#but. it no longer feels like an impossibility

[pucksandpower]

Used to be Mine

Oscar Piastri x Reader

Arthur Leclerc x ex!Reader

Summary: Oscar stole everything from Arthur … his hopes, his dreams, his family name, and you

Arthur slumps in the hard chair across from Jock Clear’s desk, the Ferrari Driver Academy director’s words echoing in his mind. “I’m very sorry Arthur, but we’ve decided not to renew your contract for next season. You’ll be released from the program at the end of this year.”

Arthur feels like he’s been punched in the gut. This can’t be happening. He’s poured his heart and soul into racing for Ferrari’s junior program for years. His dream has always been to follow in his older brother Charles’ footsteps and race for the Scuderia in Formula 1.

“But … why?” Arthur manages to choke out. “I know my results this season haven’t been that great but fifteenth in the F2 standings-”

Clear shakes his head solemnly. “Your pace and racecraft simply haven’t developed at the rate we need to see to justify keeping you in the program, Arthur. I know how hard you’ve worked, but there are other young talents coming up behind you showing greater potential.”

The word “potential” hits Arthur like a dagger. Ever since he was a kid, that’s what he’s heard over and over — unfavorable comparisons to Charles’ unlimited potential. He always knew his big brother was special behind the wheel, but he’d clung to the hope that he could make it to F1 through sheer hard work and determination if not raw talent.

Clearly that hope was misguided. Arthur feels the sting of failure wash over him.

“I … I understand,” he forces out, struggling not to break down in tears right there. “Thank you for the opportunity.”

He stands up shakily, the room spinning. He needs to get out of here.

The drive back to his family’s home in Monaco is a blur. Arthur’s mind races, years of sacrifice and struggle swirling in his head. Endless days and nights on the simulator. Grueling hours in the gym, pushing his body to its limits. Tormenting himself over endless data traces, looking for even a tenth of a second to gain an edge.

All for nothing. The harsh truth is he’ll never be good enough. No matter how hard he tries, the Leclerc name will always belong to Charles. Arthur will be forever known as his little brother, the one who couldn’t quite cut it.

He slams his fist against the steering wheel, angry tears now streaming down his face. Why did he ever think he could do this? Why didn’t he just pursue something, anything else with his life? He’s wasted years chasing an impossible dream, and now he has nothing to show for it.

His phone rings, almost slipping out of his trembling hands before he can answer. It’s you.

“Y/N ...” Arthur chokes out, trying and failing to hold back his sobs.

“Arthur? Oh my god, what’s wrong?” You ask, panic in your voice even through the tinny speaker. Of course you can sense something is desperately wrong. You’ve always been there for him, the one person who truly understands what he’s been going through.

Arthur can barely get the words out between ragged breaths. “The … the FDA ... they’re releasing me ... it’s over ...”

There’s stunned silence on the other end of the line.

“Arthur, I ...” You trail off, at an uncharacteristic loss for words. You know how much this has meant to him. How much of himself he’s given to this endeavor. “I’m coming over right now, okay? Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

You hang up before Arthur can respond. He’s not sure if that’s a good thing or not. Part of him wants to wallow in despair alone. But mostly he’s grateful you’re coming. He’s not sure he can handle this by himself right now.

Sure enough, you burst through the front door only a few minutes later. Arthur has collapsed on the couch, head in his hands as the tears continue to flow.

“Oh Arthur ...” You sit down beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him into an embrace. He turns and buries his face in your shoulder, no longer trying to hold anything back as ragged sobs wrack his body.

You just hold him, making soft hushing sounds and stroking his hair. You’ve seen him distraught before — after tough losses or crashes. But never quite like this. This is the cry of someone whose dreams have been shattered.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Arthur’s sobs begin to subside into hitching breaths. You grab a tissue box from the end table and hand it to him.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, blowing his nose loudly. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I just … I don’t know what to do. What am I going to do now?”

You take his hand and give it a squeeze. “First, you’re going to breathe. This isn’t the end of the world, I promise. We’ll get through this.”

Arthur lets out a shaky exhale, trying to calm himself. You always have been the level-headed one. He leans back against the couch cushions, keeping your hand grasped tightly in his.

“I really thought I could make it, you know?” He says quietly. “I’ve given everything to this stupid dream ever since I was a kid. But I’ll never be good enough, will I? Not like Charles.”

You open your mouth to protest, but Arthur barrels on, unable to contain years of self-doubt and insecurity any longer.

“Don’t try to argue. We both know it’s true. Charles was always the special one. The one with the generational talent. I was just … there. Doing my best to keep up, but always a step behind no matter how hard I worked.”

You shake your head vehemently. “Arthur, that’s not true at all. You’re an incredible driver. Your work ethic and determination are-”

“Meaningless without the talent,” Arthur interrupts bitterly. “That’s all that matters in the end. And I don’t have it, not like Charles does. I’m just … normal. Ordinary. That’s why Ferrari has moved on.”

You move closer, taking Arthur’s face in your hands so he has to look you in the eye. “You listen to me, Arthur Leclerc. You are anything but ordinary, understand? You’ve accomplished more by the age of 23 than most people could dream of in their entire lives. Making it all the way to F2 and the Ferrari Driver Academy is incredible, no matter what happens next.”

Arthur tries to turn away, but you keep his gaze locked, your voice rising in intensity. “If you were ordinary, you wouldn’t have been able to push yourself so hard for so long. Ordinary people would have given up a long time ago. It’s your extraordinary drive and passion that have taken you this far.”

Tears are welling up in your eyes now. You can’t stand to see him diminishing himself like this.

“Besides,” you add, managing a small smile. “I may be biased, but I’ve always thought you were the most extraordinarily kind, caring, and hilarious person I know. That’s a kind of specialness in itself, you know.”

Arthur lets out a choked laugh, wiping at his eyes again. Leave it to you to know just what to say to raise his spirits, even a little. “You always have been weirdly good at these pep talks.”

“Well, someone has to keep your head from getting too big,” you quip back with a grin.

Arthur mock-gasps in feigned offense. “Why, you little ...”

He lunges at you, starting to mercilessly tickle your sides. You squeal with laughter, trying in vain to fight back as you quickly devolve into a giggling, flailing mess of limbs.

You’ve been reduced to teary hiccups when Arthur finally relents, allowing you both to catch your breath. He throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close.

“You’re the best,” he murmurs softly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You rest your head against his shoulder contentedly. “Let’s just take things one day at a time for now, okay? We’ll figure out what’s next together, like we always have.”

Arthur nods, feeling a deep sense of gratitude and love for his girlfriend. No matter what curveballs life has thrown your way, you’ve always supported and uplifted each other. He knows that won’t change, even if his racing dreams don’t pan out.

“Together,” he echoes, giving your hand one more tight squeeze. Whatever the future holds, he can get through it with you by his side.

Maybe his path won’t lead to Formula 1 after all. Arthur feels a pang of sadness and disappointment at that realization. But as long as he has his family — has you — to lean on, he knows he’ll be okay. That love and support is what has always truly mattered most, not chasing some impossible dream.

“You know, we should see if Charles wants to come over later,” Arthur says, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I haven’t roasted his abysmal fashion sense in way too long.”

You burst out laughing at that. Only Arthur could find his way back to laughing and joking so soon after having his world turned upside down. It’s just one of the many things you admire about him.

“Oh my god, yes please,” you reply once you’ve caught your breath. “His outfit at the last race was literally a crime against humanity. Someone needs to intervene before he traumatizes us all again.”

The two of you spend the next little while cheerfully trading escalating insults about his big brother’s admittedly questionable clothing choices. The mood has lightened considerably, at least for now.

