#I'm too busy. crying to use punctuation

[dog-girlowo]

CW: SUICIDE/DEPRESSION GENDER DYSPHORIA. I am so overwhelmed being an autistic person and working is hard enough but since coming out to my friends I have yet to lose anyone but people started treating me differently do people really have to stare I fucking hate this place I have teeth rotting out I can't get pulled because I can't afford it I can't afford to move to a nice apartment with my wife I'm having the first real "episode" of gender dysphoria I have had a few experiences that made me feel it but they were over in a few minutes I can't calm down I can't stop crying I wish I was normal I wish this country wasn't so shitty ...... It's been a long time since I have been depressed the last time I tried to kill myself and that didn't work I got over it that was maybe 2017-2018 this won't stop and I'm scare frustrated and angry i know my ability to mask it not as good as it used to be I'm the only one holding us up financially I'm afraid of breaking I know I'm not far I don't have much else to scream about but this song always makes me feel a little better

[muntitled]

Work In Progress

Pairing: Gwi-nam x fem!reader

Summary: Gwinam learns you never know how much you love something until lose it…

Warnings: God Complex!Gwinam, Dark!fic, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, Shy!reader, Bullying, Unrequited Love, Toxic Relationship, Jealousy, Madonna whore complex, Narcissism, Weaponizing!Cheongsan (sorry boo), Public sex, Unprotected Sex, Oral Sex, Underage Sex (technically), Masturbation Fem!rec, Dom/Sub, God Kink?, DUB/CON, humming, Spitting, Extreme Degradation, Mentions of Rape, Dacryphillia, Humping,Choking, Gagging, Subspace, Slapping, Sadism, Masochism, Breeding Kink,

A/n: You might recognize this fic if you've read my other stuff but it's because I rewrote it for another character cus no one was really checking for Gwinam like that. Kdrama fics are quite niche.

I'm not responsible for the media you consume

You have made peace with the incomparable fact, long ago, that if God existed then he was far too busy to attend to you. There is just too much going on all at once: Smartphones are threatening devolution. The planet is on the edge of a burning match. There are bigger things than this.

Still, swirling in the depths of your stomach is the incriminating need to cry, and pray, and perhaps maybe even touch yourself, too.

Your moral compass is a work in progress.

It had a knack for getting nefariously cloudy, especially when he entered the mix…

Gwinam's eyes are blown into saucers as he looks down at you. He is utterly restless, not knowing what to do with himself, when you took so much of him, so well. His satisfaction has you fighting the urge to hum and moan around the head of his cock.

Despite all this, you are clearly aware of the fact that you should not be enjoying this at all. Not one bit.

For starters, your knees are cutting into gravel, your shirt is unbuttoned because Gwinam was like a moth to a fucking flame when it came to your ample breasts and his hand was locked tightly in your kinky curls, forcing his cock even further down his throat.

You clench your toes, trying not to gag.

"Fuck, you're taking me so well," Gwinam got exceedingly verbal during most of your secret trysts. With his slurred speech, the boy could murmur every curse, praise and degradation under the sun.

"Such a good fucking slut," but the invisible word always hung heavy between you two. A word you always wanted to hear him say…

Mine. Mine. Mine.

He had always, and would always fail to claim you, in any capacity, even under the spell of sexual intoxication.

"What they don't understand… Is that I'm actually a really nice guy." Gwinam begins that weird quirk where he speaks to himself while he uses your body for his own pleasure. You were made to question whether you were his therapist or his whore. You love it though.

Every habit or quirk of his was indiscriminately locked away in a safe and buried in the depths of your consciousness.

"I'm really-" You slide your tongue along his shaft, ripping a hoarse groan from his chest and momentarily stumping his verbal momentum.

"What no one seems to understand, is that… I'm a… fair fucking guy, too." Feeling himself get too close, Gwinam eases his cock fully out of your mouth, languidly stroking himself but still assuming a firm grip on your hair. He is operating on that very specific plain of narcissism that

was special to Gwinam. He is aware of your presence, physically, but his words are spoken into the open air, like you are an inanimate object. A glorified fleshlight.

"And that fucking Jinsu," He punctuates his sentence with an incredulous laugh- it blossoms across his usually stoic visage, raising his buttercup cheekbones towards his smiling eyes. All you can do is sit back on your haunches, lift the sleeve of your fitted school jersey to wipe away the excess saliva. You remain kneeled in front of him, knowing he has yet to finish.

As he talks, a slow feeling of admiration seeps into the pit of your stomach which is utterly pathetic, given that your feelings will not ever be reciprocated.

"They wanna make me seem like a murderer-" he exclaims, "Me?! It's not my fault he tried to kill himself,” He laughs incredulously. His smile is utterly dazzling in the unambiguous morning glow, with his rugged hair messy just how you like it. You recognize his black undershirt as the same shirt he might've worn yesterday, and the day before that, and perhaps even the day before that. His school shirt was wrinkled and unkempt and his shoes had seen far better days - even better years.

Brewing inside you is the need to take care of him. You knew the rest of the student body viewed Gwinam as an earth-dwelling parasite. Something that is only capable of thinking within the capacity of its own survival. Something that takes, and takes, and takes. But how could he know anything different? You suspected that his home life was built on the foundation of survival, on needing to be the loudest, and proudest, and baddest of them all.

"What the fuck are you doing?" The sharpness of his words slice through your thoughts, bringing you back to the lot behind the science block. The sound of students trickling in for their morning classes filled your ears but Gwinam's gaze was placed firmly on something below his exposed cock. Throughout this mindless tirade, your hand had taken to rubbing soft, comforting circles against his leg, quite literally on its own accord. Gwinam is bent over, head tilted as he watches you questioningly. You rip your hand away, embarrassed by the weird show of affection. Seconds stretch to a minute, and your stomach sinks as time passes.

Gwinam, eventually dismisses you, as he always does. He shakes his head and resumes his stroking. "Whatever," He says, tilting your own head back and lining your mouth with the head of his cock once more. His visage darkens into a cruel sadistic grin. "Tell me you want me to come in your mouth."

Almost insitinvely, you did as he ordered, and like clockwork, he groaned and cursed and emptied himself inside your mouth. You swallowed his cum, wondering if he knew how deeply and truly your admiration actually was. There is a moment, perhaps imagined, after he's finished, when the aftershocks are still running rampant through his body, in which his fingers gripping your hair, rub along the side of your soft, supple cheek. It stays there for longer than necessary, leaving bits and pieces of your composure scattered in its wake.

Gwinam straightens his posture, stuffing his flaccid cock back into his pants before making himself as presentable as the student body knows him to be (which admittedly is not a lot).

Before he turns to walk away, he leaves you stranded on a glacier with his ice cold words cutting deep into your beating heart.

"Tell anyone about this-"

"And I'm dead," You interject, "I know."

And with that, you pull your ruffled collar over your lint-free school jersey and check your reflection on your phone to assess the damage Gwinam and his iron grip might have left. You needn't wait for an extension on the conversation because your job here was done, (pun so malevolently intended). As far as Gwinam is concerned, you are an easy conduit to release his frustrations because your unpopularity makes you so incredibly inconspicuous. You blend into any given crowd at any given moment, your name seldom reaching the heights of ridicule among his group because you are so forgettable… There had been no reason to point out your flaws, not because you did not have any, but because you were simply invisible.

It is particularly strange to have any social interaction beyond the bounds of forced proximity through group projects and class discussions… so Cheongsan gifting you even a sliver of attention had been violently unorthodox. So unorthodox in fact, you failed to look up from the weathered pages of your novel when his gentle voice wafted in your direction. It was second period, English, your teacher was running late and while the class descended into mayhem you decided to read.

"I don't know if you're aware of this but…" Cheongsan leans over your desk, a deep shadow over the pages alerting you to his presence, "They both die at the end."

It was incredibly rare that Cheongsan, who sat at the desk directly in front of you, ever felt the need to strike up conversation that was not purely academic. So naturally, you peer up at him with shocked, questioning eyes.

"Sorry?"

"Y-Your book," He stutters, suddenly overcome by a wave of embarrassment even though there was nothing at all to be embarrassed about… he turns his chair slightly in your direction, his eyes darting to the door and the empty teacher's seat before meeting yours once more.

"'They Both Die At The End. The title of the book you're reading."

"Oh…" You affirm, rocking your head back and forth, "You were making a joke?"

"Nah," Cheongsan waves a large hand in dismissal, "The only thing I made was a fool of myself." You're not sure when it happens but you feel the lower half of your face melting into what you suspect is a smile. You can feel your shoulders relaxing and your novel lowering imperceptibly, to see more of him.

"Work on your delivery next time and maybe we'll be getting somewhere."

"You know- I swear I had a pair of balls before the start of this conversation," He purses his lips and clasps his hands on his lap in a dramatic display, "Now I'm not quite sure where they went."

Gwinam's feet pass over the threshold as soon as the sound of your laughter rushes past him. It is almost charming in its familiarity but incredibly curious in its rarity. He can't recall ever seeing you with your head thrown back while the instinctive sound of amusement races through your throat. He does not know he's staring until someone in his friend group shoves past him, to get to their own seats.

His eyes remain on you as he makes his way to his desk, hoping, perhaps, that you would turn your head infinitesimally, in acknowledgement of his presence in the row of desks to your right. You do nothing of the sort and it not only fills him with a weird sort of dissatisfaction but it bubbles into full blown vexation when he realises who is capturing your attention so viscerally.

Gwinam has never prided himself on his patience or tolerance. Overthinking being something he lived without. Most of his actions were spurred from things he felt in the now, and he was really fucking uncomfortable with what was happening now.

Perhaps if he…

"You didn't let me know we were having a picnic," The sound of a chair scraping against the tiles had both you and Cheongsan rallying into silence. Gwinam appears at your side, pushing the chair against yours so he, too, sits facing Cheongsan. Cheongsan who suddenly appears incredibly uneasy. Gone is the comfortable atmosphere cooked by easy and amicable conversation. Gwinam injecting himself into your little bubble created a suddenly charged and suffocating atmosphere. You cannot keep your hardened eyes off Cheongsan as Gwinam lowers himself to his chair, legs spread as he slouches down, like he always does.

"Don't stop now," He exclaims, completely oblivious to the fact that your Science teacher might walk in at any minute. "What were we talking about?" Your heart wrestles in your chest as you see him turn to address you in your periphery. His slouching puts him a level lower than you but it does nothing to lessen his intimidation. "Maybe I should ask, Cheongsan? What were you guys talking about?" There is not a trace of friendliness present in Gwinam's tone, in fact it's the very opposite. Your nerves, swelling with anxiety, only escalates into full on panic when you feel him place a large hand on your skirt under the table.

Cheongsan's voice is low and his eyes are trained on the floor, "Books-" Gwinam cuts him off with fervour.

"Books! How interesting!" The hyperbolic wonder in his tone is utterly rude and unbecoming, but still you refuse to look at him. "And tell me, Cheongsan… how many books have you read so far?"

It is then that Gwinam's once stationary hand begins the faintest trace of movement. He begins slow and tame, his callouses barely registering on the soft fabric of your chequered school skirt until his fingers prod the lining of your skirt…

your breath hitches in your throat.

Never had Gwinam ever felt the desire to touch you. Not in the way he made you touch him. It was made explicitly clear that only he would benefit from your secret rendezvous' and so you were left to deal with your aching cunt alone, with the image of the face he made when he came, still burned into your mind. It had never been about you.

"A couple," Says Cheongsan, fighting to show this bully that he was affected by his intimidation. If only he knew that with every advance Gwinam's palm made, you simply were not there.

"A couple books?" Asks Gwinam for clarity. He remains lax and languid on the inside, but the nature of his wandering hand underneath the desk tells a new story. He finally slips under your skirt. His palm connects with the softness of your thighs and he seems utterly pleased by it

His hand is immediately restless to explore how far you would let him go. Which isn't very far.

Not at all.

If he thought he could suddenly touch you after myriad occasions of using you like a discarded toy… he had another thing coming.

The tips of Gwinam's fingers make gradually increasing strokes along your thigh until his fingers prod the stretch marks on your inner thigh. It is there when you stop him, clenching your legs together, blocking his hand from any further movement.

Gwinam's voice is strained as he says, "And you like reading, Cheongsan?"

Sensing something brewing between the two of you - your withdrawn, hazy gaze, staring directly through him and Gwinam's overabundance in questions, has Cheongsan reeling backwards.

"I asked you a question, Cheongsan."

"I like reading."

"Good! That's really good!" Quite suddenly, Gwinam tilts the ends of his half-moon nails into your thigh, forcing them to weaken and unclamp. Before you're even able to think, his palm is cupping your cunt through your panties- forcing an indecent yelp from your throat which you quickly (and very badly) disguise as a cough.

Gwinam is utterly pleased while he continues mindlessly stroking your cunt. Not for the purpose of any glorious stimulation it seems. His hand is just there to show you (and perhaps maybe himself) that he has access to the most private part of you. That thought alone has an unforeseen and sudden wave of lust coursing through his veins and surging straight to his hardened cock. He thinks of all the things he could have done to you but failed to do. He thinks about how, up until this point, he had ever been satisfied with using your mouth alone, not when he was denying himself the softness of your pussy all along. He felt angry with himself, for being so fucking stupid, he is angry at Cheongsan for seeing whatever it is he saw in you, way before he did and, possibly most harrowing of all is the fact that he is angry with you. And he can't help but be angry at you. How easily you whore yourself out to any and every man. If this thing with Cheongsan had gone far enough, would you venture as far as to suck his cock in deserted sectors of the schoolyard? Had you even fucked Cheongsan before?

You bite down on your lower lip as your head bows to your book once more. The words blend into one another, and all you can feel is a rise in temperature and Gwinam's suddenly restless fingers, pressing rudely against your clit - or the sole purpose of ripping an orgasm out of you right then and there, at the very back of an unsupervised classroom, with Cheongsan still very much a part of the conversation.

"You've got so many books to read in your lifetime," Says Gwinam. He sits up slowly, likely spurred on by the dampness seeping through your panties.

"Don't cut your life short by trying to entertain other people's girlfriends, okay?"

Your skin feels like you are bathing in magma and you hope Cheongsan could not see the slight tremor on your hand as you gripped the sides of your book with more force than necessary. His words, however - they have you shifting forward and widening your legs minutely. You crave for nothing more than to roll your hips in tandem with the circles he's pressing against your clit.

"Understood?"

Your orgasm is dangerously close, with the promise of sheer, disgusting shame and embarrassment if he continues. You feel Cheongsan give you one final look, perhaps pleading for an interjection of denial at some point but you've taken to bouncing your knee under the table, hoping the vibrations might create enough friction to aide Gwinam's hands. He is keeping you trapped in a space of wanting. So much so, that this almost feels like a punishment.

Once Cheongsan is turned back around and facing the front of the class, Gwinam lowers his lips to your ears. You're so completely stimulated, even the warmth of his breath as you fight the urge to hump into his hand like a naughty little thing until you make a mess all over his hand.

"You're such a fucking slut, you know that?" Your book drops to your desk - muffled by the sounds of the classroom cacophony.

"Fuck," You whisper to yourself, blinking your eyes shut, fighting to ward off the need but to no avail. His fingers are long and limber, and they have you nearly cumming right there, in front of your entire fucking class. Had it not been for Mr Lee's haphazard arrival into the class, and the swift removal of Gwinam's fingers from between your legs… you might truly have become the slut he so often labeled you as.

Instead of moving to his designated seat, Gwinam lifts the same hand that has previously been in between your legs, right into the air.

"What?" Asks Mr Lee, his voice as lacklustre as his appearance.

"Can we go? We were excused by the Principal to assist Mrs-"

"Fine, fine," Says Mr Lee with a wave of dismissal before turning his attention to the rest of the class. "The rest of you, open your textbooks to page 56."

Gwinam's hand is clamped around your forearm, already leading you swiftly out the door in a long and wide stride. Had it been any other teacher at all, they might have recognized this for what it so clearly was.

"Here," you have barely made it fully into the girl's bathroom before Gwinam is stuffing his fingers down your throat, making you gag and yelp at the sudden intrusion. "Tell me how good you taste." He doesn't even bother to make sure you're truly left alone in the bathroom before pushing your front against the bathroom counter.

"Answer me when I'm talking to you," He forces his fingers deeper down your throat, causing you to cough and gag around them. You're supposed to be afraid because you've never seen him like this. Gwinam is always a ball of energy between trysts, but it's usually an energy he can somewhat contain.

You don't know what to do with him, not when he's watching you choke on his fingers through the mirror, while his other hand fondles at your breasts and rips your bra down until your nipples are poking through your school shirt.

The figure in the mirror distorts as your eyes begin to water. Thick beads of water grow pregnant at the ends of your eyes before rolling down the side of your face.

"My girl," Gwinam presses his face into your hair, breathing you in, pressing his front against your back. His hard cock in unmistakable through his pants, "My messy little girl,"

You finally moan candidly around his fingers, your fingers gripping the countertops while your hips buck into nothingness. Your eyes plead with him in the mirror, hoping they relay how utterly useless with lust you have become. It would not take hard work to cum, you're sure one more flick against your material-clad nipples might send you over the edge.

"Fuck, why didn't I think of this sooner," This is all new, even for the two of you.

"Spread your legs." He commands, even though his feet are already kicking them apart. "Come here," you break eye contact in the mirror to face the boy behind you.

Gwinam removes his fingers sitting in your mouth, leaving a trail of unbreakable saliva in its wake before replacing it with a long and messy kiss- one that has his tongue forcing itself inside.

Gwinam weaponizes your distraction to slide your panties to the side with one hand and rub your clit with his other, spit-coated hand.

You break away from the kiss, neck craning back and mouth hanging open while your eyebrows dissolve into crescents. You cannot look away from him, as you hump his hand.

"You wanna cum?" You nod enthusiastically. "And what if I told you, you can't cum until I've cum? Hm? What then?" His words have you mewling from the sheer pleasure they bring and your orgasm threatens to snap once more.

"Fuck," He hisses, feeling unable to remove his hand from your wet cunt but needing to, in order to undo his belt and pull his aching cock out. "Don't you dare fucking touch yourself," He says in a deadly quiet voice before bringing his hand up to your mouth. "Spit." You don't ever think of disobeying him, not when you're swimming so deeply in your subspace, not when he's the one to bring you here.

Gwinam collects every bit of saliva you offer him before coating his cock in the stuff.

Deciding not to waste anymore time, Gwinam does what his body is screaming for him to do: he bends you over the bathroom counter and pushes cock right through your slippery folds. It's tense and painful and your voice is hoarse from doing all that screaming but the sudden contact strokes a deeply sated part inside yourself. His curved and pretty cock ram your insides with reckless abandon, all while he delivers harsh and sharp slaps against your cheek. Gwinam keeps a firm grip on your throat. His mouth is inches away from you while his hips rut into yours. His words are being delivered through clenched teeth.

"You think you're so fucking cute, huh? You think you can walk around fucking any guy who even looks at you, huh!?" It doesn't even register that Gwinam wrongfully suspects that there had been something between Cheongsan and you, but you keep your mouth shut. For all his indifference in the past, this is how you would make him pay.

"Oh~ Fuck." His cock bruises your cervix, leaving Gwinam balls deep and feral inside you. "Fucking Cheongsan?! You wanna give what's mine, to fucking Cheongsan?!" It's utterly depraved and animalistic and it has your orgasm cresting. "What would Cheongsan think? If he saw me raping you in the bathroom like this? What would he think? Would he still want your slutty pussy knowing I've been inside it? Knowing that I've cum inside you and completely ruined you for anyone else,"

"You…" The tears threaten to spill, "it's only ever been you, Gwinam- oh my God! I'm so fucking close!" You fight down tears as the lava begins to bubble at the pit of your stomach.

"S-Say it again. Tell me you want me!" He exclaims, "Tell me you fucking need me."

"I fucking need you, Oh my God" You push your hips back to meet his thrusts.

His voice wavers after your confession. His strokes becoming sloppy, "F-Fuck! I am your God, baby. You need me so fucking badly…" He nods to himself while his heavy cock finds purchase in a specific clump of sensitive tissue inside your cunt. It has you clamping your own mouth shut, your elbows falling to the counter with your ass sticks out towards him, only allowing him better excess.

