely soaked into the fabric of the couch, let alone what would have happened on the couch to put those things there. 

“I wish to discuss Angel Dust’s contract.” Valentino laughed at her bold statement. The Morningstar family had a long history of keeping their fingers out of the business of the overlords, who functioned largely as their governors. “I’d like to buy him out.” 

“He isn’t for sale.” 

“Everyone has a price,” Charlie started, resisting the urge to rub her sweaty palms along her pants to dry them. “I may try to see the best in people, but I grew up here. I know everything can be bought and sold. What’s your price?” 

“You.” Valentino said after a moment, smile pulling wide to show off his golden tooth and causing his eyes to squint slightly.

“Think of something else,” Charlie said, failing to keep her voice as strong and steady as she wanted. “I’m not working for you. It should be a fair trade.” 

“Fine, fine!” One of his long purple hands waved the thought away. “You can’t fault a man for trying, can you?” Charlie was about to answer that she could when he continued speaking. “One night.” 

“I’m sorry?” Charlie leaned back, putting more space between her and the too large bug. 

“In exchange for the contract for your little friend, I get one night with you. No cameras and no one can know.” Valentino watched every move she made, pulling a long drag off the cigarette he held in one of his hands. “We must protect your darling little reputation, after all.” 

“I- I don’t know.” Charlie pulled a lip between her teeth, eyes focusing on her hands. She had a girlfriend at the hotel, someone she loved dearly. Her relationship with Vaggie was closed, monogamous and committed. She couldn’t-

“One night.” Valentino pressed, “No one knows. A deal just between you and me and after I’ve had my fun, the contract will transfer.” 

“I can’t,” Charlie whispered. 

“Angel would do it for you,” Valentino said, sitting back and narrowing his eyes. “And you call yourself his friend? No one would find out. We both tell no one. Easy.” 

“Okay.” Charlie closed her eyes, ignoring the sting of betrayal. “Okay. You have a deal. When?” 

“Tonight.” Valentino said. “Right here. Be back at nine.” 

“What is wrong with you?” Vaggie stepped out from behind one of the scraggly trees, hardly clinging to life along the road that lead from the hotel to the city. Just around the corner, a car was waiting to take her make good on the cursed deal she had made. 

“N-nothing.” Charlie stuttered, tripping over the word and her own feet as Vaggie leveled her with a look she couldn’t read. “I’m just… going out.” 

“You’re almost as bad of a lier as I am.” Vaggie’s shoulders slumped as she stepped up to her much taller girlfriend. “What’s wrong? Why are you sneaking out?” 

“I can’t tell you,” Charlie whispered, looking away. Shame was plastered on her face. 

“You can always tell me anything,” Vaggie said, reaching out to wiggle her fingers into Charlie’s palm, holding her hand softly. 

“I can’t though,” Charlie said. “He said I can’t.” 

“No one gets to tell you what you can tell me,” Vaggie whispered, eyebrows furrowed. “If you won’t’ tell me what’s going on, at least let me go with you.” 

“Vaggie,” Charlie sighed, finally meeting the eyes of the woman she loved. “It’s Valentino. I- I lied to you earlier. We made a deal that’ll get Angel free. I just have to take care of something first.” 

“Why did you say nothing came of it then?” Charlie’s heart broke as Vaggie’s grip on her hand went lax, hand falling away. “You lied to me. To everyone. Why?” 

“I- I wasn’t sure if I could follow through with it.” 

“What does he want?” Vaggie crossed her arms. To anyone else, it would have looked arrogant or cold, but Charlie knew the position well. It was one Vaggie took when she was hurting, trying to hold herself together and protect herself. 

“Me,” Charlie whispered, “for a night.” 

“You were not going to tell me?” Vaggie’s eyes grew glassy. 

“He said I couldn’t-” 

“You can always tell me everything,” Vaggie dropped her arms, hesitantly reaching out for Charlie again. “You do this and Angel is free?” 

“Yeah,” Charlie whispered. “I’m- I’m going to do it. I’m going to save him.” 