Arthur knows the sting of his failure will return, the questions about what he should do next weighing heavily. But you’ll be there for those hard moments too, just like always. As long as he has you — his best friend, his other half — he can face any challenge life throws his way.

The uncertain road ahead is daunting. But Arthur meets it with determination burning in his eyes. If he couldn’t make it as a Formula 1 driver, he’ll simply have to find a new dream to chase. A new mountain to climb. Whatever it is, he knows you’ll be alongside him every step of the way.

***

Six Months Later

The roar of the engines fades as the cars return to the pits after qualifying. Arthur can’t tear his eyes away from the timing screens:

1. C. LECLERC

2. O. PIASTRI

A Leclerc front row lockout at their home race. Except one of them isn’t really a Leclerc at all.

“Nice one, Piastri-Leclerc!” One of the McLaren mechanics calls out as Oscar climbs from his car.

Arthur’s gut twists.

Oscar just grins and plays along. “Thanks, it’s all in the family name!”

A few of the Ferrari mechanics chuckle at that as Charles emerges from his own car, beaming. He pulls Oscar into a hug. “A Leclerc one-two in Monaco, who would have thought?”

“There’s just something about being a local,” Oscar laughs. “Thank you for giving me yet another home race.”

You appear then, throwing your arms around Oscar with a squeal. “My two favorite Leclercssss!”

Arthur has to look away, his face burning. He knows he has no right to be jealous. Oscar is one of his best friends. And you … you made your choice a long time ago.

“Arthur?” Fred Vasseur appears at his side. “You okay?”

Arthur forces a smile. “Yeah, all good. Just … focused.”

“No need to be so tense,” Fred squeezes his shoulder. “You did a great job in the sim this week. That data helped Charles and Carlos a ton.”

“Glad I could help,” Arthur says automatically.

But his gaze is drawn back to where you’re still hugging Oscar tightly. You look so happy, so carefree. It wasn’t that long ago that your smiles were for him.

“You know,” Fred says conversationally. “I’m getting a lot of questions about what you’ll decide to do next. Every time you’re in that sim or out on track-”

“I’m fine being test driver,” Arthur interrupts, maybe a little too brusque. “Really, I am.”

Fred studies him for a beat. “If you’re sure. Just saying, the doors are opening ...”

The team principal moves off then, leaving Arthur alone with his swirling emotions. He can’t get swept up in maybes about his future. Not when his past is standing right there, laughing at some joke Oscar made.

You’d think after all this time, the sight of you wouldn’t affect him so much. You broke his heart so thoroughly when you ended things, he didn’t think there were any pieces left to shatter. But here he is, a mess of jealousy and longing, just because you gave Oscar a hug.

“Arthur! There you are!”

He turns at the sound of your voice. You’re hurrying towards him, Oscar and Charles trailing behind with indulgent smiles.

“We’re going to get some dinner if you want to join?” You ask brightly.

He has to swallow hard before he can speak past the lump in his throat. “I … don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Of course it is!” You grab his arm, utterly oblivious to his discomfort. “We’re all friends here, right?”

“Some of you were a bit more than friends once upon a time,” Charles points out with a wicked grin.

You shove him playfully. “Oh shut up!”

Arthur feels like he’s being stabbed in the heart. Your break up turned his life upside down. Hearing you joke about it so casually now is excruciating.

“Seriously, Arthur,” Oscar cuts in. “Come celebrate with us. We promise not to get too crazy.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Arthur tries again, harsher this time.

You frown, tilting your head in confusion. “Why not? I thought we were all past the whole ex thing?”

“I am,” he lies through gritted teeth. “I just … have some stuff to work on for the race tomorrow.”

“Oh come on,” you wheedle, giving him that smile that used to make him melt. “Take a break! Live a little!”

Arthur can’t take much more of this. He needs to get out of here before he says something he’ll regret. Or worse, does something stupid like pull you into his arms and kiss you senseless.

“Seriously you guys, I’ve got work,” he says, forcing himself to take a step back from you. “I’ll … catch up with you later, okay?”

He doesn’t wait for a response, just turns on his heel and stalks away. He can’t bear to see the hurt, confused look on your face.

Why did he think this would be okay? That he could spend day after day around you and it wouldn’t still hurt? Every smile, every laugh, every touch you bestow on Charles and Oscar is like a white hot poker in his chest.

He thought he was over you. He really did. It’s been months since you ended things, months since you shattered what was left of his heart into a million pieces.

He’d been so shocked, so heartbroken, that all he could do was sit there numbly as you walked out of his apartment. When he finally found his voice, hours had passed, and you were long gone.

“But I love you,” he’d whispered into the empty room.

He’d been so sure you felt the same. That what you had was forever. But you made your choice, as simple as that. Arthur never came first.

And now, half a year later, here he is. Living out some twisted version of his dream … but only just. A test driver for Ferrari instead of a race driver like he always imagined. Like Charles, who had achieved everything they both wanted.

Arthur leans back against the wall of the cool, dark room he’s found himself in. It feels like the pain of your rejection is never going to stop haunting him. Like no matter how much time passes, it will never be enough to make up for losing you.

He squeezes his eyes shut, trying and failing to block out the memory of your face, your smile, your laugh. All the moments of pure joy you two had shared. The dreams you’d whispered to each other late at night, tangled in the sheets.

Is this his lot in life from now on? To watch you move on, all smiles and teasing jokes with Oscar and Charles? To see everyone welcoming Oscar into the family while Arthur is shut out in the cold?

He’s startled from his spiraling thoughts by a knock at the door. “Arthur? You in there?”

It’s Charles. Arthur flinches, swiping a hand over his eyes.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he calls back, grateful that his voice doesn’t shake.

There’s a pause. “Can I come in?”

Arthur considers sending his brother away. He’s in no state for a heart-to-heart right now.

But he can’t bring himself to refuse Charles. Not when they’ve been through so much together, from the karting tracks of their childhood to the highest levels of motorsport.

“Yeah, okay.”

The door opens and Charles slips inside. He stops short when he sees Arthur, brow furrowing in concern.

“Hey … you okay?”

Arthur can’t even find it in himself to fake it. He just shakes his head mutely.

“Is this about Y/N?” Charles asks gently.

And just like that, the dam breaks. Arthur squeezes his eyes shut again, but he can’t stop the tears from spilling over.

“I thought I was over her. I really did,” he chokes out. “But seeing her with Oscar … celebrating like that ...”

Strong arms wrap around him then, pulling him into a hug. Arthur goes boneless, sagging against his older brother as the sobs take over.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” Charles murmurs. “Let it out.”

Arthur does. He cries and cries, shoulders shaking, as months of pent-up heartache pour out of him. Charles just holds him through it, rubbing soothing circles across his back.

“I’m s-sorry,” Arthur finally gasps out. “I’m being so stupid ...”

“You’re not stupid,” Charles says firmly. “Love isn’t stupid, Arthur. Especially your first real heartbreak. That shit hurts like hell.”

Arthur lets out a watery chuckle, finally pulling back and swiping at his eyes. “How do you always know exactly what to say?”

“Well, I am the wise older brother,” Charles grins. Then he sobers, studying Arthur carefully. “Seriously though … you know Y/N loved you, right? What you two had was real.”

“I know.” Arthur shakes his head. “Doesn’t make it any easier seeing her move on so quickly.”

“She’s not over you either,” Charles says gently. “That’s why she keeps trying so hard to act like everything is normal between you two.”

Arthur scoffs. “Could’ve fooled me with all the cuddling up to Oscar out there.”