"I need you," You agree, swallowing a ball of saliva as you nod towards him through the mirror, "I need your cum inside me."

"Yeah-," Gwinam says, "M'gonna fucking breed your pussy right here, in the school bathrooms- fuck!" His grip on your throat grows tighter until you're wholeheartedly cut off from your air supply. You hump his cock until you feel it twitch inside you.

"Fuck! You're fucking making me cum you stupid slut!" You feel his hot cum spurting inside your walls, triggering your own orgasm that has you gripping his cock like a vice. "Oh fuck- you're fucking milking my cock, baby. Fucking take it." His hips stutter against yours until you've completely drained him of his cum. A sharp tremor settles over your bones and you gasp in vague increments, waiting for the overwhelming state of euphoria to subside… but it never does.

The weight of what you had done comes crashing back down but you are unable to feel anything besides an immense wave of satisfaction at having your deepest need satiated.

"I think I nearly killed Cheongsan today." His voice is a hoarse echo within the school bathrooms.

"There is no Cheongsan," You say, watching him through the mirror, "In my whole world, there is only ever you."

And a part of him believes you but he refuses to affirm something as emotionally stifling as that. Instead, Gwinam's eyes flutter shut as his nose finds your hair once more. His cock is still buried inside you, and you hiss as he moves his hips slowly, almost insitinvely. He loves being so wholly enveloped by you. He loves feeling you everywhere.

[yankpop]

Hard Love (Haegeum! Suga Drabble)

Summary: Gang leader Yoongi is someone you wish you've never met before.

DISCLAIMER: This is a FICTION work only made for entertainment purposes that includes yandere/dark. I do not support or encourage any type of abusive behaviour. 

Check more: Masterlist.

Female reader

WARNINGS: NON-CON.

AN: Let me know what you think of this, I'm kinda scared for the feedback I'll receive, this is a bit heavy.

--

“Shh, don’t cry, pretty girl.”

He murmurs, lips pressed against your cheek, even as you try to pull away from him.

His tongue licks away some of your tears, a low hum coming from him. Your stomach churns with disgust upon hearing him, the need to get away from him almost overwhelming you. 

“Even your tears taste delicious.”

It only makes you whimper, fat tears sliding down your face and onto your neck. His thrusts are harsh, fucking you deep and fast, hips pistoning upwards with a speed that you doesn’t make you feel any pleasure.

You’re just there to be used by him. Like a rag doll. Used at his will. Not even your hysterical screams and cries make him stop. He simply manhandled you into whatever he wanted. 

He’s a monster. 

“Fuck, you feel so good. Fitting me like a glove.” he hisses, punctuating his opinion as he jackhammers into you, hips slamming against yours with force.

A whimper escapes your lips and you weakly try to push your palms against his chest, hoping to create some distance between you but your pathetic attempt quickly comes to an end as he grabs your wrists with one hand, twisting them behind your back as if it’s nothing. 

“Please…” you sob, lips trembling as you beg. He doesn’t stop, maintaining his brutal pace. 

His lips curl into a sleazy smile, one that makes you lose any hope. His hair falls to his face, strands attaching themselves to the sweaty skin, giving him a deranged look. 

“Can’t stop now, princess. Gotta fuck you nice and good, make sure they get the message, right?” 

You widen your eyes at that, the painful reminder that your family is in the room next to yours, forced to listen to this. His armed gang members surrounding your parents and siblings, making sure they know the consequences of disrespecting him.

All of this because your dad - a good and respectful cop - had led a raid to one of his warehouses, leading to the seizure of a large sum of money and drugs. 

Big mistake. 

His free hand finds your face, fingers digging into your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. The scar is prominent, looking frightening up close and you look away to his good eye. 

“Your daddy needs to learn that he needs to stay the fuck away from my business. Too bad you’re the one paying for his mistakes.” he smiles at you, drinking in your features.

“But you’re such an angel, aren’t you? Taking my cock like a pro.”

His complement makes you choke on your spit. 

Yoongi keeps fucking you, the bed loudly squeaking and you shut your eyes, imaging how scared your family must be. Your pussy feels sore from the assault and it only worsens as he speeds up, frantically thrusting as a string of curses falls out of his mouth.

His body tenses up beneath you and his hold on your wrists tightens uncomfortably. 

A loud growl erupts from his throat upon reaching his selfish orgasm, hips finally stilling with a final thrust and he closes his eyes, resting his head back with a satisfied sigh. 

You whimper, uncomfortable as his cum leaks from your pussy, dripping down to your thighs and you attempt to raise yourself to pull him out of you but his hand tightens around you, eyes snapping open. 

“None of that, princess. I’m not done with you yet.” his voice huskier, face glistening with sweat but his eyes hold that shine of madness that makes you quiet in a second. He tilts his hips, pushing all of his length back inside you.

“Daddy’s lesson isn’t over yet. You’re not getting away from me that easily.”

[thornsnvultures]

pride

lee bodecker x wife!reader

cw: 18+ nsft, smut, p in v sex, creampie, lee being a neglectful husband at first, 640 w

a/n: something short and sweet for @nickfowlerrr 's seven deadly sins event. I missed writing for Lee and wanted to write a smutty little fluff piece for him 🖤

-----

"I'm the luckiest man on earth."

At first you weren't sure that you heard him right. Lee didn't talk much when he was fucking you, at least not lately. For a while he would just get his rocks off and roll off you, immediately falling asleep while you laid there and stared at the ceiling until you fell asleep.

God only knows how long it's been since Lee talked to you sweet at all. But it happened in every marriage, the eventual slough off into the mundane, right? No more flowers or date nights. No more Lee taking his sweet time with your body like he used to. You almost didn't want to jinx it by asking him to repeat himself, afraid of breaking whatever spell had been cast that brought the old Lee back to you.

But he broke it for you.

"You know why I'm lucky, sweetheart?" His big hand brushes your cheek, turning your head on your pillow so he could see your face. His hips had stilled as he looked at you, those bright blue eyes roaming your face. He was waiting for you to answer.

"W-why?"

Lee leans over you, draping his big body across your back, his belly pushing into the dip of your arched spine, and kisses your cheek. The angle pushes his cock into your inner walls and you gasp, squeezing a groan out of your man.

"Cause I got a pretty little thing like you in my bed, that's why."

"Oh, Lee."

Your husband presses more kisses along your jaw as he grinds his cock into that same spot. You're on fire, your insides lighting up like a fire doused in gasoline.

"M'sorry I haven't been takin' care of you like I should, darlin'. Not when you take such good care of me." Lee's words whispered in your ear sends shivers down your spine.

"It's alright-"

"It's not-," Lee growls, shooting up straight and drawing his cock out almost all the way only to slam it back in with a harsh slap that makes your teeth rattle in your head. "It's not alright."

Lee grabs your hips, gripping your soft flesh as he pounds into you.

"You're my wife," he growls again as his hips set a punishing pace. You can barely breathe, gasping and whining as you scramble for purchase on soft sheets so he doesn't fuck you into the headboard. "My perfect, sweet little wife. With the sweetest little pussy I've ever known." He punctuates nearly every word with a thrust of his hips, his cock bullying your tight walls in the most delicious way.

"I couldn't be any more proud of you, darlin'," he says as he drops to a hand by your head so he can reach under you, reach that aching bud that'll push you over the edge, the one he's ignored for way too long. "Couldn't be any more proud to call you my wife."

Lee's thick fingers circle your clit and within seconds you're crumbling, crying out and shaking to pieces as you come around his cock. Moments later Lee's right there with you, shouting into the nape of your neck as his balls empty, filling you near to burst with his sticky cum.

"I'm sorry I haven't been treatin' you right, darlin'," Lee tells you again when he comes back to bed later with a warm, wet washcloth. "Been so busy at the station and I got the election coming up," Lee sighs and shakes his head. "But I won't let it happen any more."

"You mean it, Lee?"

Once you're clean he wraps you up in his arms, his big hands rubbing your back as you settle into his chest.

"I said it once and I'll say it again," Lee smiles, "I do. Cause you're the best damn thing that's ever happened to me."

---

--

-

🖤

[he13na]

These gatekeeping gremlins need to sit the entire hell down. Like oh, congratulations, babe, you typed out your 60k slow burn fic without any help—want a cookie? No one's taking away your Tumblr Gold Star for Suffering. But acting like anyone who uses AI is some kind of intellectual bottom-feeder? Absolutely not. That’s elitist nonsense masquerading as moral superiority, and it reeks of insecurity.

Let me tell you something real: knowing how to use tools, including AI, to better yourself, learn things schools won’t touch, or just get shit done more efficiently? That’s called ADAPTABILITY. It’s a freaking superpower. Meanwhile, the “I’m better because I suffer through everything manually” crowd is just romanticizing struggle like it's a personality trait.

You can learn valuable stuff—on your terms, in your time, for your benefit. That is badass. That is powerful. And anyone sneering at that can go reread their own angry text post like it’s a Shakespearean tragedy, because clearly, they love the drama.

The vibe is "I suffered, so you should too." Like okay, Grandpa, just because you walked uphill both ways in the snow to write fanfic with nothing but MS Paint and a prayer doesn't mean the rest of us need to. It's giving boomer with a superiority complex, but make it ✨digitally condescending✨.

What they don't get is that growth doesn’t have to come from misery. You don’t have to struggle to earn your place in the world. Using resources smartly isn’t cheating—it’s EVOLUTION. You think Einstein would've said “no thanks” to a calculator out of some weird purist pride? Hell no. He’d be like, “Give me the tech, I’ve got theories to flex.”

So if these digital boomers want to gatekeep enlightenment because it didn’t come soaked in their personal suffering—let them. Meanwhile, others will be busy actually learning, creating, and elevating while they’re stuck in 2011 with their holier-than-thou typewriter vibes. Catch up or kindly get out of the way.

ChatGPT users are not the problem. Their bitter nostalgia complex is.

That and now people think using em dash is AI. Lemme tell you something Kayleigh, some of us actually majored in English in college. We were taught and instructed to use em dashes because they belong in sentences. Grammar is an academic class. I'm sick of these Regina Georges of the internet acting like they’ve cracked some Da Vinci code every time they see an em dash and go, “Ummm this is giving AI…” Girl, WHAT? Since when did basic punctuation become a war crime?

Listen, Ava, just because you discovered grammar on TikTok last week doesn’t mean the rest of us are AI clones. Some of us sat through ten thousand workshops and wrote fifteen-page close readings on Virginia Woolf’s use of syntax, okay? We bled MLA formatting. We were born into the semicolon; we didn’t merely adopt it. The sheer audacity of equating using proper, elegant, academically validated punctuation with “must be AI” is just another flavor of intellectual laziness wrapped in performative superiority. Like—no, sweetie, it’s not AI. It’s called knowing the goddamn English language. Shocking, I know. So let them spiral in their grammatical ignorance. We’re not just writing—we’re serving literary finesse, and they simply can’t handle that level of educated flair. Keep using your em dashes, babes. The English department would be proud.

It really is giving “Goody Proctor was seen using ChatGPT under the light of a blood moon” and now the whole village is clutching their pitchforks and pearl necklaces like it’s The Crucible: Tumblr Edition. Like damn, Sophie, what’s next—burning us at the stake for bolding text or using proper paragraph structure?

They’re out here acting like being a Non-AI User is some kind of moral compass. Babes, it’s not a religion. You’re not a better person because you wrote your essay while crying into a candle and stabbing the paper with a quill. And the idea that using AI makes someone a “cheater” or “lazy” is just thinly veiled fear of change masquerading as virtue. What’s actually lazy? Refusing to adapt, learn, or question your own biases. What’s actually scary? People treating nuanced tools like digital heresy because it threatens their little superiority bubble.

So yeah, it’s 100% giving “witchhunt”—but plot twist: we’re the smart witches. We’ve got scrolls, spells, and spellcheck. They’ve got vibes and vitriol. And history has shown that when you burn the witches, the real magic dies. Not today, Puritan Tumblr. Not. Today.

And like I get the concern about real artists being stolen from, but that's not the point here. ChatGPT ACTUALLY HELPS PEOPLE. If they think they're too cool to access information that's there and right in front of them.... that's their loss. These zealots are missing the fact that two things can be true at the same time. YES, we can (and should) talk about protecting real artists, preventing plagiarism, and making sure AI isn't being used unethically. Those are valid conversations. But that’s NOT what most of these people are actually doing. They’re just waving the “ethics” flag while being condescending and smug AF toward people who are using AI to grow, learn, and better themselves.

Some of us are over here expanding our minds, leveling up, actually using the resources available like a grown, curious, intelligent adult, and they’re sitting on their high horses gatekeeping knowledge like it's some elite club with a velvet rope and a powdered wig. NEWSFLASH: Using ChatGPT doesn’t make you a robot. It doesn’t mean you have no creativity, no intelligence, or no soul. You know what it does mean? That you’re resourceful, adaptive, and unafraid to explore new tech to make your life better. That’s not a red flag, babe. That’s a power move.

So go ahead and rot in your handcrafted moral superiority echo chamber. Others are out here in the 21st century, tapping into a global library of ideas, asking the big questions, and evolving like baddie scholars. If anti AI crusaders wanna miss out on all that because they’re too busy moralizing over punctuation and purity? That’s their tragic little loss.

[mintyeve322]

for anyone concerned by my writing style on my posts that my fic(s) might have no capital letters, random capital letters, or some other issue, i just wanted to clarify i type posts and messages very different from stories.

in stories I'll use proper punctuation, capitalization, spelling, and grammar. (at least to the best of my ability) i just couldn't give two shits about that stuff while I'm rambling here.

just a warning or heads up, haha.

anyway, so that we're on topic, fiddlestan time below the cut.

I think their relationship is pretty quick to take off but slow to be official. i feel like Stan is so starved for affection that she's scared to acknowledge her feelings, especially since affection is sometimes just "platonic girl stuff". don't worry stan, overly affectionate heterosexual female friends drive me insane too.

on Fidd's part, i think she is hesitant to make things official because at first she's not sure if her feelings are genuine or if she's accidentally using Stan, but once she realized thats not it, she's still hesitant to say anything because she doesn't wanna make Stan uncomfortable if she's not right about her feelings.

Fidds is a people pleaser and unhinged as hell before she uses the memory gun, let alone afterwards, so she for sure has made or aquired some crazy shit as gifts for Stan. She for sure has made her at least one robot that malfunctioned and had to be decommissioned, she bought Stan a fish, I'll do some fish research to figure out what kind later but it has some sort of significance, to occupy the empty tank in the shack since Frilliam is lost at sea. She's probably helped Stan make exhibits and made a cryptid up that reminds her of Stan. I feel like she'd get gifts for Stan constantly, and Stan wouldn't know how to act about it because her instinct is to be skeptical of kindness but Fidds was her sister's friend and she hasn't asked Stan for anything in return and she doesn't know why.

Related to Stan's belief that affection is transactional, if Fidds ever gets nervous about the portal or if Stan keeps something from her, like why she got arrested last night or where she found a part and Fidds says she owes Fidds an explanation, Stan will shut down and probably cry in her room for an hour.

Stan is VERY worried that Fidds is gonna reveal one day that she's only there for some sort of payment or gain on her end, and if she even implies that Stan owes her something, Stan will spiral until Fidds is able to figure out the problem and apologize, even if she agrees that she does owe Fiddleford something for all she's done.

Related to this, there's probably a period of time where Fidds is working really hard, to the bone, for Stan. She hates not feeling useful and may have hit a road block she's trying to push through or something, and when Stan tells her to take a break, she interprets it as a sarcastic "just let me do it, idiot" comment and not the "please take a break im worried about you" way stan intended it, due to the fact Ford, with her one track mind, has been harsh to her in that way before.

Fidds is apologetic and swears she's almost got it she just needs more time and please don't maker her leave she promises she can do it, and Stan has to basically grab her, look her in the eyes, and tell her she just needs to take a break and come back later. Fidds says she just wants to be useful for Stan, and Stan tells her she doesn't care if she's useful, she just needs her there and burning herself out working on the project is not worth it. they have a long conversation about how even if fidds never worked on the project again Stan would still want her around and its sad and fluffy.

also a thing where stan gets frustrated and implies Fidds isnt useful and has to comfort her and insist that isn't what she meant because it genuinely wasn't what she meant agh i love miscommunication hurt/comfort

idk im rambling and i feel like we're all so busy unpacking Stan's trauma we forget that Fidds has very real trauma from her work with Ford that has plenty of hurt/comfort potential as well.

[igotanidea]

Logical choice: Dick x reader part 1

summary: apparently he was in love with two girls and had to chose. Too bad his way of making a decision was worse than bad.

massive thanks to Laura @gone-batty-fics for proofreading this <3 <3 I'm terrible with punctuation xD

***

Being in love with a taken guy is like….

No, wait, scratch that.

There are no words to describe that.

How can you possibly find anything to use while saying how you feel when your brain goes short-circuits when you think about the guy you like with another girl and your heart is aching every time you see those two together?

How can you possibly explain the constant urge to cry and scream and lie down and die and throw up and sleep the pain away, all at the same time?

How many synonyms are there for the word hopeless?

Bet you were broken-hearted at least once in your life.

Y/N Y/L/N cursed the moment she met Dick Grayson, with his pretty smile, all his charm and his the golden retriever energy. All that niceness, chattiness, and everything he was and everything he wasn’t, got her mind spinning and falling faster then she could have imagined.

And she had no idea what to do about it.

Especially given the fact he quickly became one of her closest friends, which was shocking even to herself.

Y/N was usually the person to keep her walls up (hurt one too many times), act rather cold and distant, not getting involved with feelings (she was not very good with that and her poor boy experience made her cautious). But hey, the heart wants what it wants and Dick Grayson had a way of getting her to open up, laugh, and just be her unfiltered self. He didn't seem to mind her innate sarcasm and twisted sense of humor. Maybe, since he didn't hate her genuine self, she could make it work?

here was some undeniable connection between them.  Maybe even something more than friendship, but for some reason none of them were able to speak their minds, instead circling around the subject, unable to meet in the middle.

Truly tragic how two souls yearning for one another could not connect just because the owners of those bodies were too shy and stubborn to say three words: I like you.

Even more tragic given the fact that Dick’s family were quick to notice something simmering under the surface, but decided to stay back since apparently it was none of their business.

Until.

***

“You do realize he’s in love with you?”

“What are you talking about?” Y/N frowned at Jason’s words. “Who are you talking about?”

This took her by surprise. Jason Todd wasn’t usually the person to go around gossiping and well, to be honest talking at all. He was the brooding type sitting in the corner, watching everyone with a murderous gaze trying to cover up for the fact how much he needed love and attention, instead using sarcasm to hide his vulnerability and sensitivity. Maybe, throwing a cutting, teasing comment from time to time, but this? This was completely not his style. And it made Y/N a bit uncomfortable.

“Cause I can’t watch you pining like this.” Jason scoffed, “It’s pathetic, you know” he almost rolled his eyes at the girl.

“You are pathetic, Todd.”She retorted, but couldn’t help the blush creeping on her cheeks and the sudden rise in her heartbeat. “What’s your business with gossiping? We’re not friends.”

“I know we’re not,.” Jason shrugged, “but apparently I’m the only one with the balls big enough to - ”

“Don’t flatter yourself,.” She cut him off with a smirk raising a gaze from her book,

“Is that what I get for helping you make your crazy little fantasy come true?”

“What fantasy,” she cried out in desperate confusion “Stop speaking in riddles!”

“You want to be with Dick. Whenever he's around, your eyes and body language practically scream it," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“You’re reading way too much Jane Austen,.” she muttered, “And what’s with the silent creeping on me!?”

“I’m trying to help you out here!”

“No, you’re mocking me!”

“Y/N!” Jason cried out in frustration, not sure how to put his point forward without Y/N accusing him of being mean. He was not good with words, despite all his literature knowledge.

"What?!"

Y/N was fully aware that she was acting erratically, but the realization that being 'more than friends' with Dick was even a possibility? All of her logical thinking was suddenly on a very long foreign holiday.