“Okay,” Vaggie whispered, taking Charlie’s hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. “Okay. If you’re sure you can do this, be safe.” 

“I will,” Charlie sniffled as the shorter woman reached up to wipe tears from her cheeks. Charlie leaned into the touch. 

“I love you,” Vaggie said simply. “I will always love you.” 

“I love you, too.” Charlie whispered, heart swelling at the soft smile on Vaggie’s face. “I should-” 

“Get going.” Vaggie finished for her. “I’ll wait up for you.” 

Charlie stood in the dim halls of Vee tower, in front of the same double doors she had entered before. Most of the lights in the tower were off or dimmed, reflecting the late hour and giving a warmth to the cold tiles of the tower. 

She didn’t want to go inside. She didn’t want to do this. The last thing she wanted was to feel Valentino’s hands on her, to experience what being with him was like. 

A familiar laugh carried down the hall, bouncing off tiles from around the corner. Angel Dust had to work tonight. 

That was why she was doing this. That was why she was here. For him. This was for him. Everything was for him. She would do whatever she had to in order to buy his freedom. 

The knob turned easily under her hand as Angel’s voice drew closer. There was no more time to back out or think about it. She had to move forward for him. 

The door whispered shut as Angel dust turned the corner in the hall and the clocks flipped from 8:59 to 9pm. 

“Welcome, Princesa.” Valentino’s voice came from close behind her, a greeting punctuated by the sound of a lock turning. “I’ve removed every camera in the room. Not even Voxy can watch us.” 

“How can I trust you?” Charlie turned, facing the tall purple man wearing a coat made of his wings. 

“A deal is a deal,” Valentino shrugged both sets of his shoulders, “The deal was no cameras and I’m holding up my end of the deal.” 

Charlie looked around, trying to remind herself to take deep breaths. The set was dark and just as Valentino had promised, there was no sign of the camera equipment. Tall mirrors lined two of the walls, warm accent lights bathing it in a soft light. The set lights sat dark, leaving the space dim. The large bed sat in a black wrought iron frame, sweeping curves of cold black metal extending up to form a headboard. 

At the foot of the bed sat a small loveseat upholstered royal purple velvet that looked so soft, even from a distance. If she didn’t look at where the warm bedroom set gave way to a cold studio, it could just have been a regular bedroom. It wasn’t, though. 

“Everything is clean,” Valentino said as he watched her examine the set. “The couch is new. Only the best for my royal guest.” 

“Okay.” Charlie squared her shoulders and took one last deep breath. It was time to get this over and done with. 

“Wait,” Valentino said as she unbuttoned her pants.

“What?” Charlie blinked up at him, hopeful that perhaps Valentino had a change of heart. 

“You’re just going to take your pants off?” Valentino asked, pouring two glasses of champagne with his upper set of hands. His lower hands were crossed above his hips. 

“I have to for us to…” 

Valentino sighed, a large and dramatic motion as he passed her the glass. “Yes, yes- that is required, but let us talk first. Come now, Chica.”

“What is there to talk about?” Charlie followed as Valentino walked deeper into the room, closer to the camera free set. 

“I’m not your typical flavor of partner,” Val started. “But when your partner isn’t to your tastes, I find some alcohol and drugs can make things more palatable. I have a selection, if you wish to partake.” 

“Oh! No, I couldn’t-” 

“It isn’t my intention for you to not enjoy our encounter,” Valentino said, walking his fingers up her arm. “Though it’s not something you’re seeking out.” 

“I- I’m sure it’s going to be fine. I’ll-” 

“If you change your mind…” Valentino brushed the blond locks from where they rested on Charlie’s shoulder. “Until then, shall we begin?”

“Yes,” Charlie nodded, attempting to step away from the man who slotted himself close behind her, only to have one of his lower arms snake around her waist, pulling her back flush against his front. 

“We’re going to do this right,” Valentino purred from above her. Charlie was used to being one of the tallest people in a room but pressed up to Valentino, the reality that he had at least a solid head on her confronted her. “I get just one night with you.” 