“Oh come on, you know that’s just a joke,” Charles says with a roll of his eyes. “Oscar is like family to us, same as you. That’s all it is.”

“Yeah? Well it didn’t look that way to me.”

“Arthur ...” Charles puts a hand on his shoulder. “I think you need to have an actual conversation with Y/N. Clear the air once and for all. This lingering stuff is only going to keep eating you up inside.”

“What if she really has moved on?” The thought is like a vise around Arthur’s heart. “What if she tells me she’s dating Oscar for real or something?”

“Then at least you’ll know,” Charles says simply. “It will hurt, yeah. But not knowing, constantly wondering … that’s so much worse. Trust me.”

Arthur is quiet for a long moment, turning Charles’ words over in his mind. Maybe his brother is right. Maybe it’s time to rip off the bandaid once and for all.

He nods slowly. “Okay. I’ll ... I’ll talk to her.”

“Good.” Charles pulls him in for another hug. “No matter what happens, you’ve got me, okay? We Leclercs need to stick together.”

Arthur manages a small smile at that, feeling just a bit lighter. “Yeah. We do.”

As he follows Charles out of the room, he catches sight of you across the paddock, laughing at something Oscar said. A familiar ache blooms in his chest.

But this time, he doesn’t run from it. This time, he’s going to face it head on. His heart may end up in even more pieces … or maybe, just maybe, it will finally start to mend.

Either way, at least he’ll know. No more lingering what ifs. Just the truth, whatever it may be.

He takes a deep, steadying breath, then starts making his way towards you.

***

Arthur’s steps falter as he rounds the corner of the McLaren garage. There you are with Oscar, bodies intertwined, lips locked in a heated kiss.

It feels like all the air has been sucked from Arthur’s lungs. He can’t breathe, can’t think. He just … freezes, rooted to the spot, watching in numb horror as the two of you make out shamelessly right there in the open.

This can’t be happening. It has to be some kind of twisted nightmare. But no matter how hard he blinks, the scene before him doesn’t change.

You and Oscar are really kissing. Properly sucking face like loved-up teenagers, hands roaming over each other greedily. Oscar has you backed up against the garage wall, bodies pressed flush together from chest to thigh.

Arthur feels like he’s going to be sick.

Finally, mercifully, you two break apart, foreheads pressed together as you both gasp for air. Arthur should look away, he knows he should, but he can’t seem to make himself move.

“So much for keeping it professional in the paddock, huh?” You murmur, voice husky.

Oscar lets out a breathless chuckle. “Who cares about professional? Not when I’ve got you all to myself for once.”

He leans in to kiss you again, but you put a hand on his chest, stopping him. “We should find somewhere more private if we’re gonna keep this up.”

“My driver’s room?” Oscar suggests, already palming at the small of your back.

You shiver, pushing up onto your tiptoes to brush your lips against his jaw. “Lead the way, Piastri-Leclerc.”

And just like that, you’re gone, disappearing into the depths of the McLaren garage, hands roaming and giggling like lovesick fools. Arthur watches until the door swings shut behind you, cutting off that haunting sound of your laughter.

Then he’s moving without conscious thought, staggering back around the corner and out of sight. His back hits the cool concrete wall with a thud, but he barely notices. Barely notices anything except the ragged, gasping breaths being torn from his lungs.

He doubles over, hands braced on his knees as he struggles not to vomit right there in the paddock. It feels like someone has driven a white hot poker straight through his chest. Like his heart is being crushed into a million pieces all over again.

Oscar and you … together? Actually dating? How … how could you do this to him? To yourself? Everything you two had built together, every future dream you had shared … tossed aside so easily?

Tears burn at the corners of Arthur’s eyes. He wants to scream, to punch a wall, to unleash the searing agony and fury ripping through him. But he can’t make a sound, throat locked up tight with unshed emotion.

He should have known, really. Should have seen this coming. It’s not like you and Oscar were hiding your connection. The loving looks, the inside jokes, that easy intimacy and affection … Arthur had just been too blinded by jealousy and heartbreak to see it.

But to find out like this? To literally walk in on you two wrapped around each other? It’s a whole new level of pain, lancing through him over and over. He’s always imagined that you would have the decency to at least tell him first if you moved on with someone new.

Unless this has been going on for a while already, hidden from him in plain sight. Every laugh, every hug, every teasing comment … was that all a lie to cover up your dirty secret with Oscar?

Arthur’s stomach churns violently again at the thought. He swallows hard, fighting back the nausea. He can’t lose it here, can’t draw any attention to himself. He needs to get it together, block out the image of you and Oscar swapping spit.

Easier said than done when his brain keeps unhelpfully replaying the way Oscar’s hands were roaming over you, groping at you like you belonged to him. And that laugh … god, that beautiful, carefree laughter that Arthur would know anywhere. A sound that used to make his heart soar whenever it was aimed at him.

Now it’s like a knife in his gut to hear you giggling that way with Oscar, no doubt blissed out after a hot and heavy make out session. Arthur’s jaw tightens, a muscle ticking furiously. He would give anything not to have walked in on that, not to have that sound burnt into his brain forever.

At least now he knows the truth. The humiliating, gut-wrenching truth that you’ve well and truly moved on from him. And with Oscar of all people, like the ultimate slap in the face.

What kind of cruel joke is this? Arthur wonders, still fighting to steady his ragged breaths. He loses the girl he wanted to spend forever with … only to have one of his mates swoop in and take her from him?

It’s not just you that Oscar has stolen either, Arthur realizes with a sickening jolt. It’s everything. With you on his arm, Oscar is welcomed into the family, called a Leclerc at their home race. Arthur’s own last name, treated like some kind of lighthearted joke while the real thing is ripped away from him.

Oscar even gets Monaco as a home race, just like the actual Leclercs who grew up here. All because of some dumb joke about Charles adopting him. Arthur had laughed along with it at the time, never imagining the underhanded truth.

Oscar Piastri has wormed his way into having everything Arthur wanted more than anything. The career, the family, the girl … all of it, just handed to him on a silver platter.

White hot fury flares in Arthur’s chest, momentarily burning through the heartbreak. How dare Oscar do this to him? How dare he make a mockery out of Arthur’s dreams, out of everything the name Leclerc stands for?

Arthur barely registers that he’s moving until his fist connects with the concrete wall with a sickening crunch. He lashes out again and again, pummeling the unforgiving surface over and over until-

“Arthur! Hey, whoa!”

Suddenly there are hands on him, strong and insistent. Arthur starts, accidentally slamming his abused knuckles into a firm chest as Charles appears, grabbing hold of his shoulders.

“Easy, easy! What the hell are you doing?” Charles meets his gaze, eyes wide with concern.

Arthur blinks dazedly, pain finally registering from his torn up, bleeding knuckles. “I … I didn’t ...”

“What happened?” Charles presses, lowering his voice when Arthur winces. “Did you get into it with someone? Talk to me, please.”

Arthur opens his mouth, fully intending to tell Charles everything. About walking in on your incriminating embrace with Oscar. About the way it felt like his entire world shattered all over again. How Oscar has stolen every single thing that should have been Arthur’s by birthright.

But when he tries to vocalize the words, to unleash the storm of emotions battering him from the inside out … nothing comes out. His throat remains locked up tight, breath wheezing harshly.

Charles is watching him, eyebrows knitted with worry. “You’re really freaking me out here. What’s going on?”

Arthur squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head helplessly. He feels like he’s drowning, lost in a whirlpool of jealousy and despair that’s slowly suffocating him.