“He fucking loves you!”

“And how the fuck do you know that?!”

“You’re unbelievable!”

“I’m just being cautious! I don’t need a broken heart!”

Jason exhaled deeply. Apparently he had to be the reasonable one here. He had known a lot about being insecure.

“Come on, Y/N… I’m not lying. Really. Why would I?”

“Do you really want me to answer that question,?” she asked, her eyebrows raised sceptically..

“Look…..”

“No you look, Jason…..” she raised her gaze at him, exposing all her vulnerability “I’m scared, ok?”

“I know. Trust me, I’ve been there. Still am…..”

“Why does it sound like you’re trying to use me as a guinea pig?”

“Huh?” her words got him confused

“You want to test whether it’s worth taking a risk, don’t you? Whether confessing is something that can actually end up in a good way?”

“Maybe a little.” Jason smirked

“Now that’s more like you.”

“Does it convince you though?”

She took a second to consider. Did it? Were Jason’s words enough to make her act on her feelings? To go to Dick and tell him how she feels? To create an opportunity to have a relationship? To be … happy in love, without all this worry.

“Yes…..” she whispered. 

“Yes?” Jason mocked clearly egging her on. 

“Fucking yes," she cried out, feeling a sudden surge of power and omnipotence.

“He’s in the batcave.”

She moved towards the door, ready to go and finish it all once and for all, to clear the messed up situation she found herself in. But before she rushed to the love of her life there was one more thing she had to do.

“Thanks, Todd. You’re not as bad as you try to look.”

“Keep that detail to yourself, will ya Y/N?” Jason said as he winked at her, being content she actually decided to listen to his advice and not see him as a villain.

***

“Dick…..?”

Poor Y/N had to fight the urge to burst into the cave reaching the speed limit of Flash. It was like all those years of holding back her true feeling finally made her crumble and the façade broke down and she needed to tell him now, now, NOW!!

“Y/N?” he sent her his signature smile, turning up from behind the computer and taking a few steps towards her. It was truly touching how he always stood up whenever she was in the room, like a scene from a freaking regency era London. “everything good?” the man added seeing her reddened cheeks and shining eyes. “you look sick……” he involuntarily put his palm to the woman’s forehead checking her temperature.

Sick in love….. she thought to herself, but obviously couldn’t use that particular wording.

“I’m good….I’m good….” She shook her head “I just have to tell you something …… something important and ……”

“Hey Y/N…..” another voice chimed into the talk, causing Y/N to crash with reality.

“Babs…..?”

It didn’t have to mean anything, right? The fact that Dick and Babs were all alone in the batcave? Surely they just talked about some Batman stuff Y/N was not let into?

She was not let in.

And that was emphatic enough, almost as if she wasn’t a part of the team.

Y/N blinked a couple times realizing she was so focused on Dick’s face, eyes and just generally on him, that ironically she didn’t notice his slightly messed up hair and blushing cheeks alongside with his disheveled shirt.

Oh…..

Her gaze involuntarily traveled to the other woman, eyes widening at the way her shirt were open, her bra revealed and the love bite on her neck visible.

Oh, shit…..

Fucking Todd…..

“What is it Y/N?” Dick asked fixing his hair, his blue piercing, concerned eyes focused on her. “Hey? Y/N? come back to earth…..” he put a hand on her shoulder gently trying to bring her back.

“What….?” Her mind was racing, her hands were trembling, her legs was close to giving up on her. She could barely register what was happening when Dick grabbed her hand and forced her to sit on the chair scared she might faint.

“Y/n……?”

His voice reached her as if through a fog.

“She looks so pale…..”Babs was equally concerned now, and her tone finally made Y/N snap back to reality.

“And she’s back….” Grayson crouched next to her chair, smiling at her softly “you got us worried, it was like your soul left your body for a moment.”

Well, not so far from the truth, was it……?

“Sorry….”she muttered, averting her gaze from Dick’s, but he was not going to take the bullshit, grabbing her chin gently and forcing her eyes on him.

“You wanted to tell me something?”

“Yes…. No…. I mean……”

“Y/N……?”

“So you two are a couple now?” she blurted the first thing that came to her mind, even though saying those words out loud made her sick to the stomach.

“Yeah…..” Dick blushed a little looking at Barbara, who had a similar expression on her face. “Life’s funny, right? Old friend who’s been around all the time, never really seen like a love interest and yet……” he smiled even more, interlacing his fingers with Bab’s.

It was supposed to be me!! Her inner voice cried out desperately bringing not only the sickness to the stomach but also a terrible headache.

“I’m so happy for you two…..” Y/N forced a smile. Fucking hypocrite.

“Thanks…..” the other woman beamed “I know how important you are to Dick so I was worried about your reaction of us getting together”

“Worried?” Y/N laughed only to cover for the scowl forming in the back of her throat “oh, you silly one…. You two match each other perfectly! I mean, Nightwing and Batgirl, it couldn’t get any better than this, right? Besides you …..we… know each other for so long…..it was bound to happen.”

I have to get out… I have to get out of here now!

“It really means a lot Y/N….. I’ve been wondering whether…..” Dick added and for a single second there was something inexplicable in his eyes, but he blinked and it was gone immediately. “nevermind…..”

Yeah, right, nevermind…..

***

It’s been two weeks of torture

Two weeks of bitterness.

Complete disaster.

Y/N was depressed, Dick was torn, Babs was confused and the atmosphere was far from friendly, since everyone could feel the tension and members of batfamily were trying their best to not takes sides, which was probably the greatest challenge.

But as the situation progressed, the one with the least experience in human relationships just had to break the peace. Forced, but peace nonetheless.

It was typical Friday afternoon and they were just hanging around, released from patrol, ready to have a movie night in the manor. Dick, Babs, Jason, Tim, Damian, Steph, Cass and Y/N, who were currently fighting with her own head and mind producing every excuse possible for a rain check on the marathon.

“why don’t you just tell him?”

“Hello to you too, Damian.”

“don’t change the subject Y/L/N.”

“Tell what to who?” she mocked almost rolling her eyes

“Don’t play dumb. It doesn’t work well for you.” Damian said with his usual flat tone.

“That does sound awfully like an indirect compliment…..”

“Just tell Grayson you like him.”

“You what?” oh, shit, the person in question was now standing in the door of the room, his eyes wide in shock, his whole posture screaming the feeling of betrayal.

“Dick….I…..”

“Shit, Y/n!”

“Stop yelling at me!”

“You’re the one yelling!”

“Do you want me to record your voice right now!?”

“You’re in love with me?!”

“How is that bad?!”

“Cause I’m with Barbara now!”

“Yeah, no shit!”

They were getting nowhere with this discussion and to tell the truth, neither of them probably wanted to. It was just dumping everything that’s been eating away at their livers. Suddenly Dick and Y/N found themselves in an unknown territory, their feelings completely exposed, unsure how to proceed without getting hurt and/or damaging one another.

Well there was not a good way out and at the moment screaming was something that at least helped them getting all that pain, fear and hurt out in the open.

“You can’t do that Y/N!”

“Maybe if you had the guts to tell me how you felt first it wouldn’t come to this!” she spat at him

“How I felt….?” Dick stuttered, clearly taken aback “what do you mean?”

“nothing….” She muttered, calming down in an instant. He was not supposed to know that she knew.

“Y/N!”

“fuck you!”

Whoops. Shit. Too much.

She was acting crazy, yes, but come on, cut her some slack, she was broken-hearted and a person with a damaged heart never acts sane.

“If that’s what you truly want then ok, fuck me….. you’re just making it so easy to make a choice here, Y/N!”

“You said it yourself, you are with Babs now!”

“It doesn’t change how I feel about you!”

“You what….?”

“You think I can just turn it off or something!?”

“Dick….”

“No….. no you’re right… I’m with Babs…..”

God damn it! It was like walking in circles. Two adults behaving in a worse way than kids in the kindergarten and no one could possibly stop the incoming storm.

***

And now she was in love with a taken guy.

A taken guy who could have been hers if only she was slightly faster to confess.

Apparently timing is everything and instead of being happy in love she was now forced to grit her teeth whenever dick and Babs were around together.

Which was pretty much all the time.

Well, they were pretty much together all the time before, but not like together together.

Maybe Y/N should have known…..

It was highly unlikely that a vigilante would keep his relationship with a civilian and much more probable that he would end up with another self-appointed crime fighter.

And Dick seemed happy so what was she supposed to do apart from dwelling in poorly hidden misery and listening to sad love songs while facing the ceiling with one single question in her mind.

What if…..?

***

The second dick saw Y/N in the cave a week ago, noticed her sad, confused and a bit lost expression he knew. Y/N loved him the same way he loved her.

But he was with Babs now. He felt for the Batgirl and was not going to leave. That would be a shitty thing to do, right? To leave a girl just because he what? Got bored? Changed his mind or went through a change of heart?

On the other hand, however, how shitty it was to do this to Y/N? He’s been in love with her for so long, always keeping his mouth shut about it, hoping she would somehow figure it out. And now, that she was finally ready to make it a reality, he was with another girl.

Get yourself together, Dick. You can’t just back out on Barbara. You’re with her now. You love her.

But Y/N…..

His first true love.. from a very young age, even before he knew what love was. All those years of waiting only to give up on the final stretch.

And the vulnerability he saw in her whole posture every time she was around. Those pretty doe eyes that never looked at him ever since the scene at the batcave.

They were still friends, sort of, at least, because to tell the whole truth, the situation between them was more than awkward.

And he was very well aware he would have to choose between two girls, because being stuck in a situation like this, with all the knowledge he had, was way too much for him.

Too bad he chose a very devious way to make a decision.

***

"What is it?" Y/N asked upon seeing a single piece of paper in Tim's hands.

"Nothing!"

"Oh, come on, let me see...."

"Trust me on this, you don't want to." Tim shook his head passing the object to Dick, who quickly tossed it to Jason, who was standing the furthest from Y/n.

"All right, fine" Y/N shrugged "I won’t be playing your silly games here...." before any of the boys realized what was happening she snuck past Jason and ripped the paper from him, her eyes immediately focusing on the printed text.

"What.....?" she stuttered, running her eyes on the words yet unable to make any sense of them "Dick?" her hurt expression killed him at the spot.

"It was Jason's idea!" the man cried out as if that could serve as an excuse.

"Yeah, here's the part I was hoping would not come out." Jason muttered

"Y/N." the girl started reading out loud "cons. Tend to live in her own world. Keep her walls up. Stubborn as hell..... Wow.....Just.... just wow." A single gasp was enough of an indication of her emotional state.

“there are also plus points……..?” he almost cringed once those words left his mouth.

“How could you Dick….?”

"Y/n...." Dick took a step forward, realizing that Jason and Tim have already fled the room leaving him to deal with Y/N and her obvious pain alone. Cowards.

"On the other side " she instantly moved back, out of his reach "Barbara. Pluses and weaknesses..... You were comparing us like this? THAT was your way to decide......? By using what? Fucking logic? By trying to decide which one of us is more useful or something……? " her voice broke and she was unable to finish the sentence, while tears started brimming in her eyes.  

That was like a whole new level of betrayal. Like her heart was ripped out and tossed into the gutter.

"Y/n... please, it's not what it looks like...."

"It's exactly what it is. To put it simply, you just treated me like a goat for sale……”

"Please, let me explain.... Please, I'm begging you...."

“Just leave me alone!” she cried out running out to hide in the manor library, possibly the only place that could have given her some sort of comfort and shelter.

"Good luck with making it right, Dickhead...." Jason reappeared just in time to see Y/N rush past the hallway.

"Shut up!" Dick ran his hands through his hair in utter desperation, barely restraining from tearing them all out. It would be so much easier to blame it all on his brother and his stupid idea but deep inside Dick knew it was on him. He never should have listened to the bad advice in the first place.

Of course he was going to choose Y/N.

And there was never any reason to make some stupid list. How could there be when there has always been just one option to begin with?

And now, as much as he wanted Y/N, not Barbara, she was not going to forgive him for not letting his heart decide, but focusing on what seemed more comfortable.

How fucking selfish was that?

[corleonecaretaker]

♥ 𝕐𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝔾𝕠𝕠𝕕 𝔾𝕚𝕣𝕝'𝕤 𝔾𝕠𝕟𝕟𝕒 𝔾𝕠 𝔹𝕒𝕕 ♥

Image sources: One | Two | Three | Four

Summary: Michael takes Kay to a swingers club just to shock her, just to show her that she can’t handle the kinds of debauchery in his world. But when they encounter the seductive, spellbinding John and Helen Wick, Kay isn’t as shocked as he expected. All of Michael’s plans are about to go awry…and the strength of his marriage is about to be tested. This story is a response to a request from a guest on AO3!

A few historical notes: “Swinging” as we know it today began in the 1960s, and The Godfather is set in the 40s and 50s. At the time, they probably would have called this “wife-swapping,” which began during the 1940s among Air Force pilots according to everything I can find, and it wouldn’t have been as common. But for the sake of the story, let’s just pretend that Michael knows some people who are very ahead of their time.

CW: swinging, digital and oral sex, crying during sex, internalized homophobia from Michael, discussion of Kay's fear of domestic abuse

Your good girl's gonna go bad I'm gonna be the swingin'est swinger you've ever had If you like'em painted up, powdered up, then you ought to be glad Because your good girl's gonna go bad - Tammy Wynette

“You really want to know what my world is like? What men like me do at our leisure?”

“Yes, I do,” Kay replied defiantly, a challenge burning in her eyes.

So Michael let her dress to the nines in a pleated red dress and wide brimmed evening hat, and took her to the Syrup Saloon, one of the many clubs that pulsed to the neon heartbeat of Las Vegas. But this one was VIP only. “Fifteen years ago, this was a speakeasy,” Michael explained, as the bouncer swung back a hidden door in the mahogany wall panel of the decently furnished but otherwise inconspicuous foyer through which they’d entered. “But it still has its secrets today – thank you, Joey,” he said, interrupting himself to let the host put a drink in his hand. As they fell into conversation, he watched Kay out of the corner of his eye. She was glancing around the dimly lit room with all the open curiosity of a wide-eyed doe who had yet to realize it had just stumbled into a pack of wolves.

In all honesty, he thought it would scare her. He thought they’d walk in and she’d realize what was happening only to demand that they walk right back out and not ask him anything about his business or his private life again for a month.

“It’s so good of you to finally persuade the missus to join us,” said Joey, and he kissed her hand. “It’s a shame that I’ve already made my reservations for tonight. If I had known, I sure would have saved myself for this doll.” For a second, fear swept through Michael. He laughed awkwardly and said something without knowing what it was. What if they got in too deep? What if Kay was too polite to insist on leaving – or worse, called his bluff? What if another man actually fucked his wife?

“Michael, what was that gentleman talking about?” she whispered, as they made their way to a velvet booth in the corner. The room was heavy with smoke and bluesy with the sounds of saxophone pouring from the phonograph, creating a soft haze that was only punctuated by pink and yellow neon strips along the ceiling.

“Well…you see, I’ve never come to the Syrup Saloon before, even though Joey’s invited me more times than I can count. Only couples can come here, and I wanted to keep you out of places like this. But if you say you can handle it...” He leaned back, watching her gaze follow a group of four at a nearby table. Her mouth fell open as they traded places, giggling, and made their way off to two separate rooms.

“Oh my – Michael, they’re…they’re swingers?”

He frowned. “How do you know what swingers are in the first place?”

“Connie told me,” she said indignantly. “Michael, this is NOT what I meant.”

He bit his tongue before he could ask how Connie knew what swingers were – he probably would rather not know that much about his sister. “Listen to me. You want to know about the ugly parts of my world? Okay. It’s this or letting you watch Al Neri blow a man’s brains out.”

Her lips pursed. Anger. But she didn’t have a chance to reply. A woman’s voice cut in, a sonorous, confident, casual sort of voice. “Is this seat taken?”

She was standing over them with her head tilted in playful curiosity, maple brown hair tickling her collarbones thanks to the scandalous off-shoulder gown that hugged her torso. A man in a suit towered next to her, with dark hair almost as long as hers. It fell forward to obscure deep, black eyes. From one look at him, Michael could tell he wasn’t a civilian. He was pure muscle, and stood like a soldier or a bodyguard, placing himself between his wife and the rest of the room as if by instinct.

Michael opened his mouth, but Kay had already answered for him. “Not at all. Please, join us.”

The woman slid into the seat next to her, and the man next to Michael. He felt suddenly trapped. Kay was looking intently at this sculpted, vicious…thing sitting next to him. If someone distilled masculinity in human form, it would look like this. Just kill me already.

“I’m Kay.”  Her words filled up Michael’s stunned silence. She offered a hand to the woman.

“And I’m M,” Michael broke in hurriedly, realizing just how much he didn’t want to be seen here for long. “We’re going by first initials, see.”

The woman shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to us. We’re from out of town, and we stay out of the spotlight these days anyway. My husband’s retired.” She shot him a wink before turning back to the Corleones. “I’m Helen.”

The man spoke then, and if the woman’s voice had been sonorous, his seemed to vibrate straight through his firm handshake to the inside of Michael’s ribcage. “John. Sorry for barging in. It’s just that you two caught my wife’s eye and well…what she wants, she gets.” He smiled across at the table at the woman, with a genuine warmth that told Michael it wasn’t a hardship to give her everything she could ever ask for.

Michael managed to claw his way back towards composure. Flattery was at least something he was used to. “Well, I appreciate the compliment, Helen. You’re a rather eye-catching pair yourself. Wouldn’t you say so, Kay?”

“Oh, I would. I hope you’ll do us the honor of spending the evening together.” Michael shifted in his seat. No. Absolutely not, this has been a mistake! Let’s leave. But the words were caught in his throat. He found himself paralyzed. Yet again, his attempt to unbalance her had been instantly turned back on him. Her voice had a sultry lilt to it that normally only showed up in their own bedroom, and she was staring at John, letting her eyes wander over his biceps, over the enormous hands resting on the table. Michael felt his heart skip dizzyingly.

“We’d be so glad to! And tell me Kay,” said the wife, her voice dropping to an intimate near-whisper, “Which of us do you like better?”

Her lips parted in a wordless inhale as Helen’s hand slid over the top of hers, resting there without pushing between her fingers. Kay blushed fiercely. “Oh, I don’t – I could hardly – “ Her words came out breathy and overcome at first, but the next were spoken with a kind of wonder at herself. A dawning awareness. “You, Miss Helen.” She spread her fingers, letting Helen’s sink between them to clasp their hands together.

Michael exhaled in relief. “Splendid! I think we have ourselves a plan for the evening.” Good. This was an image he could handle – Kay holding hands with another woman like two innocent girls, not showing the slightest interest in this John…oh. John.

Under the table, John’s hand was on Michael’s thigh. He couldn’t breathe. “Yeah,” John said.

───•⋆⋆ʚ♥ɞ⋆⋆•───

Kay let herself be led to one of the bedrooms in a trance. Led by the hand, in a way completely different than any hand-holding she’d ever experienced.

They had to get there as fast as possible – she needed Helen, needed her now. She’d been wet since the moment the woman’s soft skin had rested against hers. All she could think about was the softness of Helen’s lips, and of her…oh god. She was burning, throbbing inside. She’d never touched another woman like that before. Her mind went to the nights when she’d sinned, when Michael was away on business and she’d let her fingers slide down the silk of her nightgown and feel the curves of her own hips and and lift the hem and…and…oh god.

It was a beautiful little room, lit by a stained glass lamp adorned with pink and yellow roses. The bed was covered in pink sheets...satin like her own nightgown…and it was shaped like a heart. A scandalous bed. A sex bed. Kay realized she was trembling.

“Are you nervous?” Helen stopped in front of her and tilted her head again in that absolutely sweet way. “Is this your first time with a woman?”

“I am. It-it is.” She swallowed. “But that’s not why I’m shaking. I…”

“Go ahead. Say it.” Helen’s face was moving towards her and she let her eyes flutter closed. Her insides pulsed maddeningly and she realized her underwear must already be soaked through.