“One time,” Charlie said, voice shaking slightly as long purple fingers worked the buttons of her jacket free. Another hand ran over her shoulder, pushing the fabric back and down her arms. It was surreal, feeling so three hands on her at once. 

“One night,” Valentino said, tossing the empty champagne glass off to the side, not flinching when it shattered on the cold tiled floor. “so I’m going to be sure to get my fill at this rather royal feast…” 

He stepped back, having to put distance between them for him to have the space to lean down, curling his spine to allow him to kiss softly along the side of her neck. Greedy hands ran along her waist as more hands worked the buttons of her blouse open. 

His touch was soft. His kisses were tender and nothing like she had expected from the porn overlord. 

“Relax,” Valentino whispered in her ear, pointed tongue running along the shell of her ear, “I’ll make you feel good.” 

“I wasn’t planning on getting this undressed,” Charlie swallowed thickly, wanting to run from the hand that was running along her stomach, taking in the feel of naked skin. 

“That’s alright,” Valentino laughed, “I don’t mind if you didn’t dress up for the occasion. The present is just as fine, wrapped in silk or burlap.” 

“Oh,” Charlie wasn’t sure how to answer as he guided the shirt off her shoulders.

Unlike her jacket, it gathered around her forearms, held up by the tails tucked into her slacks. It acted as a makeshift restraint, limiting her range of motion as his hands took in the feel of her torso. 

“Walk forward now,” Valentino said, guiding her as a pink haze slowly seeped into the room, too light for the woman in his arms to notice. He had to tread carefully, just enough to make her pliable, to relax her, but not enough that she would notice the sticky sweet scent of his pheromones in the air. “We’ll get started,” 

“Okay,” fear was thick in her voice along with something else that she didn’t want to think about. 

One foot in front of the other, Charlie walked closer to the stage. It’s okay. She just had to keep telling herself it was alright. She wasn’t betraying Vaggie. She had to do this for Angel Dust. It had to happen, so it was okay to not fight against it. 

“Valentino?” Charlie whispered as she stepped onto the set.

“You can call me ‘Val’,” he whispered in her ear, “at least for tonight.” 

“There are no cameras, right Val?” 

Running a hand up her torso, he cupped her breast through the smooth fabric of her simple bra. No lace, no pretty designs. Just a simple white bra that was functional and comfortable. There was a beauty in such everyday choices. He would forever know the style of bra the Princess of Hell favored for her everyday wear- what a unique treat!

Her heart pounded under his fingers. She tensed in his arms for a moment before her back arched into the touch. 

“No cameras,” he promised, eyes glowing hot pink and smile wide, “I promise.” 

“Okay,” he tamed his smile as her shoulders relaxed against his chest, opening herself up to his touch ever so slightly. 

“Turn around for me,” he ordered, fingers of his lower hands guiding her hips through the spin. A pink blush was dark on her cheeks, threatening to obscure the circles that marked her cheeks so much like her father’s in the color’s depth. “You’re such a pretty woman.” 

“Thank you,” Charlie struggled with taking a compliment from the porn demon. 

“I won’t kiss you, don’t worry.” Val teased as he placed soft, open-mouthed kisses along her shoulder. “Out of respect for your girlfriend, of course, unless you want me to.” 

She nodded, not really able to form words as four hands ran over bare skin, each moving in different directions. His upper arms ran along her shoulders, down her upper back to unclasp her bra. The lower set of hands worked the button of her pants open and shimmied them down her hips along with the equally simple panties. The did not match the bra she wore, clearly a part of a different set, put on out of random selection or comfort and not with the desire to impress. 

Valentino’s coat fluttered back, wings unwrapping and shifting to their true cape like state. White fluffy hair extended up from the center of his chest, forming a fur collar that wrapped around his neck and extended midway down his upper back in a matching point. 

He stood in front of her, bare chested except for a golden chain that ran between the nipple rings fastened to each of his nipples, hanging in a slight golden arch. He took her hand in his, bringing it to his hip as his three other hands continued to caress over her waist, hips and back. 