When he opens his eyes again, Charles is still waiting, patient and steady as always. Something in his brother’s calm, anchoring presence helps Arthur regain just a little bit of control. Enough to grit out a few words.

“Oscar. And Y/N.”

That’s all he can manage. But judging by the dawning comprehension on Charles’ face, it’s enough. The older Leclerc lets out a slow breath, gaze turning sympathetic.

“You saw them together,” he says, not a question.

Arthur nods jerkily, jaw locked.

For a long moment, Charles is silent. Taking it all in, no doubt. Then … “I’m so sorry, Arthur.”

Arthur’s breath hitches harshly before he can stop it.

“Hey, hey.” Charles pulls him into a tight hug, tucking Arthur’s head under his chin. “It’s gonna be okay. I’ve got you, little brother.”

Arthur stiffens for just a second before melting into the embrace, squeezing his eyes shut once more. He takes a shuddery breath against Charles’ shirt, then another, just trying to hold himself together.

“I’m here,” Charles murmurs, rubbing his back soothingly. “We’ll get through this together, yeah?”

Arthur doesn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nods against Charles’ shoulder. He clings to his brother like a lifeline, grateful beyond words that Charles is here to anchor him when it feels like his world is crumbling all over again.

He has no idea how long they stay like that, locked in that tight embrace. Long enough for the sharp edges of Arthur’s anguish to dull, at least a little. Long enough for his ragged breaths to even out into something closer to normal.

Finally, Charles gives him one last squeeze before gently pulling back, keeping a firm grip on Arthur’s shoulders.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, eyeing Arthur’s bloodied knuckles with a wince.

Arthur follows his gaze, grimacing at the sight. “Shit, I ...”

“It’s okay,” Charles says quickly, sliding an arm around Arthur’s back. “I’ve got you.”

He guides Arthur through the paddock, shielding him from view with his body. Arthur is grateful for the discretion — the last thing he needs right now is prying eyes and questions about his meltdown.

They make it back to the cool shadows of the Ferrari motorhome without incident. Charles sweeps them into one of the private rooms, locking the door securely behind them.

“There, just us,” he says, squeezing Arthur’s arm reassuringly. “Why don’t you sit down and tell me what happened?”

Arthur sinks down onto the worn sofa, feeling numb and drained. He stares at his mangled hands as Charles darts away, returning a moment later with a first aid kit and a damp cloth.

“This might sting,” Charles warns, taking Arthur’s hands with surprising gentleness.

Arthur barely flinches as his brother starts cleaning away the blood and grit from his torn skin. He’s retreated deep inside his own head, memories from that hellish scene on an endless loop.

You and Oscar, tangled together so intimately. The way you looked at each other, breathless with desire. The easy intimacy and obvious hunger in every heated caress.

Arthur squeezes his eyes shut, but it does nothing to block it out. He’s never going to be able to unsee that, he realizes with a sick lurch. It’s seared into his brain forever, a brand new source of unrelenting torment.

“Arthur?” Charles’ soft voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts. “What happened? Talk to me.”

Arthur blows out a shaky breath, forcing himself to meet his brother’s concerned gaze.

“I went to find Y/N,” he starts in a dull rasp. “To … to get some closure, I guess. Finally rip off the bandaid like you said.”

Charles nods in understanding, staying quiet to let Arthur continue at his own pace.

“But when I turned the corner of the McLaren garage ...” Arthur’s throat works convulsively, the memory surging back in vivid technicolor. “They were there. Making out like a couple of horny teenagers.”

He falls silent again, the words cutting off as a wave of fresh agony washes over him. God, the visual is never going to stop haunting him, is it?

“Oh, Arthur ...” Charles murmurs, squeezing his hands gently. “I’m so sorry.”

Arthur lets out a bitter huff. “Sorry? Don’t be sorry for me, Charles. Be sorry for yourself.”

Charles frowns in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Oscar,” Arthur grits out, white-hot anger flaring once more. “He stole her from me, sure. But he also stole our name. He gets to be a Leclerc now, a mockery of our home streets. Just because you stupidly joked about adopting him.”

He surges to his feet, unable to stay still with all this wrath and hurt burning through him.

“Everything that was supposed to be mine, Charles!” He shouts, prowling the room like a caged animal. “The career, the family, the girl … Oscar has taken it all! With a few laughs and some dumb jokes!”

“Arthur, that’s not fair ...” Charles tries, but Arthur barrels right over him.

“No? Well how about this — let’s see how funny those jokes are when Oscar decides he actually wants to be Charles Leclerc!” Arthur snarls. “He’ll take your career next, you watch! Take away everything that makes you special, everything that’s yours by right!”

“Arthur.” Charles is on his feet now, reaching out to grip Arthur’s shoulders firmly. “Listen to me. You need to calm down, okay? Oscar isn’t trying to take anything from us. He’s our friend!”

“How can you say that?” Arthur demands, anguish cracking through the rage. “Don’t you see what he’s done? What he’s taking from me?”

He’s breathing hard now, vision swimming as tears of mingled fury and heartbreak prick at his eyes.

“That was supposed to be my future, Charles,” he rasps. “Y/N and I … we had plans. Dreams of a life together.”

Arthur swipes angrily at the tear that escapes, blurring his vision. “Oscar doesn’t get to take that from me. He doesn’t get to make it all a mocking joke.”

“Arthur ...” Charles looks stricken now, shaking his head slowly. He pulls Arthur into another fierce hug, tucking the younger man’s head under his chin.

“I’m so sorry,” Charles murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry he hurt you like this. You don’t deserve that … any of it.”

Arthur lets out a choked sob against his brother’s shirt, all of the fight abruptly draining from him. He’s just … tired. Wrung out and hollow, aching down to his very core.

“This wasn’t how it was supposed to go, Charles,” he whispers brokenly. “Oscar was my friend … how could he do this to me?”

Charles doesn’t seem to have any answers. He just holds Arthur tighter, rocking them gently from side to side as Arthur finally gives in to his emotions. He buries his face in Charles’ shoulder and weeps — for his shattered dreams, his shredded heart, and a future that now feels impossibly out of reach.

As the sobs gradually subside, a final bitter thought takes root in Arthur’s mind. If Oscar is going to steal away the girl Arthur loves, the family he was born into, and the future he had mapped out for himself ... then Arthur hopes to god the Monaco curse falls on Oscar just as harshly as it ever has for a Leclerc.

Maybe then Oscar will finally understand just how much he’s taken from Arthur. How many dreams and pieces of Arthur's very identity he’s carelessly crushed in his quest to make himself a Leclerc on everything but paper.

Arthur’s tears have dried, leaving his cheeks chafed and eyes swollen. But the hollow ache in his chest remains, throbbing in time with his ragged breaths. He stays huddled against Charles, taking what little solace he can from his brother’s presence.

It’s all he has left now. Oscar has snatched away everything else that ever mattered to Arthur. His future, his past, his home ... all of it, gone in a spiral of heated kisses and breathless laughter.

If the cost of having it all is the Monaco curse bearing down on him, then so be it. Arthur finds himself almost hoping Oscar gets everything he so greedily took, the consequences be damned. Maybe then, just maybe, he’ll finally understand an ounce of the anguish and heartbreak he’s inflicted on Arthur.

It’s a dark, vindictive thought, one that makes Arthur's gut twist with shame. But he’d too drained, too devastated to truly care. He just presses closer to Charles, craving the simple comfort of family as reality crushes him from all sides.

His dreams, his heart, his identity ... all stolen by a former friend turned ultimate betrayer. If the Monaco curse is all Arthur has left to cling to, then so be it.