“I just…want you…so much. It’s so…physical.” A kiss. Helen’s lips, every bit as soft as she had imagined, devouring hers. The blood was rushing violently in her ears and they hadn’t even taken their clothes off. There was a screaming urgency, the way there was on the edge of orgasm, that this moment couldn’t slip away, it must not stop, it had to reach its conclusion, please…a fantasy she didn’t even know she had was right within her grasp.

In a flood of adrenaline, she grabbed the back of Helen’s head to deepen the kiss, tangling her fingers in her hair, pressing into her tongue, rubbing down the soft curves of her body, squeezing her breasts, making out like crazed teenagers at a drive-in movie. At some point they tumbled onto the bed. She let her hat be swept off and her own dress be forced off the shoulder to give access to her breasts. Helen’s teeth on her neck, hers on Helen’s nipples, their hands sliding over every part of each other’s bodies in shameless hunger.

Helen threw back her skirts and Kay realized in a flash of panic that she was about to touch the soaked mess of her underwear. “I – Helen – ahhh!” Helen’s hand was already rubbing against it vigorously, right over the clit. All the could do was arch her back and fight not to scream. Every moment between them felt more scandalous than the last and yet more right. How long had it been since she put her own pleasure first this way?

The woman laughed good-naturedly, watching her face in admiration. “Does it feel good, honey?”

“Yes, mmm... Yes. Yes. Oh my god…”

The underwear and her tights pulled suddenly away and she felt cold air against her burning labia. She moaned in frustration, wanting it to continue, and then had a better idea.

“Wait. I want to feel you too.”

Helen stripped obligingly, right down to the skin. Only a thin gold necklace adorned her perfect body as she sank back down at Kay’s side, entwining their legs and humping at her momentarily before resuming the handjob. This time, Kay put her own hands to work. She gasped hard at the wetness pouring out of Helen’s opening, at the breathless way Helen sighed when Kay’s fingers explored the bulb of her clit and at last plunged inside her. There was so much to feel, the heat, the curvature…

But the feeling of Helen’s rhythm was so distracting. She’d gone inside Kay too, and in a minute, Kay found that she couldn’t move, she could only focus on the way her muscles were starting to clench and the way her hips wanted to thrust up into Helen’s palm. Helen was hitting some delicious spot over and over and over and her own fingers were still deep inside of Helen, massaging her like such a bad girl and… “Ahhh oh my god, don’t stop, don’t stop, I can’t, I think I’m going to…”

And to her embarrassment, she flooded over Helen’s fingers with her head thrown back and a wild moan wrenching itself from someplace deep and ecstatic in her chest. She expected her to stop after that like Michael did, but the pounding continued right through the orgasm, and within seconds she was cumming again, even harder.

And Helen nuzzled into her neck, kissed her sweat-drenched forehead, and whispered, “Don’t worry sweetheart. I’m not going to stop until you’re dry.”

───•⋆⋆ʚ♥ɞ⋆⋆•───

Leaning against opposite walls on either side of the bed, the height difference between them was apparent. John must stand at least six feet to Michael’s 5’6”. Michael wondered idly whether God would permit him to sink into the floor and straight to hell in the interests of escaping this situation.

He was hard because the women had looked so pretty together. That was why. That squeeze John had given his thigh just before they stood up had nothing to do with it.

He pulled out a cigarette, grasping for some semblance of normalcy. And a second one with it, for John. “You want a smoke?”

The man just shook his head. So damn silent. Michael lit up and tried to focus on the sensations hitting his lungs and then his veins.

A long, awkward moment passed. Maybe he could just sit there and smoke for as long as it took and not do a thing.

As if in answer, the man finally spoke. “We don’t have to do anything.” He was fixing Michael with those dark, soulful eyes, the same way he’d looked at his wife. With that devastating gentleness, like he wanted to serve Michael. Wanted to give him everything he might desire, whether that was the most exhilarating night of his life or just peaceful silence. It was so damn…comforting.

Michael shook himself and paced back and forth for a minute, trying to dissipate the ache between his legs. “I’ll be frank with you, John. I don’t know what men even do together.” He found words spilling out of him. “I’m no upstanding gentleman, but I’m a man. I’ve never practiced sodomy. I brought my wife here tonight to shake her up a bit, to show her what kind of shocking debauchery goes on in this world. Better she see the sex than the blood and the death and the things men do to one another in wild betrayal or vengeance. Better she see it and never ask to see any of it again. But then your wife came along and…” He laughed hollowly. “You know what, maybe she’ll come around and be alright with the business after all. She’s alright with walking into a place like this. Who knows what the hell else is just fine with her.”

“I see.” Was he amused? Michael couldn’t tell. He stared at John, waiting, demanding some further response to that monologue. At long last, he continued. “She’ll know the difference between sex and violence. And she’ll never be just fine with the violence. At least my wife wasn’t.”

“Hmm. You’re retired, she said?”

“Yeah. For her.”

He nodded, looking away into the corner and struggling with the hopeless feeling that was starting to tighten his chest. “Well aren’t you a goody-two-shoes. But that would be an impossible task for me.”

A smile seemed to flicker over his lips, and then it was gone just as fast. “You feel trapped.”

Michael stopped pacing. He must look like a nervous fool. Now he was the one who was silent. What was he supposed to say? Yes? That was the truth, wasn’t it. He was trapped, always trapped. Trapped between the violent protection people needed and the gentleness they thought they wanted, trapped between driving his family away and letting them die. Trapped in Kay’s all-knowing, accusatory gaze.

He tilted his head backward, willing the tears to sink back behind his eyes and down his throat where he could swallow them unseen. This night had become an endless disaster. The last thing he needed was for this infuriatingly handsome man to see him crying.

John was at his side before he realized it. “Hey. I won’t lie, it’s not easy. But it’s possible. You can live a normal life if you want to. Just you and your wife, kids if you have them. Safe.”

The image, the thought of it…it was too much. Something inside of him broke and he collapsed against the warm body in front of him, horrible, pathetic noises clawing their way out of his throat. “No. No. You don’t – you don’t understand. The things I’ve done…the things people will do to me…” John just stroked the back of his head and held him gently. His head barely came up to John’s shoulder. He felt more fully embraced than he had in years.

“You can be forgiven. But not if you never confess to her. You have to trust her. And you have to make up for it the way she says.”

He spoke through the ragged waves of despair flowing out of his lungs. “I don’t trust her. She’ll leave me, John. She’ll run, because she doesn’t forgive me for anything. And I can’t – I can’t live without her, I can’t let her go, I can’t - ”

“I can’t speak to that. But I forgive you. I know who you are. You’re The Godfather, right?”

For a second, Michael’s sobbing stopped in shocked fear.

“It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone. You’re in a bad situation. The organization could collapse under you if you make the wrong move, and then the whole family’s dead. You’re trying. I forgive you.”

And Michael’s face slowly rose to meet John’s, wet and broken and suddenly feeling the compassion behind those soulful eyes. Maybe that was why he kissed him. Long, and hard, and grateful. Maybe that was why, when he pulled away, he said, “Show me what men do together.”

───•⋆⋆ʚ♥ɞ⋆⋆•───

“It’s not that he doesn’t care about my pleasure.” It was sometime past midnight. Helen was laying side by side with Kay, playing with her curls and listening in rapt attention. “It’s that he cares about it the wrong way, you know? He thinks he can buy my happiness with pretty gifts or go dancing once in a while. And I like to go dancing, believe me, but I want…I want things to be the way they were between us in the beginning. No secrets. I want him to trust me, I want his respect. That’s what would really make me happy. I want to – I want to merge with someone. Like we just did.”

Helen frowned. “So he keeps secrets from you?”

“He doesn’t just keep secrets, Helen, he outright lies. He lied to my face and said he’s not in the business anymore and then what do I find out? …Well, nothing I can safely tell a stranger, unfortunately. And as if that weren’t enough, there was this time in Sicily that none of his guards will talk to me about.” She tsked in frustration. “I know I’m being horribly suspicious, but I’m sure he had a girl there, I know he did. And if it wasn’t that, I’m sure it was something even worse.”

“Wait, go back. Let me get this straight. You asked him to quit the business, and he lied and said he did? But in reality, he never quit?”

“Exactly.”

Helen whistled. “Listen. My husband and I come to these places for a good time for everyone involved. We’re not in the habit of homewrecking. But if you want my honest advice…you can do better. I would never settle for a husband who hid his darkness from me. You know what John did for me? He left everything behind. At the risk of his own life. I can’t tell a stranger about that either, but just know that he did the right thing. And if he’d failed, he would have told me honestly. That’s what I love about him. He’ll do the right thing no matter how vulnerable he has to be.”

She let her hands continue stroking along Helen’s arms absently, deep in thought. “I’ve thought about leaving. But he’d never let me go. I’m afraid of what he’d do sometimes.”

“Oh, honey. If that’s really true, it’s even worse than I thought. You have to get out of there. You have to run.”

The idea was too much to confront. She sighed miserably, blinking at the ceiling. “How? I feel so trapped. I think I’d have to do something drastic. Something that would make him hate me. If he didn’t want me anymore…that’s the only way.”

“You’ll find a way. I believe in you. You can be safe. You and your kids. They won’t live a life like his, they’ll be good to other people and you’ll teach them what matters. They’ll be free.”

Free…the thought of that possibility just made it all worse. It was so far out of reach. Her breath was catching on every word as her voice pitched up into sobbing. “You don’t understand, Helen. He’s a violent man. He just wants to possess me like a trophy. He just wants me to shut up and not ask questions and do as he says and I’m scared – I’m so scared…I think… sometimes I think he doesn’t even love me…” There. She had said it. And there was a triumph to saying it. Something felt permanently decided.

“I don’t know. I don’t know him, I can’t say if he loves you. But I can say that he should. You deserve to be loved. You deserve happiness.” Kay curled into her, letting Helen shower her with forehead kisses and wipe away her tears. Helen would be gone in the morning. But how could she return to Michael after being held like this?

“I’ll do it, Helen. I’ll run.”

───•⋆⋆ʚ♥ɞ⋆⋆•───

There was a man between Michael’s legs.

He had a beard, and Michael loved the texture of it, the roughness. He smelled like a man. The musk of their sex crazed bodies mixed in the air, overpowering even the cigarettes. It was intoxicating. It made him feel drunk and animalistic and completely in the power of lust. He was losing himself, leaned back against the headrest with one leg dangling off the bed and the other splayed out across the sheets with John’s arm wrapped around his thigh. He was rutting into John’s mouth, giving himself over to pleasure in every way. John wanted that for him. John wanted him to feel good. John cared so much for him, for a stranger, adored his body, respected his heart. “Hhhh…fuck.” His fists closed on the sheets at the thought of it.

John was a man. And he was between Michael’s legs, and it wasn’t debauchery, and it wasn’t violence, and it felt…right. He moaned yet again, feeling tears spill from his eyes. He kept crying, damn it. This was the third time tonight (for him at least – he’d already taken John twice as well) and John was just so. Fucking. Good at this. He almost never came three times in one night, but he could feel it building up in his pelvis, so close. Could he really be this turned on for this long? Was it even physically possible? He thrust upward into John’s mouth, a hand on the back of his hair, using his head without remorse.

He was babbling, pleading without knowing what he said. “Come on, come on, give me more, please, faster, I need it, I need…”

And John’s enormous hand squeezed down on his inner thigh.

He almost screamed through the orgasm, unleashing down his throat. John swallowed all of it like it was nothing, rose up, and pulled Michael’s shaking body into a hug. “You okay?” He’d asked that every time.

Aftershocks of pleasure were still sending him twitching. It was better than being drunk, better than being high. He could barely talk but he managed, “Yes. I’ve never…I’ve never felt this good before.”

A wordless grunt. Michael was already learning to read him and that one sounded like disapproval of Kay. That disapproval translated right into more protective affection. Just about everything seemed to bring out protective affection in John. He slid into bed behind Michael and hugged his torso from behind, nuzzling the back of his head. Spooning him. Michael would be blushing as soon as his blood could make its way back from his pelvis to his cheeks. John’s hand closed over his above his heart. Why was he so sweet?

For the first time in years, Michael felt safe. He sighed, feeling his breathing slow. John would be gone in the morning. But how could he return to Kay after being held like this?

“John?”

“Hm?”

“I think…I could let her go.”

[bangchanswolfpelt]

Kinktober Day 11: When the Wolf Comes Home

for @d0mgyu 💕; thank you for ruining my life with jealous brother Gyu 😭

cannot believe on my life I'm about to ask for this but I just saw the prompts for day 11 and ngl my brain is going feral at the idea of your brother Beomgyu getting jealous of your fwb/boyf so he just starts masturbating in shared spaces in the house for you to catch him/wearing almost no clothes and eventually after teasing you and building up the tension for a while he just fucks the shit out of you before a date or something. I get mean dom jealous energy from him

brb gonna go cry

cw: dirtbag older brother!Gyu; younger sister!reader; reader has a vulva; no barrier protection used; incest; voyeurism; exhibitionism; masturbation; casual sibling rough housing (throwing things, bruises, etc.); mutual masturbation; vaginal fingering; vaginal sex; rough sex; creampie; photography; Gyu bulldozing past a lot of boundaries, but reader is reluctantly into it

wordcount: 5,592 words

this is late and stupidly long because i tried to write something resembling plot and i'm apparently SO BAD at editing 😭

Beomgyu knows you have your boyfriend over, but he also knows that you're a 'good girl', the kind of girl who looks down her nose at things she thinks are too messy—so he doesn't pay any mind to the hushed voices drifting from the living room, muffled by the noise of the television. He's just about to step out of the hall when the screen brightens and he catches sight of movement on the couch.

He should move. He should say something rude and ruin whatever mood your idiot boyfriend's clumsily cultivated. He should turn around and walk away. He should do anything but stay and watch as his sister gets fingered on the living room couch, but his feet feel glued to the floor.

You don't even really look like you're enjoying it—Beomgyu recognizes the furrow in your brow from long nights of essay-writing and it makes him want to walk over and smack your boyfriend's hands out of the way, makes him want to pull you in close and take care of you, makes him want to see what your face looks like as you cum—but he doesn't have to wait long to see your hips jerk up violently, your little feet digging into the cushions of the couch as your mouth falls open in a soundless whine.

The walk back down the hall is the longest it's ever been, his ears filled with too much static to even notice how quiet he is or isn't being as he makes his escape. Once he's safely behind his bedroom door, he slides down against it like a puppet with its strings cut, knees weak with the realization that his cock rock hard and throbbing in his shorts.

If Beomgyu takes it in his hand right then and there, if he jerks himself off to the thought of you with your legs spread, eyes scrunched shut and lips parted as your orgasm shudders through your body, if he cums with tears in his eyes as he swallows down his sister's name—

Well. That’s no one’s fucking business but his own.

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Beomgyu’s in a shit mood for the rest of the week and refuses to think about why. There’s a restlessness buzzing under his skin, his hands hands itching to throw a punch, but there’s no one worth fighting so he finds a different way to work it out.

He brings home a girl he knows is gonna be nice and loud for him, makes sure to fuck her against the wall he shares with you. He doesn’t know what he wanted from you, but your disdainful little sneer across the breakfast table the next morning isn’t it.

“Keep it down next time, Gyu. Seriously, I have morning classes, and I don’t need to hear that.”

“Are you sure?” He leans back in his chair, legs spread, covering his irritation with a leer. “Maybe you and your little boyfriend could learn something if you did.”

“Ugh. Gross.” You punctuate your disgust with a slam of the fridge door, and Beomgyu almost thinks the conversation is over when you whirl around just at the door. “Even if you can’t be considerate, you should at least care about getting caught. Idiot.”

▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽

Beomgyu’s never really paid much attention to what he wears around the house, but he starts leaving his shirt off, just to see what you do. He’s put on muscle since he started working backstage, and frankly, he knows he’s better looking than most of the shitty little boys who hang off you. Leaving his shirt off eventually turns into leaving pants off as well, sprawling out on the couch and loitering in the kitchen in just his boxers.

He doesn’t know what he’s trying to do, really, besides get a reaction out of his prissy little sister. It annoys him, that you act like you’re so above it all, when he knows now that you’re not actually better than him.

(But that’s not true either, because one of you is getting off to the thought of their sibling spread out and fucked open for them, and he’s pretty sure it’s not you.)

▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽▲▽

The thing is, though, that you know he saw you.

You hadn’t heard the creak of the door opening, too caught up in chasing down fleeting hints of pleasure, but you’d heard footsteps in the hall. Just as you’d been about to push your boyfriend off you, you’d glanced up through shuttered lashes to see your brother already there, standing just outside the room.

The sight of him froze you like a deer in the headlights—draped in shadow, he was little more than a silhouette, taking up most of the entrance—you’re not sure when he got so tall, or so broad. Light from the TV screen caught his eyes for just a moment—narrowed and dark, focused in a way you can’t remember seeing in a long time. His gaze sparked across your skin like static electricity—reminded you of when he used to scoot across the carpet and shock you on purpose, and if you weren’t preoccupied with the pleasure suddenly rocking through your body, you might have laughed.

It was the hardest you’d ever cum in your life.

You don’t think about that.

You try really hard to not think about that, but Beomgyu won’t fucking let you.

The thing is that your brother is stupid and impulsive and you know he hasn’t taken more than half a minute to think this through. The thing is that you know he’s the one who’s going to get in trouble when you get caught.

So here you are, gritting your teeth and turning the volume on your headphones up as you try to ignore the sound of his moans through your shared wall. You have papers to write, projects to finish, and a normal life to live—sticking your hand down your shorts and getting yourself off to the sound of your brother about to cum one room over does not factor into that.

(You do it anyways, but only because his jack-off sessions are absurdly long and there’s only so many ways to pass the time. That’s what you tell yourself as you try to imagine fingers longer than yours, more callused than yours, creeping down the front of your underwear. You just don’t have anything better to do, besides think about the way the muscles in his arms flex when he crosses them across his upsettingly broad chest, the way his boxers hang low on his narrow hips. It doesn’t mean anything if when you finally cum around your fingers, you’re thinking about dark eyes and a mean smile.

You’re not fooling yourself, but that’s not the point.)

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The first time Beomgyu left the bathroom door open, it was an accident—but the way you yelled and slammed the door when you walked in on him guaranteed that it was going to be very intentional every time he showered after.

He’d honestly forgotten to lock the door the first time, didn’t even realize the door was creaking open until you were yelling and slamming it behind you. It’s over as soon as he’s realized it happened, but you indignant shouts make him grin; the thought of it happening again has him leaning back against the cool tile of the shower wall, taking his cock in his hand and stroking himself off as he imagines dragging you under the spray with him, your hair plastered down with water and your face flushed with surprise and anger. When he cums, it’s with the image of you on your knees for him, wet clothes clinging to your body as he paints your lips and cheeks white with his release.

The second, maybe even the third time, might be an accident on your part—but by the third time, Gyu’s pretty sure it’s intentional. You should know by now to listen for the shower, and though your yelling is as loud and heated as the first time, you don’t even bother to feign surprise anymore.

He used to be pretty ambivalent about getting off in the shower, but it quickly becomes one of his favorite places—knowing that you could walk in at any moment, that you will walk in knowing that he’s wet and naked, gets him harder than anything ever has in his life. Sometimes just the possibility is enough to get him off, thinking about all the things he could do to you if you walked in, but the best days are when you beat him to it, barging in before he’s even worked himself up for you.

The first couple times, Beomgyu tries to keep it under the radar, biting his lip to hold back his moans, angling himself so that not even his silhouette through the glass would give him away. It’s only a matter of time before he slips up, though, a groan escaping him as you chatter about everything your friends have done to piss each other off. He hopes the quiet clatter of—whatever it is you’re doing at the sink—is enough to cover the sound, but your rambling stutters to a halt, the bathroom suddenly silent save for the rush of water around him.

He waits, chest tight with anticipation, hand gripping his cock almost painfully, for you to start yelling, for you to storm out. The silence stretches on for too long until—you’re picking your rant back up again, charging ahead with all the subtlety of a bulldozer, and he can’t hold back the grin that splits his face, heart stuttering back to life in his chest.