“You can touch me,” Valentino’s laugh seemed to wrap around her as he guided her back deeper onto the set. His hand over hers guided it through sliding over the taut muscles of his abdomen. “I don’t bite… unless you want me to.” 

Charlie’s eyes ran over his form, trying to spark desire and attraction for him. It was difficult when every time she blinked, she saw Vaggie in her mind. This had to happen. She had to do it for Angel Dust. She had to do it. 

He wasn’t an unattractive man, all things considered. There were far worse forms Sinners could find themselves with upon landing in hell. It took effort to force herself to appreciate every ridge of his muscles, toned and refined, to be as pleasing to the eye as possible. 

His pants hang low on his hips, a large buckle reflecting off the dim lights. The bulge in his pants was intimidating, even to someone who had long grown desensitized to the vulgar sights and sounds of hell. 

“Where would you feel more comfortable?” Valentino asked, palm grazing over the swell of her breast. With her pants no longer supporting her shirt, it and her unclasped bra fell to the ground as he continued walking them closer to the set he promised was clean. “The bed? The couch? Perhaps the floor?” 

“Bed.” Charlie decided, looking over her shoulder at her options only to gasp as Valentino pinched her nipple softly, chest arching into the touch as shock and a spark of pleasure battled. “Why did you-” 

“Sensitive, aren’t we?” Valentino purred as he walked her toward the bed. “We have to start somewhere or we’ll never finish, right?” 

“Oh,” she hesitated, “right.” 

“Why don’t you lay back,” Valentino said as the backs of her knees bumped against the firm mattress, “and let me make you feel good?” 

“Let’s just get it done?” Charlie said, fingers working his belt buckle free. 

“I wish to savor the encounter, Princesa. There’s no reason to rush it.” As he spoke, he guided her to sit on the bed. 

He sank to his knees, though his height still made him have to slouch down. He parted her legs, though they were tense and required urging to open her core up to him. Oh, what a sight she made. Had any other lowly Sinner seen the Princess’ core or the soft blond curls that framed it?

“But I- Oh!” 

Charlie’s words were cut off the moment she felt Valentino’s long, thin tongue run up her slit. It was a strange feeling, much unlike the feeling of Vaggie when she would do similar. Valentino wasted no time working his tongue up and down her folds. 

One set of hands gripped her thighs, holding her open to him as she looked down at his bald head, feather like antenna swaying as his head moved more so than the shorter damaged one. His other hands gripped her lower back, pulling her toward the edge of the bed. 

The point of his tongue traced her clit, curling around the nub as she sucked in a breath. The air was sweet, she realized, likely from whatever the studio used to clean the fabrics. It was a nice smell; she thought as she let out a shaky breath. 

“Val,” she whispered as her back arched. 

He smiled, tasting her slick as her body gave into the stimulation. Wrapping his lips around her clit, he gave it a suck that was rewarded with another breathy gasp. She wasn’t giving into him easily, but she was giving in. It was just a matter of time before she was screaming his name. 

The nub was tense, engorged, as he ran his tongue over it one last time. The unique shape of his tongue, so long and pointed, made it easy to worm into her tight hole, now slick with arousal. She was tight, not virginally so, but tight enough that he was excited to split her open. 

He drank from her, tongue working in and out as she leaned back on her elbows. Glowing pink eyes looked up at her, enjoying the view of her small breasts shifting with every panting breath she took. Oh, she was enjoying this but doing everything she could to hide it. 

Fingers caressed her clit as his tongue searched inside her for the places that would pull the princess of hell’s muscles tight. Muscles jumped and her core twitched when he found the right place. 

Hands ran over Charlie’s body. A palm gripped her breast, fingers pinching her nipple between knuckles. It felt like his hands were everywhere, a benefit of having so many to one man. He held her thighs open, fingers wrapping easily around much of her thighs. She arched into him as his mouth returned to her clit, working over and around it with skill that came with decades of professional experience. 

A fingertip breached her opening, caressing her from the inside out in curling motions that had her gasping for air. He greedily explored her body as walls were ripped down, stripped away in the face of pure pleasure. 