[gumified]

PRICE TO PAY

pairing: god!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary: you had prayed and prayed for the drought to finally end, for the village to finally be granted rain, so when meeting one of the gods you strike a deal and pay the price.

content: 4.4k, smut, pwp, big dick!gojo, virgin!reader, praise, degradation, dirty talk, cunnilingus (fem. receiving), ice play, bondage, gagging, fingering, squirting, orgasm control, overstimulation, public but also not public sex

note: have fun :D

The heat beat down on your face as you walked up the hill, buckets of water straining your shoulders. Your throat was parched and you were drenched in sweat. You were so thirsty it was unbearable. It had been months since the last rain and the nearest stream was miles away. Your village had long since lost hope, abandoning their faith in the gods. But not you. You knew they were up there. You believed they would help.

While everyone else assumed the drought would eventually end, as it had before, you couldn’t wait. Your brother was so young; he might not survive much longer. Water was life and without it survival was impossible.

“Hey, Ren.” You forced a smile for your brother. His face was flushed, and his clothes were tattered. “Come on, you need to drink this.”

Ren coughed, struggling to sit up. “Y/n, you’re back.”

“Yeah.” You brought the bowl closer to his lips, urging him to drink. He sipped weakly. “How have you been feeling?”

“I feel really hot.” You felt his forehead and sighed when you felt it even warmer than before. The fever he had was burning through his body. Ren wrapped his arms around your waist, clinging on you tightly. “Y/n you won’t leave me will you? Not like mum and dad.”

Brushing his hair out of his eyes, you felt your heart break a little. “Of course I won’t leave you. You’re gonna be stuck with me for the rest of your life, promise.” He grinned, giggling. There’s a small bit of you that wished that this would end soon but you knew better. 

“I love you Y/n.” Ren mumbled, eyes fluttering shut.

“Love you too Ren.” 

You were shaken awake and you nearly screamed when you caught sight of a beautiful face in front of you. His jaw was perfectly chiselled and his lips were plump, kissable almost. You felt your cheeks flushed. His eyes were what captured you most of all. Sapphire swirls painted his eyes, you felt yourself being pulled towards him. 

“You mortals really do sleep like - what’s the saying? Oh yes - like the dead.” His sneer transformed his handsome features into something far more menacing. “Don’t you know it’s disrespectful to spend the night at a temple?”

“I-I’m sorry, I must have fallen asleep by accident.” You tried to move away but it was like an invisible force was keeping you from moving your limbs. He smirked, crawling closer to you so that you were inches apart. “W-Who are you?”

“Little mortal doesn’t know who I am.” His tongue flicked over his lips. “You’re in my temple, little one.”

"Y-Your temple…" The cogs in your brain turned and you let out a frightened gasp. "Y-You're a God."  

He grinned, a low chuckle escaping his lips. "Smarter than you look. It's Y/n isn't it?" Words failed you and you felt your throat grow dry. He twisted a strand of your hair around his finger. "You've been praying for a heavy rain season for weeks. How could I not remember your name." 

"Does that mean you'll help me?" 

"I'm afraid the weather is in my brother's domain. I control the oceans, mortal." 

"I know who you are, Satoru Gojo, God of the oceans and earthquakes. Your brother controls the sky and its weather." You said meekly, feeling your cheeks burn at how close he was. The tapestries had always depicted him as a handsome man with bulging muscles. But something about seeing him in real life had you so enamoured. 

Satoru smirked, the blue in his eyes growing even brighter. His body glowed with a soft, golden aura. You gulped, unable to meet his gaze. "And yet you knew that, but still came to pray to me every day, making sacrifices as well."

"W-Well they say you're the most generous s-so I thought…"

"You thought I would help you?" Satoru cocked his head to the side. "Don't you know everything comes with a price?" 

"And I'm willing to pay that price." 

A silent pause passed between the two of you before a smirk crept up on Satoru’s face. You noticed his eyes grow darker, the bright pigment transformed into a much more seductive hue.

“My, my, little mortal’s brave.” You felt his eyes trailing over your body and you felt like you’re being hunted. “So you’ll do anything?” His fingers brushed over your thigh teasingly. You nodded. 

A wicked grin spread across his face. You squeaked in surprise when his mouth collided onto yours. The intoxicating scent of the ocean filled your senses and your eyes fluttered shut. Satoru’s lips moved ferociously against yours, it made you feel dizzy yet they tasted sweet at the same time. You could taste the sugary taste of leftover ambrosia as he delved into your wet cavern, tongue exploring each and every crevice. 

Your arms remained by your side, unsure of what to do. But when Satoru tugged you forward, they wrapped around him tightly, and you felt him smirk. Your hands wandered over his rippling muscles, trying to carve the feeling into your memory. He bit down on your bottom lip, drawing the slightest bit of blood.

The taste of your own blood mingled with the sweetness of ambrosia, created a heady mixture that made you gasp. Satoru pulled back slightly, his breath hot against your skin. "Everything comes with a price, little one." He murmured, his voice a velvety whisper. "Are you sure you're willing to pay it?"

You nodded, breathless and trembling. "Anything, just please help us."

Satoru's grin widened, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and something darker. "Very well, mortal. But remember, once a deal is struck with a god, there's no going back."

His fingers traced patterns on your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "You'll belong to me," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. "Body and soul."

You felt yourself growing hot as he ravaged your mouth, a soft growl emitting from his throat. You weren’t familiar with his actions, you had never been bedded, too busy tending to your sick brother. The people had called you many names but you didn't care. But now, with your minimal experience, you were nervous, scared even at the thought of a God deflowering you. Nevertheless, you started to grow wet, your pussy started to stick to the thin piece of cloth that covered you. 

Satoru pulled away yet again, a single strand of salvia connected the both of you as he awaited your answer. You panted, out of breath and slightly intoxicated from just the sense of him. 

“Do you accept?” His voice was deep and sultry, something about him was so deliciously seductive that you couldn't help the way your thighs squeezed together involuntarily.

"I accept." 

Satoru's eyes flashed with satisfaction. "Good. Then let our pact be sealed." He captured your lips again, this time more possessively, his hands roaming your body with a newfound intensity. You let out a moan as his tongue slithered back into your mouth. 

He sunk two fingers into your folds making you whimper at the stretch. Your hands gripped his biceps, nails digging down. Satoru licked his lips, continuing to pump into you, gradually increasing the pace. The lewd noises that filled your ears made a blush rise to your cheeks. Never in your life have you felt so dirty, so shameless.

"You're dripping, my sweet. Who would've thought you'd be this turned on." His tone was laced with unmistakable lust and hunger. "Been watching you for so long. Couldn't wait any longer to be inside you." He growled, fucking into you faster, drawing louder moans out of you. 

"S-Satoru…" You gasped as he plunged another digit into you, manoeuvring his fingers so he hit all the right spots. "I-I…"

He stared at your core, your juices all over. For a second he slowed down, giving you a chance to breathe and relax before he picked up the pace. Curling his fingers, touching your sweet sensitive spots in your velvet walls. His thumb rubbed your clit, playing with your sensitive nub. A tight hot rope seemed to wrap around your stomach as Satoru continued to fuck you harder. He smirked as your walls squeezed his fingers. You let out a gasp when he touches a particular spot within you. 

"Close my sweet?" He whispered, lips brushing against your ear and it sent you closer to your high. All you could do is nod fervently, the twisting feeling wrapping around your stomach tightened. You mewled as he fucked you faster, adding another digit. “You can’t cum just yet, got to make sure you’re ready for my cock.” He hummed.