You know what he’s doing. He knows you know what he’s doing, and you’re staying.

It takes no time at all for Beomgyu to cum, the sound of your voice sweet in his hears as he bites his lip hard enough to taste iron. He watches his cum spatter against the shower floor, your words still drifting over the shower door but barely audible over the rush of blood in his ears, lungs burning like he’d just run a mile. It takes just a moment for him to catch his breath, fingers flexing against frosted glass, before he’s tuning back into the conversation like a good older brother.

“I don’t know why you hang out with any of them, they’re all bitches.”

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“Is that a new tablet?”

You take a second to sneer up at your brother, before returning promptly to avoiding his gaze as he flops down on the couch, closer than he needs to be, legs spread and arm hooked around the back of the couch.

“Apparently it’s easier for dad to bribe me than to just tell you to close the damn door when you shower.“

“You know, an open door’s an invitation.” You don’t have to look to know the exact expression on his face, the sleaze of his grin so thick you can hear it in his voice.

"Gross.” You shoulder him and it doesn’t budge him so much as a centimeter. You’re still annoyed at how solid he is now—when did that even happen?

“What are you doing?”

“Just coloring in an old sketch of Toto.”

“It looks good.” The arm draped along the back of the couch drops down to pull you closer and you yelp indignantly as the movement causes your pen to jerk haphazardly.

“Don’t—you’re gonna make me mess up—”

The rumble of Beomgyu’s laughter reverberates from his chest, warming you from the inside out, and the elbow you dig into his stomach is half-hearted at best.

You stay like that, focused stubbornly on practicing your shading and not on the way he nuzzles the top of your head, breathing in the scent of your hair with deep, steady inhalations. You could get up and leave, but you were here first—at least, that’s what you tell yourself as you relax into the warmth of his arms.

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It’s only a matter of time before Beomgyu decides that, if you’re going to keep coming in while he’s showering, it must be fine if he does the same.

The first time he interrupts your shower, you throw a bottle of conditioner hard enough that he’s sporting a bruise across his shoulder blade for over a week—you know because he’s still refusing to wear shirts around the house. It’s almost normal, though, how casually shitty he is about it; barging in to do mundane things like brush his teeth or ask you what kind of dumplings you want for dinner. It’s so close to normal that you almost settle into a sort of complacency, only jumping a little when the door swings open—then nearly jumping out of your skin as the shower door slides open and Gyu reaches in.

“What are you doing?” you squawk, torn between scrambling against the far wall of the shower and grabbing his arm and twisting.

“I left my razor in here, I just need to grab it.” He’s laughing as he fumbles along the shower caddy, and if you didn’t think you’d take the whole precarious set-up down, you’d throw your conditioner at him again.

“Get out! You don’t need your razor that bad!” Your voice bounces off the shower walls, so shrill it hurts your own ears, but it just makes him laugh harder.

“I don’t know why you’re freaking out,” Beomgyu taunts, long fingers finally wrapping around his razor handle. “You know it’s nothing I haven’t seen before!”

Your brother’s parting words earn him another bottle flung past the shower door, but he blocks it with a well-timed swing of the door, and you’re left with your heart racing as the water goes cold around you.

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Some nights, you just hear Beomgyu practicing in his room, the meandering strains of his guitar drifting through the wall to underscore the click-clack of your keyboard as you work. There’s something comforting about it; you’ve both always been night owls.

Nights like these, you almost feel normal.

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“I heard you last night.”

You don’t have to turn around to know there’s a smirk curling your brother’s lips as he pens you in against the counter, hooks his fingers in your belt loops to tug at them with a soft chuckle.

His name had slipped the night before, when you’d had three fingers buried in your cunt, soaking the sheets beneath you and still desperate for more. You’d spent the rest of the night with your face buried miserably in your pillow, hoping desperately that he hadn’t heard. So much for that.

“C'mon, let’s play mommy and daddy.” The words send a shiver up your spine, and his laugh in your ear is low, dirty and mean—Beomgyu’s pressed too close to miss the reaction he got out of you, so close you can feel him against the small of your back, hot and hard through the thin cotton of his boxers.

Then the slam of a car door echoes from outside—your dad is home and your pulse skyrockets. You’re twisting in his arms without thinking, shoving at chest as if you had any chance at all of moving him.

“Get—go—get out—go to your fuckin’ room,” you hiss furiously. “If dad sees you—”

“Alright, alright, I’m going.” His tone is light, but you don’t miss the way his footsteps quicken as he moves out of sight.

It’s only moments after that the door is swinging open, your dad calling out, and it’s time for you to flip on your best impression of a normal, sane daughter. Even from the other room, though, Beomgyu just can’t leave you be. Your phone buzzes and you have to resist the urge to slam it on the counter, screen-side down, when you see your latest message.

cum up :))

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When he opens the door for you, he’s wearing nothing but a lazy grin; you barely take him in before you’re glancing down the hall with not a little bit of panic. Before you can back out, though, long fingers are wrapping around your wrist, tugging you into a room you haven’t been inside in—god, it feels like years. There’s no time to compare it to your memory before Beomgyu’s pushing you onto the bed and clambering on with you.

He brackets your thighs with his own, sitting back on his heels so he can look down on you. You’ve seen so much of him already—too much of him—but the sight of his tented boxers doesn’t compare to the reality of his naked cock jutting from his narrow hips.

You aren’t prepared for the size of it, thick and heavy between his slim thighs, for the way it twitches and bobs under your gaze. You aren’t prepared for the way you want to wrap your hand around it to see if it even fits all the way around, for the way you want to run your tongue along the veins, suck the narrow, ruddy head of it into your mouth. You definitely aren’t prepared for the rush of heat between your legs when he wraps a hand around the base, for the way your can feel your core pulsing with want as he gives himself one slow, lazy stroke.

“Why are you doing any of this?”

“Why are you letting me?” You’re not sure if the fact that you don’t have an answer for him is more infuriating than it is embarrassing.

Beomgyu doesn’t kiss you. You’re grateful (you think)—your heart is already trying to beat its way out of your ribcage, and if he—you’re sure you’d implode.

His hands cup your face, squishing your cheeks into a pout that you try to squirm out of, before they’re sliding down—one hand curling around your jaw, his thumb brushing feather-light across your lips, while the other rests tenderly over your throat. You swallow, and his eyes go dark as the muscles and tendons of your throat shift under his palm. He tightens his grip just a little, taking in the way your breath catches and your hips jerk beneath him with delighted fascination.

The hand over your throat squeezes just a little more, for just a moment, then it’s ghosting down to span your collarbones, skating around to skim along your side. His hands find your hips and his touch gets firmer, thumbs digging into the plush of your thighs, too close and not close enough to where you want him most. Your breath catches as they tease along the inside of your thighs, move back up to rub circles over your hips, his touch warm through the thin material of your pajamas.

You want to cover your face, hide away as you feel yourself get wetter, warmer under his touch, but you’ve never been able to back down, especially not to Gyu. He holds your gaze challengingly, reaching up just under the hem of your shirt to snap at your waistband, laughing your startled gasp is followed by an indignant huff.

“So cute…” The low rumble of his voice has your stomach flipping even as you want to pull his hair like a brat.

Blunt nails sneak up your shirt, raking lightly up your sides, and your thighs clench involuntarily at the sensation. When he stops at the band of your bra, you shiver, suddenly painfully aware of the precipice he’s dragged you both to. There are a million reasons not to do what you’re doing right now, but pinned down by his dark, focused gaze, you can’t seem to think of a single one of them.

With his hands still up your shirt, calloused fingers tapping along your sides as though he’s counting your ribs, he leans forward with consideration in his gaze. The shift brings his cock down to rest against the apex of your thighs, and if you just rolled your hips up—

Beomgyu laughs as your hips jerk up under him, held down by the immovable weight of his body, and suddenly his nails are raking back down your sides harshly as he sits upright again.

“Gyu—fuck, Gyu, please—” Your voice is choked and whiny, hands knotted in the sheets beside you.

“’Please’ what?” He’s impossibly smug as he reaches up to pinch your cheek, laughing when you only look up at him sulkily. “If you aren’t gonna tell me what you want, I can’t help you.”

Your panties are sticky against your skin, the wet slide of them as you press your thighs together burning you up with shame so hot, you feel it warming your cheeks and stinging behind your eyes. Slowly, gently, he uncurls your fingers from his sheets, lifts your hand to his mouth and presses a gentle kiss to your palm, then sets your hand down firmly over your core.

You don’t even slide your hand into your pants, just start grinding your palm down against your throbbing clit, tears spilling over your cheeks as you feel your arousal soak through the flimsy cotton of your pajamas, your pussy clenching down pathetically around nothing. The sight of long fingers wrapped around the heft of his cock, the sound of rough strokes, wet with precum, filling your ears even when you squeeze your eyes shut—it makes you ache for him. You want him so badly, want him inside of you, but the words stop up at your throat, only soft, choked sobs escaping your mouth.

Gyu curls over you, wiping away your tears with the rough pad of his thumb, and you’re hit with a sudden flash of memory—being six and crying over a scraped knee, Gyu bending over you to kiss your bloodied skin and catch the tears from your eyes with grimy fingers. It’s such a perverse mirror—what you two are, what you should be—you can’t explain why your body chooses then to reach its peak, chest heaving and feet digging into his rumpled sheets as every nerve in your body sparks like a livewire.

The sight of your little hand moving between your legs, hearing the proof of you staining your adorably patterned pajamas, already had him right on the edge—finally seeing you cum again, for him this time, drags him over with you. He pushes your shirt up just enough to expose your belly, watches as his cum spatters against your soft skin, pools in your bellybutton and drips down your sides.

Your eyes are wide and glassy as he grabs one of his own shirts to clean you up, but you giggle when he dips into your bellybutton, legs kicking out weakly as his fingertips skate up your sides playfully. Neither of you says anything as he heaves himself off of you, collapsing back down on his bed as you sit up and stretch, and it’s a strange, tentative sort of peace.

When you get up to go, Beomgyu snatches up your hand, and for a moment you think he’s going to ask you to stay—but he just lifts your fingers to his mouth with a leering grin.

“Don’t be gross,” you snap, snatching your hand away.

“Can I at least have your panties?”

“Fuck off.”

(When he goes into the bathroom later, your underwear is folded neatly on the counter, still damp with your cum.)

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You’re annoyed before you even open your door—your dad is at work, so you already know it’s Beomgyu, and you’re too frazzled to want to deal with whatever he has in store for you.

What he has in store for you is—not what you expected. There’s a tray in his hands with plate of gimbap and a two cartons of strawberry milk. He’s even wearing pants.

“You haven’t eaten anything in at least eight hours. Here.” The tray is in your hands and Gyu’s bolting down the hall before you can say anything. The gimbap’s halfway to falling apart, but it tastes exactly the way your mom made it when you were a kid. If you cry a little, curled up at your desk with the taste of strawberries on your tongue, no one can prove that.

Gyu’s loitering in the kitchen when you bring the plate out, trying to look as busy as a person can when they’re watching water boil for cup ramen.

“You’re doing fine, y’know.” His voice is gruff as he says it, pointedly avoiding your gaze, but the verbal acknowledgment of the fact that you might be anything but perfect still has you bristling.

“‘Fine’ isn’t good enough,” you snap, dropping your dish into the sink with a clatter. You’re ready to get into it right then and there, in the middle of the kitchen, in front of his cup ramen.

You’re not ready for big, strong arms wrapping around you, for a broad chest warm against your back as a sharp chin coming down on the crown of your head with a rude thump.

“Who cares about ‘good enough’? You know we’re gonna love you no matter what.”

If you cry in the kitchen a little, well. Your big brother’s an idiot, but he’s always been pretty good at keeping a secret, when it counts.

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The house is too quiet; with Beomgyu out for the night, the silence echoes in your ears more oppressively than any off-key guitar practice. That’s the only reason you’re awake to hear your bedroom door slowly creak open.

You smell the beer on him before the weight of his body thumps down on your bed, rocking you into him as his arms settle around you. You freeze up in disbelief—is this how it’s going to happen?

But he just curls around you, knees coming in to tuck behind yours, the comforter still tucked around your form as he sniffles in your hair.

You wake up to sunlight streaming through your blinds and an empty bed. When you finally shuffle into the kitchen, your brother’s in his boxers, making toast with bleary eyes and tousled hair, and it’s like nothing ever happened.

Nothing did happen, you guess.

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At some point, you let yourself actually think about things, and everything comes together to make a horrible kind of sense. The way you’ve never liked any of his girlfriends. The way he’d fistfight any guy who looked at you twice. The way you don’t wear any perfume but the one he bought your for your graduation. The way he keeps jerking off in the living room.

That’s when you call your boyfriend.

You can’t keep doing this.

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It’s like the volume of your emotions has been turned down. You pick out your nicest outfit, and it feels like choosing what to wear for a job interview. Gyu comes by as you’re doing your makeup, pauses to loiter in the door as you brush your mascara on.

“What are you doing?” There’s nothing mocking or demanding about his tone, just curiosity, and it makes something funny tighten in your chest.

“I’m going out.”

“Going out where?”

“It’s none of your business.” There’s no heat in the way you snap, eyes focused steadily on your own reflection, and you think that might be the end of it—until your phone starts buzzing its way across the counter and he snatches it up, brows raising when he sees who’s calling.

"Seriously?”

You don’t have a chance to answer before Beomgy snatches up your wrist in a bruising grip and drags you to his room, door slamming shut as he pins you against it. His grip on your shoulders is hard enough to feel in your sockets, his mouth tight with fury, and you realize—this is the angriest you’ve seen him since—

"I’m right here. I’m. Right. Here.”

You reach up to tangle a hand in his hair, a curl of satisfaction winding its way through your veins as his eyes widen, before you drag his mouth down to yours.

It’s the worst kiss you’ve ever had. It’s the best kiss you’ve ever had.

Teeth clash against yours, the growl rising in his throat trapped by your mouth as you nip his lower lips sharply, his tongue exploring every corner of your mouth with a rude intensity. His hands are all over you, trying to be everywhere at once—jerking your clothing out of the way without bothering with buttons or zippers, and the rending of fabric just makes you both more frantic.

You’re still trying to work his infuriatingly tight pants down his hips—you can’t believe Gyu chose today of all days to wear clothes—when your underwear drops to the floor in shreds, his fingers sliding through the arousal already collecting along your folds. When his callused thumb circles your clit, you gasp and arch into the touch, yanking at his belt pathetically.

“How’s that feel, baby? Is it good? Is it better than the way your little boyfriend plays with you?” His breath is hot in your ear as he teases your entrance with a single finger, laughing as he can feel your muscles clenching down, trying to pull him in.

“Good—it’s good, so good,” you gasp out, rolling your hips forward to try and urge him further in.

“Hmmm, is it better, though?”

“Better, so much better, please Gyu, please.” You’re babbling, you don’t even care how dumb you sound for him, not when the prospect of him finally being inside of you is so close.

When he finally sinks into you, two long, calloused fingers that slide in like they were meant to be inside you, it’s like the last perfect slide of a rubiks cube. Your head thunks back against his door, your body shuddering under him as an animal whine claws it’s way out of you. He adds a third finger and your pussy swallows it up greedily, his thrusts growing rougher as he curls his fingers inside of you, tapping directly onto your clit mercilessly.

You’re sososoclose, your orgasm rushing up onto you like the drop of a waterfall, until Beomgyu yanks it out from under you, fingers sliding out of you just as you’re ready to tip over the edge. The sudden, painful emptiness rips a wail out of you, your nails scrabbling along his hips and leaving trails of red along his skin. Your kitten-claw desperation has him huffing with laughter, hoisting you up against the door to wrap your legs around his waist, pulling his cock out to press against your swollen lips.

“C’mon, baby, tell me what you need.”

“Need you, Gyu, need you so bad,” you plead, hands gripping his shoulders as you try to grind up against him, try to get even the slightest big of friction against your neglected clit.

“You’ve got me, baby, what’s wrong?” He’s breathless, but still so meanly smug as he keeps your hips pinned in place, stroking your hair from your eyes tenderly even as laughs at your neediness. “C’mon, my baby sister just needs to tell me what she needs and I’ll take care of her.”

“I need your cock, please—” You’ve barely got the admission out before he’s pushing into you, impaling you on his unforgiving length. The deeper he goes, the more you seem to stretch around him, the ache of emptiness replaces with the gentle burn of being stuffed just beyond what you can take. He pulls out carefully, the drag of his curved head along your walls lighting you up with pleasure, watching you carefully as he presses back in to the hilt with one slow, steady thrust.

Your heels dig into the small of his back, hips arching up to meet his, and it’s all it takes for the last of his fraying self-control to snap—one hand twisting in your hair, tugging your head back to bare your throat to him, while the other cups the curve of your ass and squeezes. The sting of your scalp is the only warning you get before he’s driving into you furiously, burying his face in your neck as his hips work with hard, desperate thrusts.

You tangle your own hands in his hair, less in retaliation and more to have something to cling to, the strands silky and dry as you twist your fingers into it. A sharp, unconscious tug has his teeth digging into you, pain blossoming bright and hot at the tender base of your neck. You pull again, deliberate and delighted when you feel his teeth catch on your skin again, followed by lips and tongue moving over the abused skin tenderly.

The sweetly cruel contrast of pleasure thrumming through your care and pain lighting up along your skin is the last thing you need for you body to let go, muscles tightening around him as your release claws its way out of you, dragging him down with you. You’re so wet and hot around him, you barely feel his cum filling you up as he empties into you with jerky, uneven pumps.

Beomgyu cradles your limp frame in his arms, resting you against his broad chest as you catch your breath, only to carry you to his bed and dump you unceremoniously onto the mess of his bedding. You’re too sore and satisfied to be annoyed, rolling over to smile up at him dopily. When you look up, he’s turning back with his camera in hand, pushing you back down against his comforter with a gentle hand and a sharp smile.

You’re too far gone to object, to even want to object, as he snaps picture after picture of you half-naked and wrecked for him, eyes glassy and cum dripping from your puffy hole. With every soft ‘click’ of the shutter, sparks shiver up your spine.

There’s no going back after this.

[witchwyfe]

and also, i’m craaaaving overprotective rafe rn. can you do one where he’s like overprotective over her? <3

take me away | rc

| pairing: (non canon) rafe cameron x female reader

| genre: angst ish, fluff at the end

| warnings: gross/creepy guy, alcohol/drinking mentions, language, violence (like one punch)

| word count: 1,169

Rafe doesn’t even like boneyard parties that much. After maturing a little in his first couple years of college (and growing closer to you), he’s realized he’d much rather spend a Friday night in with you, watching a movie and cuddling, rather than on the beach with a drink in his hand.

But you wanted to go, claiming you haven’t been in forever, and that all of your friends were going to be there too. And because he can’t say no to you—and he would much rather be with you somewhere he doesn’t want to be, than home by himself—he’s now being led down the beach by you, hand tucked tightly into your own.

“Oh look!” You smile, turning to look at him. “There’s Top and Kelce. You wanna go say hi?"

He brightens a little, using his free hand to wave to his buddies. Your friends are nearby too, that’s the result of having one big friend group, you suppose. You press a kiss to Rafe’s cheek, before unlinking your arm from his, and making your way to your friends.

Gracelyn and Emma tug you into a hug, pointing out your lack of drink, before tugging you in the direction of the keg.

You and the girls had gone off to get refills, leaving Rafe, Topper, and Kelce in the middle of a heated game of beer pong.

The three of you had been gone for a while, but when Gracelyn returns to the pong table—without you or Emma—his attention has left the game entirely, curious eyes turned onto Gracelyn.

“Rafe,” She huffs, setting her cup on the table. “This goes against everything I stand for, and the feminist in me is crying right now, but this guy won’t leave _____ alone and he won’t listen to any of us.” Gracelyn blows a piece of hair out of her face before continuing. “Emma is still with her, because I didn’t want to leave her alone, but I don’t think this guy will back off unless he sees you.”

"Do you know who he is?" Rafe asks, furrowing his brows, and setting his cup down on the table.

She shakes her head. "He's a touron." She frowns, the space between her eyebrows crinkling slightly.