It was alright to let go, a sickly sweet voice whispered in the back of her mind. It sounded like her, almost. Vaggie would want her to enjoy herself. She had to do this to save Angel. There was no reason to punish herself for it. It was alright. She could-

“I’m going to- to cum,” she whined, hips rocking against his mouth, “Val-”

Her body went stiff, each muscle pulled tight under his ministrations before everything jerked, muscles spasming. He could feel each convulsion of her body running through her thighs and up her torso. The grip of her core on his finger with each spasm had him painfully hard, straining against his pants. 

He took a hand from her, thankful to still have so many on her as he pushed her through her orgasm, to unfasten his pants. The sweet relief of the pressure had him sighing into her core as his finger slipped out. 

Charlie blinked the fog from her eyes as she watched Valentino rise above her, pants falling slowly down his hips. It surprised her that his pubic hair was more akin to the soft white fur that made up his collar. The thought was quickly washed away as his cock sprang up, no longer restrained by the pants as he worked them down his thighs. 

He was long and far thicker than any man had any business being. Worry coursed through her as she failed to take her eyes from him. The head of his cock was a deep dark purple, weeping already. The color faded down the veiny shaft toward the much lighter violet that was his general skin tone. 

“Holy shit,” Charlie whispered, slapping her hand over her mouth as soon as she realized the words had left her. 

“Thank you,” Valentino smiled widely, taking her shock as a compliment. 

“It’s not going to fit.” The bed creaked as she scooted back. 

Valentino had no issue making up the distance, easily covering her with his body. He caged her in with his upper arms and grabbed her waist, holding her in place. Weak legs gave little resistance as his knees pushed them apart. 

“Valentino, it’s too big.” Her voice was panicked as the wide head of his cock nestled against her entrance. “I can’t. There’s no way. It won’t fit.” 

“It will,” Valentino said, grinning down at her as he rubbed the head of his cock around her folds, collecting slick. “I’ll make it fit.” 

Charlie gasped, hands reaching for the arms Valentino was using to support his upper body. It burned as his cock breached her opening, stretching it far wider than it was used to. He hadn’t done her the kindness of really prepping her for the stretch, though she knew he was aware of his size from the grin on his face alone. 

Nails dug into his arms. By the very nature of what and who she was, she had little issues breaking his skin with her grip. That didn’t bother Valentino as he pushed deeper inside her. The hands gripping her waist prevented her from squirming away from him, though that didn’t stop her from trying. 

A rich whine escaped his throat as she twitched around him, muscles gripping and rippling over his cock as he pushed past all attempts to keep him out. Her back arched as he filled her, nipples catching on the chain that hung from his. Stilling for a moment, he admired the way it draped over the bud of her nipple.That moment didn’t last long. Before she had a chance to adjust to his considerable girth, Valentino was pushing in again.

“I can’t,” Charlie whimpered, hips squirming as she tried to fight away from the burning stretch. He spread her so wide around him that she could feel the drag of his cock, pushing by the numb of her clit. Never had she thought she could spread so widely. 

“You are,” Valentino praised, “You’re taking my cock so good. Like a dream.” 

“It burns,” she whined, tears gathering in her wide eyes. 

“It’ll feel good,” he promised, nearly choking at the way she gripped his cock. It was nearly painful in the best kind of way. 

He held her in place, inching in slowly until he bottomed out. She was gasping for air, thighs spread open wide as she instinctually tried to open herself for him. There was nothing she could have done to prevent the burning pain. 

There was no loving pause to let her get used to him. As soon as adjusted his knees, he was pulling back and slamming into her, setting a harsh pace that knocked the air from her lungs. She gripped his arms, instinct telling her to hold on to him, hold on to anything to ground herself. 

His hands planted on her narrow waist kept her body anchored to the bed as his thick cock pulled against the walls struggling to accommodate him. Breathy moans mixed with her begging pleas for mercy as each push of his cock inside her ran its length over the nub of her clit. 