You clenched around his fingers once more, tears pricked your eyes as you threw your head back at the pleasure you were receiving. Satoru surged forward, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. He swallowed your moans and whimpers. His lips trailed down your neck, leaving soft open-mouthed kisses in his wake. Your noises were like music to his ears as he drank in every moan, whimper, mewl - the breathy gasps and the lewd pants. 

“You know my sweet, there’s something that I love about being a God.” 

You gazed at him through your lashes, his lips curling up into a devilish smirk. An ice cube appeared in his hand. You weren’t sure what to think until he slid it up and down your hot wet folds, then you were gasping at the coldness that hit your core. There was a rush of newfound delight that filled you up and you were rutting your hips, asking for more.

Satoru simply grinned, pushing the cube of ice further inside you watching your reactions bloom in front of him. His fingers were dripping with both water and your arousal. You let out a soft hiss when the ice cube is pressed harder into you. The coldness contrasted with the warmness of your needy walls. It spiked through your body as it made your blood rise and your head became light at the overwhelming feeling. You were clutching onto Satoru with so much force that it would hurt him but he didn’t care, not when he was in the midst of unravelling you.

“Let’s see how many you can hold.” It shocked you into a frenzy when you felt another ice cube get pushed inside you, the last one still slowly melting. 

“Mmmph. Too much, ngh, feels weird, ‘s too much.” Your mind seemed to explode as you babbled incoherently. “F-fuckkk ‘toru it’s cold a-and-“

You were unable to finish your sentence as Satoru reached out his hands to pinch your clit causing you to jolt forward at the sudden gesture. You felt a rush as you gazed up at him. watching his smirk grow as he looked at your sopping pussy. 

“You’re so beautiful!” He teased your folds, rubbing against them harsher. “Take more for me okay? You’re such a good girl, my sweet, keep that dirty pussy dripping as I stuff you, okay?” Satoru’s lips brushed your ear. “Then I’ll let you cum.”

You felt yourself spiralling into euphoria when he slid his finger down your pussy. His tongue flicked over his lips as he admired your fucked out face. Morals left your body and you let your urges take over. All reason and thought left you as you were reduced to a whining needy mess. Your pussy clenched pathetically around the ice cubes, the cold still surprising you. Satoru did nothing but coo at you, tucking strands of loose hair behind your ear.

“Come on my sweet.” He urged. “You're doing so well. This pussy is so pretty, she’s just so gorgeous, fuckkk, wish you could see her.”

“A-Ah, ‘toru good f-feels so g-good.” 

You were writhing beneath his grip, a feeling of overwhelming pleasure surged through you as he continued his actions. Your pussy constricted around his fingers and you felt something grow within you. Your nerves and senses were heightened as you felt his fingers nudge at your swollen clit. 

“I-I feel somethingg, ngh, f-feels weird like I’m gonna burst-” You gasped out, unable to keep the noises within you.

“Awwww.” Satoru’s tone was mocking as he watched your tiny frame twist and turn under his grip. A wicked grin spread across his face. “You’re close, my sweet, beg to cum and maybe I’ll be nice enough to let you.” 

It was almost painful but the pleasure was so uncontrollable that it overtook any pain you felt. Satoru slid another freezing ice cube into you, making you scream. Your mind was dizzy and you could only feel yourself getting stretched repeatedly with the cold object. Your pussy walls were both cold and hot, the mixture that Satoru had concocted dripping from them. Sweat covered your body, glistening as the sun shone down. You felt like you were on the verge of collapsing, so desperate for an unknown pleasure to come to your saviour.

“S-Satoru...cum, p-please. W-Wanna cum…” You stuttered helplessly, silently shrieking at the contrast of temperatures.

“More, beg more.”

You screamed at the feeling as his fingers thrusted in you making your head light as you desperately gripped onto his shoulders, clawing at some sort of way to tether you to the present. His words were laced with seduction as he continued to tease you.

“C-Cum cum cum, please pleaseee, needa cum so b-bad ‘toru fuckkk! P-Please let me cum, ‘s too much need it s-so bad, please please please!”

Satoru laughed as he buried his head in your neck, placing kisses on the empty space. He loved your desperate pleas, the breathy moans that would fill the gaps and the tears that followed as you begged him for something you had never experienced before.

“You’ve been such a good girl.” He purred, his deep voice making you clench around him. “And good girls deserve to cum. Go on my sweet, let it all out on my fingers, make a mess of this pussy.” 

You felt a wave of ecstasy rush over you as he pressed his fingers down, biting into your neck. Your body shook at the sensation that overcame you. You rocked against Satoru as you felt your pussy squeeze and constrict. A newfound feeling gushed from within you and you felt yourself scream at the pleasure. Your mind was reduced to filth as you moaned, the ringlets of your release jolting through your body. Satoru groaned at the way your cum coated his fingers and he stared at your desperate cunt, watching the aftermath of the mess you had just created. You didn’t know what to think, your mind cloudy and confused. 

“You fucking squirted, dirty fucking girl.” His eyes were transfixed and suddenly you felt embarrassed at the wetness between your thighs. He reached his hands out forcing you to stay open for him, exposing your most private part for him to ogle at. “Who knew this cute little pussy was capable of such filthy things. You’re just a whore in disguise aren’t you?”

Your pathetic mewls convinced him of nothing. Satoru stared in wonder at your pussy, watching as you clenched around nothing. He slid his fingers in his mouth, tasting every bit of you. A low moan was heard before he dived down licking up your mess. Still sensitive, you cried in shock, threading your hands through his hair. He sucked harshly at your sensitive bud, lapping at your juices. The feeling made tears bleed from your eyes and you tug on his wispy locks. 

“Like it, my sweet?” His voice sent tingles down your spine and you held back the urge to scream. “Can’t hear you?”

“L-Like it so much ‘toru…” You let out a shaky breath, beads of your tears clinging onto your lashes. “P-Please…”

He lapped at your cunt greedily, swallowing every single drop. Your arousal dripped from his chin with a mixture of his salvia. His ears were blessed at the loud squelch that would emit from between your legs. Everything was so messy but he didn’t care as he continued to play with your pretty cunt. You could only whine and quiver at the feeling. Your legs shook, still sensitive from your previous orgasm. Blissful thoughts whizzed by as he kept you locked in an euphoric sensation. You struggled to not cry out and sob when white dots blurred your vision. 

Satoru flicked his tongue against your engorged clit, plunging the wet muscle inside. His mouth was hot and you felt his tongue circle your swollen clit messily while you stuttered out pleading moans. He pried open your thighs, desperate to access deeper into the precious new heaven he had discovered. You felt your eyes roll to the back of your head at the overstimulation, finding it hard to focus on anything as your senses overloaded. Your mouth hung open as sweet whines constantly fell from your lips. All you could do was lie there letting Satoru ravage your pussy like a man dying of thirst.

“C-Close, close so so so close!” You gasped when you felt him release with a pop before diving back down to continue to suck. “Too much, ‘toru ‘s too much, feels t-too goodddd…”

It wasn’t long before you were cumming again. Another round of your wet arousal coating his face and he licked it clean. You were drooling now, salvia running down your chin as you felt the tears run down your face. It was too much and you feel yourself fall into a new world of pure pleasure. You could feel Satoru’s lustful grin against you as he sucked your pussy. Your thighs shook, chest heaving up and down. Despite the fact you had just released it never stopped the god from indulging you in his carnal desire.

"Sweet little Y/n." He cooed as his thumb ghosted circles around your puffy clit. “Think you’re ready for my cock?” 