Topper lets out a chuckle. "Uh oh, someone doesn't know that ____'s off limits." He pats Rafe's shoulder, teasing, until he sees the look in Gracelyn's eyes.

"No I'm serious Top." She crosses her arms against her chest. "He's an asshole, and he won't leave us alone. Mostly ____ I guess he's decided she's his favorite?" She shudders. "It's gross."

"Where?" Rafe asks, getting ready to storm across the beach. His jaw is clenched uncomfortably tight. He honestly doesn’t give a shit that someone doesn’t know you’re dating him, he trusts you—but someone making you uncomfortable is a whole different story, and he’s pissed.

Topper and Kelce leave their drinks and the pong game behind, ready to follow Rafe and back him up, just like in high school.

The three boys follow Gracelyn across the beach, and the second you see your boyfriend, relief washes over your body.

The guy who introduced himself as Liam, smirks at your friends walking towards you, his grip on your arm tightening.

"Hey man, what's going on over here?" Rafe wonders, scowling, eyes glaring daggers into the man next to you.

"None of your business." He scoffs.

Rafe snorts, a sarcastic smile on his lips. "Pretty sure that you bothering my girl, makes it my business."

"Well she was over here by herself," Liam says slimily. "Maybe you shouldn't have left her alone."

You pinch his forearm until he removes his hand from you, glaring while he scowls in pain. "I'm not an object, asshole. And I'm not interested, none of us are." You punctuate your statement by dumping the rest of your beer on him, curling your lip in disgust.

You step over to Rafe, tucking yourself under his arm.

"You okay?” He murmurs, lips at your temple.

You nod, curling into him when you see Liam staggering towards you and Rafe.

“Hey!” He barks, puffing his chest up. “Keep your bitch on a leash.”

Anger darkens Rafe’s eyes, his grip on you tightening. “Get the fuck out of here.” He growls, voice low and even.

“I have every right to be here.”

“Not when you’re harassing people and calling my girl a bitch.”

“Man, just mind your own fucking business.” He laughs cruelly. “I’m just trying to have some fun.”

Rafe glances at Topper and Kelce, sharing a look with them, before gently nudging you away from him. You sigh, turning back to lean into your friends, knowing that Rafe and the boys are preparing to fight, if they need to.

You watch Liam throw a punch, the alcohol in his system slowing his movements, making it easy for your boyfriend to duck, and throw a punch of his own, nailing Liam square in the nose.

Rafe backs up, letting Topper and Kelce drag him away, while he walks towards you, gently cupping your cheeks.

“M’ sorry baby,” He murmurs softly to you, “I know you hate fights but—“

You cut him off by pressing your lips to his for a second, smiling softly. “It’s okay. Thank you for helping me.”

“I love you sweetheart.” He whispers, pasting a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you too big guy.” You grin, pressing a teasing kiss to his neck.

“Alright,” Kelce sighs, walking back over to the group, with Topper by his side. “We found one of his friends and he apologized and is gonna take them back to their hotel.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you three all okay?” Topper asks, looking at you, Emma, and Gracelyn.

“Great, now.” Emma smiles, eyes locked on Topper’s. You and Rafe share a knowing smile.

“I think we’re gonna head out,” Rafe pipes up, sensing your lack of energy.

You squeeze his hand, an endeared smile on your face.

“Alright, we’ll probably stay for a while.” Gracelyn says. “But we’ll stay together, I don’t think I have the energy for anymore creepy fucks tonight.”

“Top and I’ll take care of you guys.” Kelce grins smile growing when Gracelyn and Emma giggle.

“Hmm,” You hum, amused. “Y’all didn’t see Em clock that guy over spring break.” You laugh. “I think she’ll be the one taking care of you Kelce.”

All your friends laugh, and you lean into Rafe, feeling tiredness make its way through your body.

“Goodnight guys!”

Rafe tugs you even closer to his side, smiling when you wrap an arm around his waist. “You want to go home baby?”

You nod. “You wanna stay the night?”

“Is that even a question?” He gives you a cheeky smile, opening the passenger door of his truck and waiting for you to climb in.

“Baby?” Rafe asks shyly “Can we watch Clueless when we get to your house?”

“For the hundredth time? Is that even a question?”

© witchwyfe 2021. absolutely no reposting, translating, or modifying, even with credit.

[suttttton]

Your fics always know how to hurt me and that one panel of Nikola wearing Jon's skin made me want to cry over Tim's reaction. If anyone could write that prompt, it'd be you.

the art in question by @lilirowan

thank you for the prompt! i was also thinking about writing something for that art, and this was exactly the motivation i needed! anyway, here you go (ao3 link in source!):

Stranger

Tim went to see Jon in a play once. Shakespeare. A Midsummer Night's Dream.

It was years ago. Before the Archives, before Jane Prentiss and Jon's paranoid breakdown and the murder investigation and Sasha’s disappearance.

Before everything fell apart.

He’d caught Jon practicing his lines in the break room. He knew he should interrupt, should say something, announce his presence. But. Well. He'd been just a little bit in love with Jon, back then. And there was something so wonderful about Jon reciting lines to himself as he made tea, every so often punctuating a sentence with gestures. So for several moments, Tim just leaned against the doorway, watching.

Then Jon turned around and cut off with a gasp as he saw Tim, flinching hard enough that some of his hot tea spilled out over his hand. "Ow, ow, fuck," Jon said, spinning around again to set the mug on the counter and then grab a paper towel to wipe the liquid from his hand.

"You alright?" Tim said, his voice light.

"It's fine," Jon replied, his voice hard and cold, the way it got when he was embarrassed. Tim couldn't see his face, but he knew the exact floral shade that would be burning Jon's cheeks.

He grinned. "Practicing for something?"

"No. It's nothing. It's none of your business. Leave me alone."

Tim walked over and leaned against the counter beside Jon, just slightly closer than was fully appropriate for two co-workers. Jon didn't look at him, just glared down into his tea like he wanted to disappear into it. "Jon," Tim said gently. "I'm not making fun of you. I'm interested."

And Jon had relaxed at that, a little bit, which had made Tim feel... warm.

"It's just a lark, really. I used to act a bit, at university, and I thought it might be fun to—to try. You and Sash are always saying that I spend too much time working."

"You do," Tim replied with a grin. "So, is it fun?"

"Yes. I—I'm enjoying it."

"When's the performance?"

"Oh—it—uh—You don't have to come. It really isn't anything—You shouldn't—"

Tim gasped, mock affronted. "Jon! How could I possibly miss the chance?"

And Jon gave him one of those small little smiles, and Tim's heart melted just a little more.

The performance itself was wonderful. An objective theater critic probably would have seen it as nothing special, but Tim wasn't an objective critic. He was Jon's friend, and as such he was utterly taken with every aspect of the show.

Especially Jon. Especially Jon's performance. Tim was so glad that he'd been there to see it. The way Jon glowed on stage, the mask of his character giving him a confidence he rarely showed in real life. His eyes shone and he delivered his lines with no signs of his usual nervousness, and when Tim had met up with him afterward, he was more relaxed and exhilarated then Tim had ever seen.

"Did you like it?" he'd asked, but he was smiling like he already knew the answer. Or like it didn't matter.

"It was great," Tim had replied. "You were amazing."

"You really think so?"

Tim had scoffed. "Of course! Like you were someone else entirely."

***

The thing on the stage isn't Jon.

Oh, it looks like him. Sounds like him, too, and it makes Tim’s chest compress around his lungs every time it speaks.

The last time Tim had seen Jon, he'd had bandages around his hand and his neck. He'd had dark black circles under his eyes, and he'd flinched at raised voices or loud noises.

And then he’d disappeared. Again.

Except this time, he didn't come back. Instead, Elias called them all up to his office and promoted Martin to Head Archivist. Just like that. No, I'm afraid Jon won't be coming back. I understand you'd like some time to grieve, but the Unknowing is a rather pressing issue, so I must insist—

The thing on stage is dressed like a ringleader, a suit of green with a matching hat. A dazzling outfit that shines in the light of its spotlight. It smiles as it addresses the roaring crowd, long hair flouncing around as it paces across the stage, shiny and well-maintained.

It’s been six months since Tim has seen Jon, and he knows all-too-well what that means. Six months of captivity with these creatures. Tim wonders how long Jon has been dead. He hopes, please, that the answer is most of them.

"Let's have a round of applause for our very special guests!" The thing on stage cries, and the loud crowd gets even more uproarious. Then it says, "Bring them up to the stage. We can hardly start the dance without them in their proper places."

The stiff, cold hands holding Tim and Martin in place start to move, dragging them to the front of the room, the stage that is packed to the brim with horrors Tim can't begin to describe, that he can hardly wrap his mind around.

"Jon!" Martin is saying, trying to fight against the inhumanly strong grip holding him. His voice sounds high and sad and broken. Betrayed. "What are you doing?"

The thing stares at them as they are pulled up to stand beside it. Only then does it blink, eyes lighting in a parody of recognition. “Martin?” Its voice is quieter now that they are standing so close, and it sounds—tragic.

“Yes,” Martin says. “Yes, it’s us. We—we’re here to stop this.”

“You can’t,” Jon says, sounding distant and confused. “It’s too late. You can’t—” He takes a sharp breath, eyes widening in panic. "You have to get out of here!” He looks at the mannequins holding them in place. “Let them go,” he says, his voice trembling like he isn’t sure if he will be listened to. “We don’t need them.”

The hands loose their grip and step back, but it’s not like it matters. They’re still surrounded. Nowhere to run.

As soon as they’re released, Martin steps forward, like he’s going to embrace the thing. Tim grabs his wrist. "Don't touch it!" Tim says. "It’s one of them.”

“Are you kidding me, Tim?” Martin snaps, trying to tear his hand away. Tim holds him tight, even as Martin looks at him like this is the ultimate betrayal. “It’s Jon!”

“No, it isn’t,�� Tim says. He’s crying now, the tears blurring his vision. The audience has settled down, watching in rapt entertainment. It's a show. A performance. “This is what these things do. I know you don’t want to see it, I know it’s terrible, but—You have to look, Martin. Look.”

Martin goes quiet, stops struggling against him. He takes a deep, steadying breath and turns around to look at the thing. He gasps. “What—? What did you—” Then he takes a deep, horrified breath and sways. Tim puts an arm around him, steadying him.

"Tim?" the thing says, then. There are tears in its eyes that it wipes away with its wrist. Just like Jon did. "I missed you," it says.

"No, you didn't," Tim says, his voice hard. "Stop pretending."

It sniffs, like it’s holding back a sob. "You know you were my best friend? For a while, at least. I know I ruined it. I know that's why you didn't come get me."

"Shut up," Tim says. It shouldn't be able to do Jon's kicked puppy, 'Sorry for existing' routine. It shouldn't be allowed.

“I wanted you to come so badly,” it says, sounding deeply sad. “Even though I knew it was hopeless. Who have you ever saved from this grand Circus, after all?”

“How dare you—”

"Do you ever think about what flensing feels like?"

Tim closes his eyes, trying not to think about it. Beside him, Martin flinches.

"Of course you have. All those nights, replaying in your mind in perfect detail what happened to Danny." It pauses. "What do you think it looked like when it happened to me?"

Martin sucks in a sharp breath, and Tim's heart feels like it's going to pound out of his chest.

It turns away from them, walking with slow steps toward center stage. “I screamed for you, when the pain got too much and my mind broke a bit. You were safety to me, once. In the midst of it all, I forgot that you couldn’t hear me, and couldn’t do anything to help in any case.”

“Stop talking like you’re him,” Tim manages.

"What's the difference?" it says.

"You aren't Jon, is the difference!" Tim spits.

It hums. "Do you know what I was most afraid of, after I'd given up all real hope that someone would come? When I knew without any shadow of doubt what would happen to me? I was afraid that they would put on my skin and go back to the Institute, and none of you would notice that anything was wrong."

Tim swallows, feeling a bolt of ice in his chest. Wondering if it's true. Wondering if he would have recognized the monster in this thing, if they weren't utterly surrounded by the Circus.

"You never noticed Sasha, after all," it says, a lilting, teasing note in its voice. "If I had come back to the Institute, I think you would have simply accepted it. I think you would have liked me better, even. Less annoying, less needy, less pathetic. All of those pesky traumas washed away."

"That isn't true," Tim says, because he needs for it to not be true.

It smiles then, looking out at the audience, which has gone utterly silent. "Lord, what fools these mortals be!" It says, its voice quiet, too quiet for the audience to hear, and yet the whole room bursts into laughter.

The thing grins at them, a too-wide smile beneath inhuman eyes. "Welcome to the show."

[incalculablepower]

2022 Wrapped

ty for the tags @hinnyfied and @ashesandhackles

Post the top 5 works you're most proud of that you released in 2022 (not necessarily your most popular)

eticabtf - despite sort of regretting the long-ass title at this point i really like this one. it was the toughest thing i worked on, since i had a deadline and a prompt and a word count minimum to hit it came with a lot of (IMO good and healthy) stress at a time when i needed a project like that! it was kind of ambitious and weird and i'm still just so glad it landed.

in virtute et tutela - someone commented that it made them cry which is like, the best comment i've ever received. it came to me very easily but there was still an odd challenge where i had to come up with the rules of what an inner monologue of a half-cat/half-kneazle would sound like. my crookshanks doesn't understand spoken language but he's very intuitive and this is how he communicates with those patient and understanding enough (first other animals, then an animagus, and finally humans). i'm also really happy with how the title fits the story, it's a reference to a plea from a cat named virtute, the weakerthans song from the POV of a cat pleading to its depressed person. the reasons - i JUST realized this is my second fic with a weakerthans title. HBP is one of my favourite books AND adaptations because i love the goofy teen comedy vibes and i really like playing it up with this fic. i recently reread the first chapter i have uploaded with some distance and i think it's really really funny! this drabble from a TTB challenge this spring - this event really helped me work some writing muscles thanks to the prompts and the instant feedback. this is the origin of the photo of the original order of the phoenix and i like how much little details I packed into it, especially alice as a photographer, someone who immortalizes memories.

i also really like this one - i think it's the most poetic of my drabbles from that challenge and it really communicates how i feel about a post-war ron's life. and i love the jenny holzer truism i used for the title.

your top 4 current WIPs that you're excited to release in the new year

I would like to treat my WIPs as actual works in progress vs things i started writing and kinda gave up on 1. i would like to continue with more chapters of the reasons! i have a lot of outlines and a good idea for where i want it to go. i'm also not stressing too much since each chapter will really serve as a loosely connected one-shot. 2. i have a romione shell cottage fic i've been picking at for MONTHS! i really like the idea i have for it but it's been a bit of a slog, i would love to get it done! 3. a couple days ago i had a new year's eve fic idea and got about 500 words in before things got busy. i really wanted to have it done FOR nye, but life's been busy. i am going to try to get it out before i finish my vacation and not stress about it being "late" for the holiday. 4. i also started a TTB yule bash fic for teddy's first weasley sweater, another idea i really really like but i got sick when i was writing it and didn't want to worry about the deadline. i might pick at it from time to time for next christmas.

your top 3 biggest improvements in your writing over the past year

1. the fact that i do it... at all? i joined @thethreebroomsticksficfest discord server because i was getting back into reading fic and just wanted to chat about it, but then noticed most members also wrote fic and the discussion around it made it feel very accessible and supportive. 2. i've learned or relearned a lot about punctuation and grammar, which helps my fic AND a lot of other areas of my life. writing cover letters for my job search this year was the least stressful it's ever been. 3. i know this is about my writing specifically but i swear it's all connected - i've gained a greater appreciation and understanding of storytelling through reading fic, commenting on it and trying to write it. i think my overall media analysis is smarter than it was this time last year and i have a better vision of what i want to achieve when i write something. your top 2 resolutions (ways you wish to improve your writing/blog) for the new year 1. i would like to write some longer one-shots, in the 5k-10k range. 2. i would like to write some shippier stuff that isn't just pining and sexual tension lol and your number 1 favorite line you've written this year

i really like this one from my crookshanks fic They spent each night at the foot of her bed, two rounded pastilles curled up on top of the quilt. 

let's just call it the "kneazle" i know many people have been tagged in this already so i'm cheaping out and tagging everyone who wants to do this.

[flowerslut]

5, 6 and 19!!!

5. What’s a fic idea you’ve had that you will never write?

this is so fun to talk about because I never let myself indulge in Fic Thinking Or Brainstorming because that's dangerous for me (for obvious reasons) BUT two fun fic ideas I've had in the past year-ish are these SUPER fun ones:

what if james and co DIDN'T overhear the cullen's baseball game and didn't stop by the cullen's residence until the next day like alice ORIGINALLY thought? (and with edward absent and playing the Must Be Constantly Around Bella game I think the whole 'james knows who alice is' reveal could be SO FUN—really you could go any way with this: angsty, silly, both!) I thought I would write this eventually but there ain't no way in hell it'll happen at the rate things are going lmfao

and what if alice was like "I have to WAIT to meet my true love? hell no" and after a few years she goes down south and makes her own army in a "well if you can't kiss 'em, join 'em" type of way. I just want to see a dumber version of alice who is like "I'll get this man's attention one way or another. i'll sort everything else out eventually" and she makes SO many bad choices but whoops she's good at this army business and now she's super powerful lol whoops! well, she'll get her back blown out one way or another! and if she has to commit a few thousand murders beforehand then like, whatever, yknow?

6. Are there any fics from others you reread all the time?

yes!!! right now I've been on a BIG tlt fic binge and these are a couple I go back to all the time: GHAZAL WHERE I'M BEGGING YOU TO TOUCH ME, Inversion (<- this right here is the best tlt fic I've ever read), The Heart is Hard to Translate, and beat your swords into ploughshares (and your spears into pruning hooks). most of these are explicit griddlehark fics if I'm not mistaken lmfao

and as far as jalice fics are concerned I regularly return to @goldeneyedgirl's ongoing jalice fics Jar of Hearts and Shadow to Light because lexie's versions of jasper and alice mean so goddamn much to me. but I don't read much jalice tbh because I am... so picky with their characterization, etc.

19. Give us a small teaser from one of your WIPs.

this is long enough, so here's a bonus roots snippet under the cut!

When the screeching of limbs and heads being removed punctuated the hissing and crying that had filled the field, the vampire who stood, watching, rolling the stone around in their pocket, finally let out a sigh.

“Very well,” they spoke, watching as their army gathered the bodies to drag across the barren land and toward the pile that had already been assembled just out of sight, up and then down another hill. As they worked in agreeable silence, the watcher closed their eyes again, sighing once more.

The stone in their pocket was sharp on one side. With a small amount of pressure, the tip of their finger opened. A clenched fist brought venom toward their palm and with a quick squeeze their hand was wet with it.

Memories attached to the pain trickled in through their thoughts. For a moment they smiled and pictured once more the two bodies that were being carried away. Their faces were not hard to morph with the imagination, their features not quite similar but close enough that there was no effort to this daydream.

They imagined blonde hair torn and burnt, skull exposed and venom slick across the head. An opened neck, perhaps proving that scarred skin all looked the same when peeled back, ripped from the cemented system that held their kind together. His teeth would be kept and put to use. His last mark on the world he’d abandoned would never come. He would become nothing more than a discarded instrument, broken down for parts—maybe put back together once, or twice, just so they could hear him scream and beg and cry—that would be used to carve into every other victim these lands claimed.

The same teeth that had once marked them, would mark others, too.

Imagining the woman was easier, and brought a fiercer fire to their chest, the satisfaction of what would be done to her eliciting a full smile from their quiet, closed off face. Yes, the dark-haired witch would get what was coming to her. They imagined what she might look like, as torn and mangled as her companion had always been. Limbs fused together. Eyes gouged over and over until regeneration ceased (they had never figured out how many times their bodies could do such a thing).

Experiments were only kind when it was deserved. Some people did not deserve mercy.

fanfic writer asks!