“V- val-,” she panted his name, hips tilting as she chased the clitoral stimulation. The burning pain hadn’t been replaced with pleasure like books always promised it would. Instead, it mixed with the pleasure, tainting it and making it something different, something more. 

“You’re so close,” Val said, climbing off of her. Her hips chased him, not willing to give up the feeling of painful fullness or the stretch that came with it until her body had no choice. 

The void inside her had never felt greater. The denied orgasm had tears in her eyes as her hands fell onto her body, shamelessly caressing her skin as she sought any sort of sensation. 

Valentino held her thighs apart, taking a moment to enjoy the simple sight of her hole, spread so wide by him that his absence left it gaping. Creamy slick spread on her skin, leaking from her as she fluttered around nothing. That same slick was cooking on his cock, a delectable contrast to the burning heat he had found inside her. 

“Please,” Charlie whimpered, a single tear of frustration slipping down the side of her face. 

“Don’t worry, chica.” Val caressed her leg. “On your knees, and I’ll give you what you need. Then we’ll be all done and you can go home to Vaggie.” 

“Vaggie,” Charlie gasped, coming into herself a bit more at the name. She hadn’t expected to have been so carried away by the feeling of his cock inside her. “We’re almost done?” 

“Yes, we’ll be done,” Valentino cooed in her ear as he helped her onto her knees. 

He laughed as she positioned herself, facing away from the mirrors. That was alright, for now at least. Valentino climbed onto the bed behind her, hands caressing her back and waist. A hand reached around, palming her breast. 

“Yes,” Valentino promised, pulling some of the light fog from around the bed, giving her room to breathe. He wanted her head clear when he made her cum. 

She was nearly as tight as the first time as he sank into her again. This time he did not spare her any kindness, plunging into her with a quick thrust of his hips. He held her around the waist, fingers digging into skin as she cried out. 

Once he was sheathed within her, he adjusted their position on the bed. Lifting her by the hips, he gave her no choice as he walked her up the bed, toward where the headboard was backed to the mirrors. 

His eyes glowed a hot pink as his cock twitched inside her tight fluttering cunt. Even just the jostling of him inside her as he positioned them had her moaning softly. It wouldn’t take long at all to have her cuming, not with the way she spread tightly around him. 

He fucked into her harshly, thankful for the blessing of having so many hands. He reached around her, pressing against her lower abdomen. He could feel his cock inside her with each thrust forward. He folded over her, two hands gripping her breasts as his pace became punishing. 

Breasts bounced in his hands, nipples pulling against where his knuckles trapped them with each thrust. Sweet moans fell from her lips as her arms failed to support her. She gripped him like a vice. There had been a point when her body struggled to make room for him, it now struggled to let him pull away. 

Wet squelching filled the room as her slick ran down her thighs. It coated his thighs, long strings of it hanging from his heavy balls. They slapped against her cunt, making up for what little clitoral stimulation she had lost with the change of position. 

“You’re so close, I can feel it.” Valentino said as she clinched around him, gasps falling from her lips. 

“Vah, vah, vah-” tears ran down her face as he shifted his hands. His lower hand remained planted on her stomach, pushing into her. The hand that had been gripping her hip shifted up, replacing one of the upper hands on her breast. The newly freed upper hand wrapped around her hair, pulling her head up from where it had hung limp. 

“Val,” she cried out as he pulled her up, forcing her to look into the mirror. 

“Your girlfriend is so lucky,” Valentino said as he fucked into her, “to get to watch you cum as often as she wants.” 

“So close,” Charlie cried, as he pressed into her abdomen harder. The sweet pain of being split in half by his thick cock and the stinging pain of his fist in her hair had her crying out as her eyes screwed shut. “V-val!” 

“Open them,” He leaned forward, voice dripping into her ear. “Open your eyes and watch.” 

Charlie cried out, eyes opening wide as she locked eyes with her reflection in the mirror. Just as Valentino ordered, she watched as he fucked her. She watched as her breast bounced in his hand. She could see her stomach bulge forward under his hand with every thrust.

“I’m going to- Val! Val!” She didn’t know if she was begging for him to give her more, to go at her harder or to give her a break from the punishing pace.