It was a question that didn’t need an answer but you still nodded your head lifelessly. Your body was limp in his grip and you struggled to hold yourself up, relying only on him. Satoru smirked from above you, pushing you down on the marble floor. His hands were big and warm and the simple touch had heat blossoming at your pussy. You barely registered what was happening until you had your hands tied together. A thin golden cord wrapped around your wrists and Satoru bit his lip. You looked so beautiful, so pretty, so submissive. 

“I like you this way my sweet. All tied up and ready to be used.” He frowned and you panicked, scared you had angered him. He snapped his fingers and you found a piece of cloth in your mouth, stopping you from speaking. “That’s better, as much as I love your noises I find this much more appealing.”

Your eyes widened when he reached down to release his cock from its confines. You had never seen something so big and dare you say pretty. Satoru’s cock was red and flushed, pre cum oozing out of the swollen tip, dripping like pearls as they rolled down his fat cock head. You felt yourself drool at the sight and you didn’t think you would want something in your mouth so bad. He grinned smugly at your reaction, knowing you were unable to say anything as you stared transfixed at the sight before you.

“Don’t worry my sweet, I’ll make sure to make you feel so good. I know how much this pussy loves to be filled up.”

The words are dirty yet you couldn’t help but let out a muffled whine as he picked you up. His tip pushed past your folds, nudging into your pussy hole. You shut your eyes letting yourself feel the stretch that he gave you. His cock was so big and every bit of your body felt like it was on fire as he continued to push inside. He paused letting you adjust, whispering into your ear quietly. Filthy praises that only made you drip and mewl. It felt like magic and you whimpered into your gag helplessly. Satoru’s fingers brushed through your hair and he peppered sweet kisses across your face. 

It was like your world had imploded as he thrusted into you. Nothing else mattered as you moaned and squirmed at his touch. Your senses went into overdrive as he quickened his thrusts. He pumped in and out of you. He filled every crevice of your sex. His pace never slowed even as you felt all the energy leave your body. You screamed into the gag when he hit that particular spot that had you keeling. You felt your eyes roll to the back of your head and you gasped for air through the gag. 

“Fuckkk you’re so tight, such a slutty virgin pussy. Look at how you’re gripping on my cock my sweet, she’s so loud.”

His words only made you keen with desire as you gave in to the carnal temptation that bloomed within you. 

“Mmmmph!” Your moans grew louder with every harsh thrust as his cock touched every part of your gummy walls. “Ah-Ah-Ah! ‘toruuuu!”

Satoru showed no mercy as he pounded into you. Cock plunging in and out of your pussy. Wet noises echoed through the walls of the temple and a small part of you felt bad for doing this, here of all places. It was inappropriate but it felt so good. Too good even. He continued his movements and the binds that once bound you vanished and you assumed that this was a sign that Satoru wanted you to touch him so you obeyed. Your fingers dragged down his back, sure to leave marks. Fingers fluttered from place to place, desperate for something to anchor you.

“You look so beautiful, pussy sucking in my big cock. Such a good girl for me.” He tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. Everything he did felt amazing. “Moan for me my sweet, go on let me hear those filthy sounds.” 

You obeyed his command letting the lewd sounds tumble from your lips as you gasped for more. Your hands roamed the vast expanse of his body, the taut muscles that lay under your hands, each touch ignited sparks. His grip on you tightened, his fingers tangling in your hair, pulling just enough to make you gasp again. Every brush of his lip, every stroke of his tongue, every bite and nibble was a reminder of his power and you couldn’t help but give in completely. 

The vigor that he fucked you with was compared to no man and you couldn’t help the lustful sounds that escaped your lips as his hips snapped to yours. It made your mind reel with the feeling of pleasure. His hair fell into his eyes and you reached your hands to sweep through his locks. Satoru was so handsome. He was a god after all and you couldn’t help that your heart pounded whenever you looked at him.

You felt your orgasm approach and you clenched your hands around his toned biceps, nails digging into his skin and he hissed. You moaned repeatedly into the gag as your body shook frantically from the pleasure. 

“A-A-Ahhh! ‘toru ‘toru ‘s too much, nghh.” Your body thrashed in his grasp, wriggling and writhing as you felt the immense feeling build up again. Every movement magnified the intensity as you felt the shock ricochet throughout your body. 

“It’s okay my sweet.” Satoru whispered but his thrusts were unrelenting. His fingers brushed against your clit, circling the bundle of nerves as he drew out your orgasm. “It’s okay, let's cum together. Soak my cock Y/n, such a good girl.”

Your juices overflowed and you felt his cum pump into your body, filling you up until you were so so full. Warmth blossomed throughout your body and you felt yourself wringing his cock with every drop of cum. The feeling was incomparable and you gasped for air once he removed the gag with the snap of his fingers. Satoru kissed you, his lips were demanding, moving against yours with raw hunger. The taste of the ocean filled your senses, salty and intoxicating. He pulled out to place a kiss on your thighs, on your pussy. You were so sensitive and you felt his cum as it flowed out of you. He stuffed two fingers in your pussy and you squealed at the sudden gesture. His fingers curled in and out of you before he slapped your core. The sting sent shock waves through your body and you couldn’t help the moan that tumbled out of your lips.

“Keep it in there my sweet, I’ll be visiting again.” His voice was a husky whisper, deep and seductive. 

Then, with those words, he disappeared, leaving you a naked mess on the temple floor. You were breathless and reeling from the pleasure that he had just bestowed upon you. You had just given yourself to a god, one that had just stuffed you so full of his cum. You stared at the place where he had been in shock, your head felt light from all that had just happened. Your legs gave way when you tried to stand up, they were sore and achy, covered in splatters of both of your cum. His smirks and groans filled your senses once again and you felt yourself flush at the memory. 

Satoru Gojo had just introduced a lustful desire that you didn’t think you would be able to forget for a very long time.

You gathered your belongings with shaking hands, urgently attempting to steady yourself as you stood. The wet splashes that painted your body were a stark reminder of what had just happened, and you tried your hardest to conceal them along with your flushed, fucked-out face.

You hobbled your way back to the village, heart pounding in your chest. Every glance from a passerby felt like they could see right through you. The sheer thought that someone would stop to talk to you had you eager to get home unnoticed.

Unbeknownst to you, Satoru was watching from Olympus, his eyes never leaving your retreating form. He grinned, a sense of satisfaction washing over him as he saw your tiny self hurry home. The memory of your trembling body and flushed cheeks was seared into his mind and he felt his cock harden again at the thought. He knew you were thinking of him, longing for him, and that was exactly what he wanted. When the time was right, he would come for you again, and induce you in a pleasurable haze once more.

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

[cerisereids]

a/n: tobias hankel when i catch you… (divider from @reveriesources !!)

warnings: extreme angst, it’s hurt/comfort but it’s rly sad, basic spencer trauma, blood, showering together but it isn’t sexual, i watched the tobias hankel eps and i just wanna comfort him so here this is

going home with spencer reid after the team figures out where tobias hankel had taken him. once he’s been medically examined, he’s wrapped up in a jacket, tucked under your arm in the backseat of the suburban. he’s trembling under your touch, and you muster every last bit of your courage not to break down. you’re determined to be strong for him, he needs it.

it’s normally him cradling you like this, especially after tough cases, in your bed, or the couch, or even in the conference room if you can sneak a moment alone. it’s not to say that you’re weak, you’re just a bit more outwardly emotional than spencer. maybe a lot more outwardly emotional. it’s a hard job. it’s an impossible one right now, as you sit there, cradling your man as he shivers in your arms.

you’re practically on top of him, your arms coiled around his neck while your legs sling over his lap. his arms squeeze your waist, weak, deft fingers leave wobbly imprints on your plush skin, like he was trying to absorb you through his fingertips. your fingernails gently scrape his scalp, your body on overdrive as you so desperately try to comfort him, to calm him. anything to stop this godawful shaking you don’t think your heart can handle it much longer.