[lick-me-lennon22]

How they calm you down when you're very stressed/having a breakdown 💜

thanks so much to @betchq who requested this one! hope you enjoy :) 💕

(these ended up wayyy too long.. whoops :P)

Paul:

it's all too much- you can't take it anymore

one minute you're sitting on the bed venting to Paul about work and family troubles- frustrated, but not devastated- and suddenly you've spiraled again

you're practically hyperventilating, gripping the duvet so hard your knuckles turn white, sobbing about how unfair the world is and how you'll never truly be happy

"Woah, woah, what's this all about darling?" he interjects tenderly, a gentle finger lifting your chin up to look at him, briefly breaking you from the hope-devouring clutches of your panicked mind

"It's -*hic*- just too m-much to handle Paul, I -*hic*- c-cant do it anymore," you manage to squeak out between sobs, your voice wavering and your lip quivering

Paul gazes into your tear-filled eyes, scanning them with his own in an attempt to gain understanding, a deeply concerned expression on his face

he places a firm, loving hand on each of your shoulders, eyes still locked on yours

"Listen to me, my love- nothing, and I mean nothing, is so wrong or bad that you can't take it on, or that this world would be better off without you. I know things are difficult for ye right now and it's completely understandable that you're overwhelmed- but you will get through this. And I will stay glued to your side every step of the way"

you inhale shakily, the cascade of tears that once flowed down your cheeks slowing to a halt as Paul continues his pep talk:

"Regardless of how daunting and scary it seems and no matter what it takes, you are going to be okay- more than okay, you are going to get through this and emerge from it even better off and happier than ever before. Ye hear me?" he says sincerely- his gaze stern, piercing, and comforting all at the same time

you nod slowly, eyes glimmering with residual tears, and sniffle once more

"You are the strongest, most capable, and most resilient person I know. I don't ever want you to feel that the days are becoming too heavy for you to handle. And if you do you know you can always, always come to me, no matter how insignificant you think your struggles are- they're not. I don't care if I'm 'busy,' nothing ever takes priority over you and your wellbeing, Y/N. I mean that."

you smile up at him with appreciation as he wipes your cheeks with his thumbs

"T-Thank you, Paul. It all just gets so overwhelming.. I don't know what I'd do without you"

"It's no trouble at all love, that's me job"- he gives you a small smile and pulls you in for a long, gentle hug

"I adore you Y/N, you are my whole world. Promise you'll come to me if you ever feel this way again?"

you nuzzle into Paul's chest: "I promise"

"That's my (girl/boy/love). I love you more than anything in this world- don't you ever forget that" ♡

John:

you don't even hear the front door open and shut, the sound drowned out by your sobs combined with the melancholy tunes coming from the record player on your dresser

"Y/N, I'm home!" John calls out, kicking off his shoes and coming to find you

he searches for you on the couch, at the dining room table, and then in the kitchen- but you're nowhere to be found

That's strange, he thinks, Y/N's almost always sat on the couch waiting for me when I come home...

"Where's my sweet birdie?~" he tries, striding briskly down the hallway to your shared bedroom, still in pursuit of his partner

John raps his knuckles against the wooden door and waits a few moments for a response

when he doesn't get one he turns the doorknob and pushes his way in, panic flooding his mind and senses

nothing could have prepared John for what he sees- the love of his life curled up fetal-style in bed, clutching the blanket for dear life, cheeks glistening with tears and features screwed up into an agonized expression

he rushes to your side immediately, placing a firm hand on your shoulder and shaking you softly to alert you of his presence

he spooks you and you startle, eyes snapping open in shock

"Are you alright, love? What happened- did somebody hurt you?? If someone upset ye I swear I'll make 'em rue the day they were born-" he seethes, interrupted only by you sitting up against the pillows and taking his hand in yours:

"J-John, calm down, I'm fine.."

"Did.. did I do something? Was it me? Tell me what I did wrong Y/N, whatever it is I'll fix it I promi-"

"No John, you've done everything right," you sigh

"It's j-just.." you trail off, unable to meet his gaze

he waits for a moment before encouraging you with a "Go on darling, you can tell me anything"

you take a deep, shaky breath before continuing- "Everything is so overwhelming and heavy.. just living feels like too much some days. I don't know what to do John, I'm downright miserable!!" you exclaim, your eyes once again welling up with tears

"..Oh sweetheart, come here" he opens his strong arms, pulling you in for an emotionally charged hug

John isn't the greatest at discussing feelings, so he offers comforting words instead

"Shh, everything's alright... I'm here, Johnny's got ye" he soothes, stroking your hair as you quiver in his arms, your body wracked with sobs

"I-It's just one of those days where I don't know how I'll ever b-be -*hic*- happy" you croak out, clutching his body close to yours

John draws in a deep breath before responding: "I understand how you feel- I've had plenty of those days meself," he confides in you

"But we can't let them stop us from living. Sometimes your perspective gets all screwed up and ye can't see through the bullshit your mind hurls at you,

"But one bad day is still just twenty-four hours, ye know? It helps me to think about that- that this too shall pass," he reassures you candidly, rubbing gentle circles into your back

"I know it seems impossible right now, but you'll- we'll," he corrects, "get everything sorted- including that pretty little 'ead of yours- and you'll feel like yourself again sooner than you know. Got that?" he asks

you simply nod, beginning to calm down but unable to speak just yet, and nuzzle further into John

he squeezes you tightly: "Y/N- ye know I know what it feels like to be stressed and depressed, and I just.." you hear John start to choke up and feel him tremble as he begins to cry, himself

"-ah don't ever want ye to feel hopeless like I 'ave, you know I'd take it all away in an instant if I could" he says, trying and failing to mask the wavering of his voice

"Even if it meant I'd have to take it all on meself instead, I can handle it- I'd do anything for you Y/N, I've never loved anyone or anything like I do you and it hurts me to see you in such pain"

John's voice breaks at the end of his monologue and you hear him sniffle

with that, you finally speak up: "Oh John, I'll be okay- I promise. Thank you for changing my perspective, it's just so difficult to pull yourself out of despair sometimes.. some days are just so.. heavy" you say, pulling back and looking up at him; "I didn't mean to make you cry too"

you dry your face with your sleeve and John takes your hands in his

"Y/N you know I understand completely, and I want ye to come right to me when the days get too overwhelming- I'll be sure to set your perspective straight. Don't you ever worry about making me upset or anythin' of the like, okay love?"

you nod- "And besides, I ain't crying" John says somewhat defensively and shifts his gaze away from you, still clutching your hands in his larger ones

you chuckle softly and roll your eyes at him- "Whatever you say Johnny.. you can't fool me, I know you're a softie" you tease, booping him gently on the nose

he pulls one hand back from yours, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly- "Yeah, yeah, that's enough" John says, expression hardening as he tries to disguise the grin making its way across his face

you place a hand on his cheek and turn his face to look at you

"Thank you, John. I feel so much lighter now"

"Ahh, don't mention it darling. Anytime at all- you mean the world to me. I love you, Y/N."

"I love you too, John." ♡

George:

to your boyfriend George, it's a day like any other

he walks down the hallway to your shared bedroom, fizzy drink in hand, intent on watching some cartoons in bed with you

he knocks and upon hearing your, "Come in!" enters the room with an "'Ello, gorgeous!"

"Room for one more? I was thinking we could have a cartoon marathon this evening- what do ye think?" he proposes, approaching you and taking a sip of his drink

you hesitate a moment before answering: "Yeah, that's fine Geo" you say flatly, punctuated with a quiet sniffle

"...Are you feeling alright, dear? What's got you down?"

George sets his glass on the nightstand and sits beside you in bed

"Nothing's the matter babe, I'm okay" you mutter unconvincingly, avoiding eye contact

George studies your face, just now noticing the red and puffy appearance of your eyes

"Have you been crying..?" he asks gingerly and places a gentle hand on your cheek

you finally turn to look at him, sighing: "...yes but before you freak out, it's really nothing- just one of those days, you know?" you offer George a weak smile, downplaying your stress

"Y/N." he begins sternly, "I can tell when something's wrong. Do you want to tell me about it, doll?"

"I would, but there really isn't much to talk about... it's just life, I guess. Nothing specific" you shrug

"It's not 'just' anything- if it matters to you, it matters just as much to me," George reassures you sweetly

"Thank you Geo, but I don't know what to tell you. I just feel...tense and pessimistic, you know?"

George nods in understanding: "Really just that sort of day then, eh? That's the worst- ye can't target anything to fix it," he sympathizes and you nod in agreement

"Tell you what- I don't care if it takes all night, I'm gonna do whatever it is I can to make you feel comfortable and calm, all right? Starting with getting some food in ya- I know that always makes me feel better" he grins

you offer him a half-hearted smile, as much as you can muster in your state

"Of course it does, George" you chuckle, "that sounds lovely"

George disappears down the hall and returns just moments later kicking the door open, arms full of snacks and sweets (including jelly babies)

your face lights up at the sight of him

he unloads everything, opening his arms and dumping it all on the bed for you to choose whichever item you please

"Thank you, Geo" you giggle and grab one of the bags of crisps, opening it and promptly reaching in for a handful to munch on

"Anything else I can get you, darling? Anything at all?"

"Hmm.. no, I don't think so-" you start, but George cuts you off before you can finish your sentence

"Oh I know! You need a nice, warm cuppa- that'll be sure to soothe you. Be right back, love" he says and with that, he's out the door once more

you wait patiently in bed for a few minutes and graze on the treats George had brought you until he reappears, a ceramic mug in one hand and a box of tissues in the other

"Here you are dear," he says, handing the mug to you and placing the tissues on your nightstand- "I thought you might need these"

"You really didn't have to do all this, my love- thank you. It really warms my heart" you tell him earnestly, "I already feel so much better"

George beams at you: "Of course gorgeous, it's no trouble at all. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"Hmm..." you contemplate his question for a moment before responding- "Just one more thing, I think"

"What is it, Y/N? Anything at all, just say the word"

"Get over here and cuddle me!"- you lift the blanket and invite him to lay with you

"I thought you'd never ask" George says cheekily and hops into bed, pulling you close to his chest to spoon you

(and reaching over you to grab an overflowing handful of crisps, shoveling them into his mouth)

you can't help but laugh and snuggle into George, your worries forgotten

"Thank you, Geo. You're the best"

"What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn't look after my (girl/boy/love)? And besides, it's no inconvenience at all- don't you worry. I love you, Y/N"

"And I love you, George" ♡

Ringo:

Ringo has always made you feel safe, heard, and loved, and he's assured you that you can confide in him whenever you need to

he's made it a point to tell you to come to him whenever you need him, and that he'll drop everything to help you in any way he can

on one particular evening, nothing seems to be going right for you

you're beyond stressed and overwhelmed, and you can't help but break down from the pressure and weight of the world

at first when you step out into the living room, face red and tear-streaked, Ringo is oblivious

he carries on watching the television, gaze locked onto the technicolor screen

"Ritchie..?" you say meekly; "What is it, my love?" he calls out, eyes still fixed on the telly

upon seeing how invested he is in the program, you suddenly feel like a burden despite what he's told you numerous times before about coming to him when you're upset

"Umm.. nevermind" you squeak out, about to turn and drag yourself back to the bedroom when Ringo finally whips his head around to face you

his wide eyes take in your pathetic, hunched frame- hair tousled, eyes puffy and blanket pulled tight around you

"Oh my- sweetheart, are you okay? What's wrong?" he scrambles up off of the sofa and rushes over to you, panic evident in his expression

he places his hands on your shoulders and looks you over, eyes searching yours for answers

"Yeah, I'm okay" you sniffle, "but.. remember all those times you told me I should come to you if I'm ever stressed out?"

"Of course I do love, what's got you so stressed?" he inquires delicately, rubbing your shoulders

"Life, existence, everything!" you confess, exhausted

"Oh honey, everything's alright- I promise! Come here" Ringo beckons you closer and smothers you in one of his renowned bear hugs

you begin to sob quietly into his shirt

"I'm sorry, I don't know what's come over me today, I don't want to burden you-"

"Love, don't you ever worry about being overbearing or burdening me- I am always ready and willing to help you, please understand that. Managing your stress is so important and I'm thankful that ye came to me. That's what I'm here for" he reassures you as he holds you close to him

you sniffle and tremble, your tears soaking through his cotton t-shirt

"Shh, everything's going to be fine. It's okay to cry" Ringo soothes

"It's just a bad day. It doesn't mean that everything is falling apart, I promise. I'm right here. We've got this, together- you and I could take on the whole world if we had to!"

you pull back from his embrace and gaze into his eyes; "Really?"

"Of course we could, baby! Now let's get you to bed, how about that?"

you nod and Ringo lifts you up, carrying you bridal style to your shared room and setting you down gently on the bed

he swaddles you in a blanket burrito and proceeds to kiss your tears away, peppering your face with little smooches that make your heart flutter and your mind go blank

"Ritchie!!" you exclaim, giggling

"What? Kisses are the best medicine"- you agree, as long as they're his at least

once he's finished administering your treatment, he asks: "What else can I fetch ye, cutie? Anything?"

"You!"

"Why, of course!" Ringo's grin widens, lighting up his face as he pulls you close to him in bed

you rest your head on his chest and close your eyes, the dull thud of his heartbeat lulling you into a serene state of mind

for the remainder of the night Ringo refuses to leave your side, even when you drift off into peaceful slumber at last

"I love you, Y/N" he mumbles, the last thought occupying his mind before he too dozes off to sleep ♡

[bokebelle]

prove it - porco galliard

a/n: happy friday please enjoy 2k words of just sucking pock's cock<3 for the brain rot <3 also thank you to the loml @ensta for being my beta again you're a real one 🥰

WORDCOUNT: 2.1k

WARNINGS: 18+ only minors dni; blowjob; fingering; edging; light degradation; deepthroating if you look hard enough; use of the term (good)girl, slut, whore; profanity; porco being a tease; a pinch of fluff in the end; no actual fucking.

PAIRINGS: porco galliard x fem(bodied)! reader

TAGS: smut, fluff if you squint

REQUESTS: open

Maybe it was the way you swayed your hips to the rhythm of the music, your pretty little dress riding up your thighs ever so slightly. Maybe it was how you give a pretty and polite smile to random strangers whose lustful eyes roamed your body. Maybe it was the way you'd have this mischievous look in your eyes when you glance at Porco, your eyes locking with his unreadable amber ones, as you flirtatiously laughed at whatever the poor stranger at the club told you with the hopes of taking you home.

'Pathetic', Porco thought. They would flirt and fall for your pretty little games but you never went home with any of them. Hell, you never even bothered getting their names after they'd buy you a drink. They played right into your little trap, and Porco loved watching them lose every time. But when he saw a stranger getting ballsy by putting his hand on the small of your back, moving too close for his liking, he knew he had to remind you that although it was your little game, you were still just a player and he called the shots.

"Hands off, lover boy." Porco said as he pulled stranger's hand off of you. "She's taken"

"What the fuck man? I was busy" The stranger retorted, trying to grab your wrist to pull you back to him.

Porco shoved his chest and closed in on the stranger, inches away from his face. The dangerous glint in his eyes was unmistakable and you could hear the venom seep from his voice as he punctuated every word.

"I said. hands. off. my. girl."

The stranger looked at Porco, then at you before making the right choice and walking away. He looked at you one last time before mumbling "dirty slut" loud enough for you and Porco to hear

You immediately place your hands on Porco's chest to stop him from beating the shit out of the stranger. "Pock, baby, it's not worth it."

He looks at you and his soft golden gaze is replaced with a dark look.

He firmly grabs your jaw, his breath fanning against your jaw and neck, causing goosebumps to form on your skin and a slight tingle to run through your veins. "Since you're being such a dirty slut, as that fucker so kindly put it, maybe I should remind you how good girls should act."

He doesn't give you time to reply before he drags you by the hand, out of the club, and in his car.

Barely a second before you hear the door shut, Porco pushes you against the door with his hands and mouth all over you. You loved how his hands roughly kneaded the flesh of your ass while his mouth left marks on your neck and chest

You moaned by his ear as he sucked on the tender spot on your neck, the sensation of rough bites and his tongue roaming over to soothe the mark sending shivers down your spine. His hand moved from your ass to moving under hem of your dress, to gently tracing the edges of your panties that were growing wetter with each mark Porco left on your skin.

You moaned at his feathery touches, growing more desperate the more his touched teased you.

He lightly traced the waistband of your panties before shoving his hand in, his fingers automatically finding their way to your core. His fingers slowly circled around your swollen clit. So close, yet never quite hitting their mark.

Your moans were growing louder, more desperate, the closer Porco got to directly rubbing your clit.

He's playing with you. He always did when he felt a little more dominant, when he felt you needed reminding that you were his and his alone. Right now, you were a slut that needed to be taught a lesson.

It was torturous for you sometimes. He would bring you to the edge of pleasure only to reel you back in. It was almost unbearable. But the way he always left you satiated, with an aching core and shaky legs, always had you coming back for more.

His two fingers rubbed just above your nub before gently tracing down your lips, stopping just before your soaking hole.

"You're already so fucking wet for me." He chuckled darkly. "I haven't even fucked you yet".

He plunged his middle finger into your hole while his thumb finally rubbed against your clit.

Your back arched in pleasure, your chest pressing into his. His free hand wrapped itself around your neck, his thumb tilting your jaw upward so his mouth could claim yours. He bit your lower lip, causing you to moan. He took this opportunity to push his tongue into your mouth, claiming it as his. You gave him control, choosing to let him taste you rather than clashing for dominance. He wanted to teach you a lesson, and maybe you'd let him. Maybe.

He inserted another finger as his digits pumped in and out of you, the pads skillfully massaging that spongy spot only he seemed to find. The skillful ministrations of his fingers alone, his fingers curling up inside you to hit your sweet spot and his thumb rubbing precise circles on and around your clit, was enough to have your toes curling and a white-hot sensation to slowly burn you from your legs up to your core.

"Pock" you moaned into his mouth.

Fuck, he wanted nothing more than to hear you cry his name over and over again.

"Pock, 'm gonna cum." He knew you were. Your kisses were more desperate, your moans were louder. He felt your sweet pussy almost suck his fingers in. He felt your walls grew tighter and tighter with every thrust of his fingers, so desperate for release.

His fingers were about to push you over the edge, the familiar heat of pleasure slowly burning through your whole body. Just when you were about to let the flames of pleasure, Porco doused your flame by quickly withdrawing his hands and left you with nothing.

He smirked as he heard you whine into his kisses.

"Sorry." He smirks at the pout forming on your bruised lips. adorable. "Dirty sluts don't get to finish."

"But Pock!" You whine, rubbing your legs together hoping to get some friction, frustrated as you felt your ruined high ebb away. "I'm your slut."

Something about hearing you calling yourself a slut, something about calling yourself his, made him feel in control.

His lips trailed from your jaw to your throat, leaving more marks he was sure you would scold him for being too obvious to cover up. You were his, weren't you? You would understand.

"Prove it then." He growled into the skin of your neck, grabbing at the back of thighs, signaling you to jump up and wrap your legs around him. You do just that, securing your arms around his neck, leaving your own marks on him too. It was only fair, after all.

He squeezed the flesh of your ass and thighs tightly, surely leavings marks, as he sat both of you down onto the sofa. You straddle his lap as your mouth makes its way from his marked neck to lips.

You grind against his cock, causing him to moan. Urgent hands struggled to free his cock from the confines of his jeans and boxers. You wrapped your fingers around Porco's length and gently up and down. You pumped him a few times before you settled on his tip. You softly thumbed the bead of pre-cum, spreading it around his hed, your free hand massaging his balls.

His hold on you tightens almost painfully. You shimmy away from his grip and move yourself to the floor, kneeling in front of him.

You meet Porco's gaze, his pupils blown with pleasure. You hold his gaze, his hard cock still in your hand while the other settles on his thigh, as you trace the tip of your tongue around his head.

"oh fuck" he groans, throwing his head back against the sofa, aggressively running a hand through his now messed up hair.

You keep your eyes on his face as you gradually work your way down his length. Licking down, back up, then swirling your tongue around his head, slowly inching your down while your hand covers the areas you have yet to taste, moving in synch with the tip of your tongue.