“Right on the edge?” Val asked, and she nodded, throat tight as he twitched inside her, somehow finding room to do so in her stretched canal. 

“I want you to listen to me as you cum on my cock,” Valentino said, watching her reflection, “Can you do that for me?” 

“I- Ah, I- I, Ah, Ah!” Charlie struggled to get any words out, struggled to think around the feeling of his too large cock running through her. She was so close, so painfully close to cuming apart.

“You can do that for me, can’t you Princess?” Val cooed in her ear, “or I won’t let you come. We can do this all night. I can go all night and you don’t want that, do you?” 

“No,” Charlie’s eyes widened, not sure if she was trembling at the prospect of not getting to cum soon or going longer. “Please, Please Val, Val I want to- Val.” 

“You’ll listen then?” Valentino smiled wider, fucking into her faster somehow. “Because your lovely little girlfriend is waiting for you at home, isn’t see?” 

“Yes,” Charlie cried out as he pulled her hips higher, adjusting the angle to ensure her clit felt ever drag of his cock. “Yes. Yes. Yes! I’ll listen, Val, please. I’ll, I’m going to-” 

“Good girl, Val said, groaning as he felt her squeeze him tighter, cunt convulsing around him as he pushed her over the edge. 

He pulled her head higher, forcing her to make eye contact with him in the mirror as she cried out his name. He fucked her through the waves of her orgasm. Each drag of his cock through her convulsing walls pulled him closer to his finish. 

“I know,” He hissed in her ear, grunting as his cock twitched deep inside her. With a moan, his orgasm came over him, moving quicker as he spilled hot ropes of cum into her. 

“I know,” he repeated, pulling her hair as he fucked his cum inside her, “Ah! Fuck,” He moaned deeply before regaining the ability to think through the aftershocks of his orgasm. She twitched, overstimulation keeping her on the edge of another orgasm. 

“What?” She breathed, wanting nothing more than for him to stop and yet wanting nothing more than for him to keep moving. “Too much.” 

“I know,” Val fucked his cum into her even as it bubbled out around her hole. 

There simply wasn’t enough room inside her for his load and his cock as he continued to thrust. Thick globs of cum ran down her legs as he pulled her to stand on her knees. She could feel every flex of his muscles as he thrust into her. THe force of the trusts caused her breasts to bounce. 

“I felt it,” He said as tears ran down her cheeks. “When you told. You couldn’t help it, could you? It was your little girlfriend you told, wasn’t it?” 

“What?” Charlie gasped, fog of her orgasm beginning to clear. “What are you- Ah!” Her thought was interrupted as he reached around, slapping per pubic mound with a hand, fingers crashing against her overly sensitive clit. 

“You couldn’t keep your mouth shut, could you?” Val sneered, letting his cock pull from her abused hole, smearing her slick and his cum against her back. “I felt it, the moment you voided the deal.”

“Voided?” Charlie jerked out of his arms, trembling legs struggling to hold her up. She crossed her arms over her chest, backing as far away from Val as she could. “What do you mean, ‘voided’?” 

Valentino stood from the bed, watching her as she curled her legs up, hiding as much of her body as she could from his eyes. It was pointless;, he had seen it all, felt it all.

“You told someone,” Valentino said, shrugging his shoulders. “The deal voided.” 

“You knew that and didn’t- You didn’t tell me?” Charlie wanted to scream, throw something, rage. She wanted to do anything but face the reality of what had happened. 

“You’ve got an hour to clean up.” Valentino wrapped his wings around his body in a coat, not bothering to put his pants on. “Angel Dust will need this studio in a few hours for a shoot. The crew will be in shortly to set up the cameras again, well- Most of them at least- so you may want to hurry,” 

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[kyomon0]

did cr with a ‘moth’ who went to hang out with their friend, now they look like this in the friend cons LOL

I want make some new friends, not just acquaintances, but it’s so hard because i can never keep a conversation going, but i reaaaally wanna hang out with someone,,,,

pls anyone be my friend 🙏, I just want interaction 😔