Once you reach the base of his cock, Porco's tip is red, his face flushed from your slow and teasing actions. You flatten your tongue against his base and trace the vein that runs from the underside of his cock until you reach his head. You take his tip in your mouth, placing a small lick on the head, before sucking in your cheeks and making your way down his length. He was barely halfway in your mouth and you could already feel the tears in your eyes and the ache in your jaw.

You sucked up and down his length, cheeks sunken and spit coating his dick to help you bob up and down, and your hand to twist and pump where your mouth couldn't reach. Porco was always a bit too big that you couldn't accommodate all of him in your mouth, but tonight you'd be damned if you didn't at least try.

You slowly moved your hand lower and lower so your mouth had move of him to take in. You paused when you got a little lower and sucked a little harder before coming up, still sucking as you moved up with your tongue grazing his length . Your hand followed your motion, spreading your spit all over his cock. When you finally worked your way to his base, you removed your hand and let your mouth take all of him. You squeezed your eyes shut as you felt his tip brush the back of your throat, causing you to gag a little bit.

"Fuck" he gasped when he felt you take him all in your mouth. "you're such a fucking slut. Such a good whore for taking me in your pretty little mouth."

It was almost romantic how beautiful he thought you looked: your mouth wrapped around the base of his cock, tears clinging onto your eyelashes, one hand gripping his thigh tightly while the other found its way between your legs to rub your clit.

His hand tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear before grabbing the hair at the back of your head, guiding you up and down his cock.

He's close. You thought as you lock your gaze on his, eyes half-lidded with his approaching high. The grip on your hair gets tighter and his hips start bucking up to push himself deeper into your mouth.

"You're so fucking good to me for such a dirty slut.” He moans through gritted teeth. You suck his cock hard, taking him deeper into your mouth.

“Fuck baby” His grip on your hair tightens, pushing you down his length, the tip of your nose brushing his abdomen. You gag around his cock, the tightening of your throat pushing him over the edge.

He tries pulling out but you steady yourself, gripping his thighs, as ropes of Porco’s cum spill out of his tip, into your mouth and down your throat. You move up his cock, your hand taking its place. “Oh fuck!” He moans as you gently stroke up and down his length, twisting and turning your wrist to milk ever last drop from him as you give his head a few small licks before pulling his cock out of your mouth with a small ‘pop’.

You let go of his cock and move your hand to settle on his thigh, absentmindedly tracing patterns on his bare skin as you look up at him with a small smile.

Porco’s eyes roam your face. His hair is a mess, his lips slightly parted, panting as he recovers from his high, beads of sweat falling down his flushed face. Once he catches his breath, he leans forward and cradles your head in his hands. He places a sweet and gently kiss on you lips, a stark contrast to what just happened.

He guides you back to his lap. His touch is gentle as one hand settles on your waist while the other lovingly strokes your cheek. He places soft kisses on you lips and neck, kissing the places he’s marked as if he was apologizing for leaving them on the first place. He makes his way to the corner of your jaw.

“Maybe you aren’t a dirty slut after all.” He whispers, the rasp of his voice going straight to your core, a sudden reminder that while you were finished with him, he wasn’t finished with you. You feel him begin to harden beneath you when he kisses you deeper.

“You’re my good girl.” Porco whispers as he moves his hands to grip underneath your thighs to steady you as he stands up, making his way to the bedroom.

“And my good girl deserves to cum.”

[allegra-writes]

“The Devil all the time”

Hunter!Tom x Demon!Reader

Supernatural AU

NSFW

Warnings: Smut

"Break the silence, damn the dark

Damn the light..."

The Chain - Fleetwood Mac

Forget everything you thought you knew, you had every reason to be afraid of the dark when you were a kid. In this world where monsters are real, the Holland brothers hunt them so normal people can continue to live in the bliss of ignorance.

But when something goes terribly wrong, Tom will do anything to save his brother's life, including selling his soul to the devil. Well... Not exactly the devil, but close enough.

You don't need to watch Supernatural to read this AU

MY MASTERLIST

He knew it was you, even before turning. He knew it as soon as he heard your deceptively delicate footsteps break the supernatural silence that had fallen over the forest the moment he had buried the little metal box in the old crossroad. Tom didn't want to think about what it meant, having such an intimate knowledge of you to be able to recognize you by the cadence of your steps, being so in sync with you that he could tell whenever you were in the vicinity. 

So he used his favorite deflection technique whenever it came to you.

"Y/n? What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this? Sorry, did I say nice girl? I meant evil skank"

The insult didn't phase you. None ever did. It was hard to take them seriously when you knew how many nights he fell asleep with your name on his lips, after pathetically releasing himself into his own hand, or fucking his boring girl-next-door girlfriend, chasing orgasm over unsatisfactory orgasm that would never completely satiate him. Because it wasn't your face the one contorted in pleasure looking up at him from the mattress.

"You called. I came" You batted your lashes, sweetly. "I always come when you call…" 

He gulped, the innuendo not lost to his ears. It threw him off guard, like it always did. 

"I would have thought this would be… beneath you" Tom cleared his throat, looking away, trying to regain his footing, "collecting a deal, like a vulgar crossroad demon"

There was nothing vulgar about the soul of a Holland. But he didn't need to know that, so you just shrugged,

"Queen Rowena has an interest in you boys. She finds you entertaining. I'm just being a good subdit" 

He scoffed,

"Funny. I would have never peg you for a sub"

You took a step closer to him.

"You don't have what it takes to make me submit, Holland" Your hot breath fanned over his skin, setting his skin on fire. Making his blood boil. You had a way of doing that, of bringing out the worst in him. Of making him lose control. And you thoroughly enjoyed it, poking at the bear until the claws came out, laughing at the carnage.

Another step, and you could physically feel it: The hate, radiating from his every pore, his mind screaming with it. He hated you. He hated your kind. He hated your beauty. He hated the pretty white dress you were wearing, so pure and innocent, glowing like a beacon in the dark. A lure, guiding uncountable men before him into perdition. 

But above all else, he hated that, even then, he couldn't help but to want you. Fervently. Desperately. Irreversibly. 

"I came here to make a deal" He croaked, cursing himself internally for showing weakness. 

"Let's negotiate, then," you replied, stepping away, mercifully letting him breath. 

"My brother-"

"I know" You interrupted, sounding bored already, "Reapers everywhere are going berserk. Who, oh who, will get to reap the soul of a Holland?" 

The wind picked up, making your long dress billow around your legs. You twirled a little, admiring the way it moved. Tom's eyes were glued to you, almost hypnotized. Partly because you were too dangerous to be left unsupervised even for a second, partly because you looked beautiful like that. It had never been more obvious to him that you were an unearthly creature, you didn't belong to this world. There, surrounded by greenery, barefoot, swaying softly under the twilight light, he wondered how could anybody ever mistake you for a human.

"Of course" your apathetic voice took him out of his revery, "being reapers, watching them go wild is rather boring. I swear they are the most uninteresting beings of all creation" 

That made him see red.

"Boring? Boring?!" He knew his voice was rising with every word but he just couldn't help it, "They're waiting for my little brother to die!!"

"Which could happen any minute now," You reminded him, all playfulness gone from your demeanor, "so if you wanna strike a deal, I suggest you start making me an offer worth my time"  

He was taken aback by that.

"I- My soul in exchange of a wish, and you collect it in ten years" He tried and failed not to think about what that implied: vicious, invisible hounds of hell tearing apart his body and dragging his soul to hell, "Isn't that the usual deal?"

You scoffed,

"After all the things you did in your life, what makes you think your soul doesn't belong in hell already? And if your brother dies, that is one less Holland on earth to worry about. You and your brothers have managed to become a big pain in the ass for us…"

He pulled out a knife, a strange one, with runes in the blade. You arched a brow in recognition

"The Winchesters' knife. Are you threatening me, little hunter?" 

Your lack of reaction was another blow. He had hoped you'd be more impressed than that. Nonetheless he turned it in his hands, offering you the handle.

"I'm throwing it into the deal" 

To his surprise, you didn't immediately take it from his hands, choosing instead to pace the clearing, deep in thought. 

The truth was you couldn't care less about the knife, it wasn't more dangerous to you than a toothpick. And while it was true it could certainly damage your queen, she had a far better weapon to protect herself: You.

But it did confirm your suspicions about the Hollands having access to the old Winchester arsenal, which meant they had access to something way more dangerous than that rustic weapon made of steel and bone. A book, made of ancient dark magic and human skin, written in blood. A book that was precious to queen Rowena and by extension to you: the Book of the Damned. 

The Hollands were a family of extremely talented, yes, but old fashioned hunters. The stab first, ask questions later kind. They probably had no idea what they had in their hands… but you did. 

"Very well then," you finally declared, "this is my offer: Your soul and that knife in exchange for sweet Harry's life and one year for you to get all your businesses in order" 

Tom felt all the blood drain from his face. One year. Just 365 more days to live, before an eternity of torture in hell. 

"O-one year?" He breathed.

"One year" You confirmed, "More than enough time to go see the Grand Canyon, eat the world's spiciest burger or whatever you have on your bucket list" 

The disdain in your words only made him hate you harder.

"Not nearly enough to live" He replied through clenched teeth. You rolled your eyes, 

"You're a hunter. You lead short, violent existences, charging head first towards what most humans run away from. Things faster, stronger, more powerful than you, surviving each encounter out of sheer luck. Killing one monster after another, until that luck runs out. Because the monsters? Unlike you who rely on it everyday, they just need. One. Single. Lucky. Strike." You punctuated every word with one step in his direction, until you were face to face again. Until, for the first time ever, you could see the fear, the desperating hopelessness he kept hidden inside, reflected on the warm coffee of his eyes. You knew a lesser man would be already crying and begging for Mercy.

Tom wasn't like other men though, that was the whole point. 

"Or…" You soften your tone and your stance, letting your fingers ghost over the back of his hand, his whole skin erupting in goosebumps. That was the very first time you touched him. Ever. 

And it was as if nobody had ever touched him before, the light caress enough to set every nerve ending, every single one of his cells, alight.

He was so distracted by the sensation and his body's response to it, he almost didn't hear your next words over the sound of his own pounding heart. 

"Or you could keep your little pocket knife, and even have your ten years if…"

"If?" He struggled to focus.

"You let me borrow a book"

His brows furrowed in confusion,

"A book? What book?"

"Any book of my liking, for as long as I want" You shrugged it off, "Do we have a deal?"

There was a catch there, it was obvious. He knew he was going to regret it but, what choice did he have? 

"Deal"

Your smile was blinding, luminous. If he didn't know any better, he would have called it angelical. Now, that was one ridiculous thought.

"What now? We seal it with a kiss?" His eyes fell to your lips, so soft looking and inviting. He wasn't eager to put his mouth on a filthy demon and doom himself. He wasn't. 

You chuckled, but there was no humor behind it.

"Oh no, darling. This is big. This is special" You're special, "A simple kiss just won't cut it…"

No. You couldn't mean… could you? Was there no limits to your hatred for him? Did you really want him so defeated, so humiliated? 

"What do you want?" He spat through gritted teeth.

"The same thing you want" You put your hands on his chest, rising to your tiptoes to whisper in his ear, "The same thing you have wanted ever since we first met . The thing that's obsessing you..."

"I don't know what you're talking about"

You smirked,

"You can lie to your family, you can even lie to yourself, little hunter... But you can't lie to me." 

He couldn't hide, you could see every fantasy, hear every single one of his thoughts of you on repeat, like a prayer in your direction. Just like he couldn't hide the way his skin was burning now for you, the way his blood rushed south, the way all logical thought left his brain, his iron grip on his emotions finally breaking as he snapped. 

Lightning fast, in just a blink, he twirled you around, your back hitting the rough bark of a tree, as he towered over you, demon blade to your throat, every inch of his body pressed against yours. His eyes were ablazed with rage, and passion, as he surged forward, striking you with his best hit.

He kissed you. 

Lips vicious against yours, teeth biting and scraping only to soothe the offense seconds later with his tongue, until he was dizzy, light headed with the lack of oxygen and the taste of you. The hand not holding the knife to your neck fell to your breast, squeezing the pliant flesh with enough force to cause pain on a human woman, merely making you moan. He swallowed the sound, letting his fingers trace your waist, your hips, clawing at your dress until he finally, finally, felt skin under his fingertips. 

It was better than anything his mind had conjured in his feverish fantasies in the dead of the night. The skin of your inner thighs velvety soft, as they parted under his touch, the sweetest sounds leaving your lips as his fingers found your naked core. You weren't wearing any underwear, probably never had. The realization that, in all your past encounters and fights you had been standing there, just feet away from him with nothing under that damn dress hit him like a truck, making his head swim. 

He searched between your folds, and suddenly his fingers were inside you. He was inside you, a part of him was buried deep within you, within your silky heat, claiming you as his, if only for the night. 

And you were so wet for him, and only getting wetter as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, scissoring them, opening you up until he was able to slip a third one in, fucking you with his hand in earnest. You were sobbing, clutching at his biceps, head thrown back in pleasure. He took advantage of that to suck bruises on your neck, only to see them fade before his eyes. Your skin tasted clean, smelled like wild flowers and rain. Ozone. Lightning. Like those coursing through his veins with every cry, every delicious gasp you made. 

He found the perfect spot inside you, the one that sent sparks through your nerves with every stroke of his calloused fingers. 

"This what you wanted?" To make him lose it? Lose his mind, himself, in you? "For me to make you come on just my fingers, like the little slut you are?"

The floor disappeared from under his feet as you sent him flying away from you, a searing pain exploding at the back of his head as he landed, sprawled at the feet of an old, dying oak. With blurry eyes, he saw you stalk towards him, all power and cold, controlled fury. 

"Let's get one thing straight, Holland. I'm not one of your sluts" You sneered, "and I'm definitely not your basic bitch of a girlfriend. So you better start showing me a little respect, are we clear?"

He gulped, sitting up. He had to be seriously fucked up in the head, for his cock to be twitching inside his pants at your threatening tone.

"Crystal" 

"Good" You declared, coming to a stop right in front of him, standing between his parted legs, "Now, let's put that mouth of yours to a better use"

He knew that image was going to be forever tattooed on his brain: You standing in front of him, holding the skirt of your dress up, waiting for him to put his mouth on you. Tom took a moment to admire you, before delving in, flattening his tongue over your slit, before drawing tight, precise circles on your clit with the tip. God, you tasted so divine it was messing with his head; something as dark and corrupted and twisted as you, feeling so exquisite, so perfect, so heavenly to his every sense. 

He helped you hook your knee over his shoulder, his other arm snaking around your leg, pulling you even closer. You could feel his smirk against your cunt the moment he realized your legs were shaking, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care, not with his wicked talented mouth devouring you like a last meal, rocking your whole world, making you see stars behind your closed eyelids.

You always knew that man would make the stars fall. 

Tom kept on, penetrating you with his tongue as far as it would go, his whole face moving against you. The slight burn of his scruff felt delicious against your delicate labia, as he used his fingers to open you up like a flower, separating your petals to get to the delectable nectar inside. You were close, he could feel it, the obscene sounds you were making, the waves of sweetness falling on his lips feeding his ego, filling him up with pride. By the time the night was over, you'd be unable to forget him. He would make sure of that. He would make you come, over and over, until the only thoughts left in your brain were of him, the only word your lips knew how to speak was his name. He would mark you, like a bloodstain, like you had done to him. 

Almost there, he almost had you. Your muscles were locking, your walls starting to tremble, when a loud crack resonated over his head, and you stepped away on unstable legs, breathing hard. You didn't even need to breathe, it was just his effect on you. He made you feel human. And it was both exhilarating, and terrifying. 

You took another step back, but he took hold of your ankle, tugging hard enough to make you fall on his lap, white skirt covering the place where his hands were fumbling with his zip, with his boxers, aligning himself with your entrance.

"Fuck!" He cursed, as you sank on his rock hard cock, not giving him any time to get used to the feeling of you around him, before starting to move. 

"How does it feel" You taunted, "fucking a monster? Is it as good as you dreamed of?"

Better. You felt even better. Tom hadn't thought it was possible, but he loathed you even more for it. 

"Shut up" He growled. 

You leaned forwards, breath hot against his ear,

"Cause you feel amazing, Tom. Your cock feels like heaven" 

His hand tangled in your hair, keeping you in place as he crashed his mouth to yours again, the other fumbling for the buttons at the back of your dress, tugging and pulling, tearing at the fabric, in his haste to feel more. More of your skin against his, more of the body that had been his hyper fixation for far too long. 

You sat up, still grinding on his cock, letting the tattered dress fall to your waist, watching in satisfaction as his eyes went wide, zeroing on the way your breasts bounced in sync with your hips. 

Reaching up, for a glorious second Tom could feel one perfect pebbled nipple against his palm, the roundness, the weight of your soft flesh on his fingers; before an invisible force pinned his hands to his sides. 

You tsked.

"Still don't get it, do you little hunter? This?" You let yourself fall all the way down his thick cock, hard, tearing twin moans from his mouth and yours, "This isn't about you. This is about me." 

Leaning back, you braced yourself on his strong thighs, changing the angle, changing your movements to a slower rocking against his pelvis. The friction against your clit was perfect, the feeling of his big, throbbing dick so deep inside you, stretching you like no one before, sending electrical pulses through your spine. It was decadent. It was ecstasy.

It was torture. Underneath you, Tom was sobbing, eyes bright with unshed tears, fighting in vain against his bonds. He needed it faster, harder, anything to help tilt him over the edge you were keeping him on, your sweet cunt too tight, too good around him to allow his cock to soften, your rhythm too leisured to let the tensed, strained coil inside him to snap. You were uncaring, using him remorselessly to get yourself off, your little moans getting higher in pitch the closer you came to your climax. Tom felt himself getting higher just by looking at your beautiful pleasure ridden face. You cried out, and suddenly it was happening, you were coming, pulsating around his cock, falling apart on top of him.

And the ground beneath him quaked. The sky above his head bled, the blue twilight torn open by lightning, and thunder, despite the fact that there wasn't a single cloud marring its diaphaneity. You fell forwards, hand braced on the tree, next to his face, ridding the aftershocks of your orgasm until the end. 

"No!" Tom cried when, after a few seconds of catching your breath, you dismounted him, letting his dick slip out of you. 

You arched a brow,

"Something you want, Tommy?" 

He locked his mouth shut, gritting his teeth. You smiled, amused, knuckles stroking his still iron hard cock.

"Do you need more, little hunter?" You enveloped him in your hand, moving it up and down his member, watching the head disappear under his foreskin, "Do you need to come?"

He banged the back of his head against the bark.

"Yes!" He finally admitted, "So badly…"

"Then beg" You commanded, stilling your hand. He snapped open the eyes he hadn't realized he had closed. Oh, if looks could kill…

"Never" He hissed, livid.

"Very well, then" You picked up your pace, pumping him fast, your grip almost too rough. He gasped for air, feeling the telltale tightening of his balls, the coil inside just about to break under the tension. But you must have felt it too, cause your hand let go of him altogether. Too late, he understood what you were doing.

One beat. And then another, and he was coming all over his t-shirt, orgasm completely ruined. 

He cursed, tears escaping through the corner of his eyes, fingers digging into the moist ground under his hands. You chuckled, cruelly, standing up and stepping out of your shredded dress. He could have ganked you with the demon blade in that moment, he really could have, except his hands were still pinned by an invisible force at his sides. 

"Let me go, you bitch," Tom growled, tossing, fighting against his restraints to no avail, "aren't you done?!"

"Not quite." You smiled, mockingly sweet, "Just one more thing before I leave. Don't worry, it will only hurt for a minute…"

He renewed his efforts to escape, as you bended over, reaching for his chest, white hot pain burning through his ribs. He almost cried out, but what he saw stole the voice from his throat, turned his blood into ice inside his veins, leaving him shaking, jaw slack and mouth open in a soundless scream: 

You, naked and gorgeous and terrible. Transfixed, eyes glowing with a supernatural indigo light, the shadow of two massive, bended, broken wings projected on the trees behind you.

Not a demon, he thought. You're not a demon.

You smiled, and it was terrifying.

"No. I'm the thing demons have nightmares about" You replied out loud to the words he had only said in his mind, "And now, little hunter, you belong to me. Mind, body and soul"