“i’m sorry…” your head snaps up at the sound of his voice, your heart dropping to your stomach.

“spencer?” you struggle to find your breath as his name passes your lips, your voice is hoarse from crying.

“i’m sorry…” he whines in a far off tone, eyes half shut, “imsorryimsorryimsorry-”

“spencer!” you cut him off, cradling his jaw in your hands as you get him to look at you, lightly tapping his face to force his eyes open, “spencer, it’s me. you’re safe.”

you see it in his eyes when it clicks, when he sees you. the relief is palpable, it’s contagious. you stay in each other’s arms the entire ride home. the second you get in the elevator of his apartment building, he breaks. he collapses into you, a sob escaping his lips.

“oh, spencer,” you gasp out, lightly kissing his lips, testing the waters.

“i thought of you the whole time,” he sobs, kissing you again, deeper this time. you move in time with each other until the ding of the elevator breaks you apart.

your heart just aches at the sight of him. his brows are furrowed, his eyes screwed shut as tears flow like a waterfall down his sweet, sweet face. you hastily wipe at his wet cheeks, it’s the closest thing you have to being able to take his pain away.

“i thought of you, an-and my mom,” he chokes out even more sobs at the acknowledgment of diana, and you kiss his salty cheek as you prepare him to exit the elevator.

he takes a deep breath to try and quiet his sobs as you walk through the hall to his apartment. he all but falls through the door, just barely holding himself up on the side table next to the entrance. you hastily wrap your arms around his middle from behind, cuddling into him when he relaxes in your hold.

“let’s get you in the shower, then you can sleep. okay?” you whisper, your cheek pressed to his back.

“okay,” he mumbles, and his garbled tone breaks you even more, which you didn’t even realize was possible.

once you’re both under the hot stream, you dedicate yourself to soothing him. you rub some of your body butter up and down his arms, along his back, massaging the skin until his muscles begin to relax. little whimpers slip past his lips as he loosens up under your touch, and it makes you feel on top of the world.

you revel in the pure intimacy of the moment- grasping for silver linings like they’re needles in haystacks- as you stand here, washing the lotion off his reddened and bruised skin. you catch a glimpse of the blood stained water swirling the drain, and you almost lose your composure. you falter in his arms, just a tad, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as your eyes glass over.

“hey,” spencer whispers, oh so soothingly. he takes the body butter from the shower rack and dips his fingers in. the cold lotion on his deft fingers massages into your skin, and you finally let your eyes fall shut, “you were so brave for me today, hm? hotch told me all about it.”

the fact that he’s trying to comfort you is the trigger that unleashes the waterfall of tears you’ve held in since late that afternoon. memories of being in that godforsaken house flashes through your mind- seeing spencer so scared and frail on that computer screen, the adrenaline of sheer panic bursting from you like a fireball, hotch having to carry you from the room, your white knuckle grip on the kitchen table, the violent chattering of your teeth as you sobbed and heaved.

“i’m sorry, i need to stop,” you bury your face in your hands, desperately wiping at your tears as if the past 24 hours could wipe away with them.

“what? no you don’t,” he states matter of factly, “why did you say that, honey?” his brows are furrowed, and he looks so earnest, so unbelievably spencer. a small ray of light shines through the cracks in your heart, you just adore him.

you smile weakly, “becaaaauuuuseeee, my love,” you nudge him as you whine, almost childlike, “i want to be here for you. i need to be here with you, to make you feel better. i can’t do that if i’m blubbering like a whale!” you let out a wet gasp and turn your face into spencer’s large hand that’s cradling it.

“i don’t care what you’re saying,” he whispers out breathlessly, planting a sloppy kiss to your lips, “i don’t care what you’re doing,” another kiss, his hands roaming hastily around your body, like he needs help believing you’re real, “just as long as you’re here,” kiss, “as long as i have you, i’ll be okay. we both went through it, honey. cry it out, we’ll get through this together,” his voice breaks at that last word, and you grab him by the cheeks for a desperate, messy kiss.

you spend a few minutes like that, his lips devouring yours, tears streaming down both your cheeks. the messy, desperate press of his plump lips on yours is enough to erase the horrors of your day, just for a moment. he’s always had the power to do that to you, to make you feel like you’re on a different planet when you’re with him, no matter what is going on.

when you break apart, you press your forehead to his and attempt to regulate your breathing. he follows suit, so you grab his shampoo and work your fingers through his scalp. you’re so gentle, scrubbing lightly along his scalp to shed the dirt and grime from his hair. you study his every move, especially the way his head tilts back slightly as you scrub, eyes falling shut. he lets out a low string of air when you move his head under the stream of water, and you can’t help but plant a kiss to his sudsy neck.

once you lathered his body with just as much love and tenderness, and he so eagerly returned the favor, you two were finally ready to sleep in each other’s arms. you hand him your fluffiest towel, and allow him time to dry off before you insist on moisturizing him before bed. he whines about it at first, a small little pout forming on his split lip. you kiss it, and it curls upward in a cheeky smirk.

“your skin needs it,” you promise, “plus, i kind of just want to touch all over you,” you wiggle your eyebrows flirtatiously. your first genuine smile all day appears on your lips at the blush on his cheeks. you never get tired seeing the effect you have on him. just like you did in the shower, you tenderly massage lotion into his skin, also applying an antiseptic to any minor scrapes or cuts, kissing them when he hisses at the sting.

you sit him down on the bed when you get back to your room, and grab a fresh pair of pajamas for him. he brings you between his legs, fingers intertwining with yours. “i love you,” he murmurs, and you smile.

“i love you more,” you reply against his lips, placing a quick kiss to them after, “let’s go to bed my love, let me hold you while you fall asleep, hm?”

you knew he could never say no to that.

[ariesangelxo]

mornings

rafe cameron x fem!reader

cw: angst, breakup, hurt/no comfort (yet), mean rafe, indications of cheating and lying, like one suggestive line

mdni

an: this is my first time writing a fic in almost a decade so pls be kind <3

part two

waking up had once been your favorite part of the day. your eyes would flutter open to see rafe sleeping, his features being softly illuminated by the morning sun, the scent of him being tangled within his egyptian cotton sheets, his gentle hold on you, keeping you close as if he feared you’d disappear during the night. it all made starting the day in a bad mood impossible.

that was before your break up. now, you dreaded being taken away from the embrace of sleep. waking up from the dreams of your now ex-boyfriend’s touch, his smile, his voice, was a cruel reminder from the universe of your current situation. you were no longer spending your mornings next to the man that held your heart in his hands and protected it like it was his most prized possession. you no longer got to listen to his raspy voice as he awoke from his slumber. you no longer could feel his lips press gently against your forehead or how your heart fluttered when he gave you a lazy smirk, knowing how needy you would get when he did so.

your break up came as a surprise to all of outerbanks. you and rafe had been the power couple, the kind of relationship that most girls dream of being a part of. to you though, it was not a surprise. you loved rafe with every fiber of your being, he is was your entire world. but in the months leading up to your split, things changed.

rafe became more busy with ‘work’. you began spending more nights falling asleep alone in his bed, your cheeks tear-stained as you silently wondered what went wrong. he started to hide his phone, almost always keeping it on ‘do not disturb’ when he was with you so you wouldn’t see his notifications. he had become more distant towards you and short-tempered, a side of him you knew existed but had never been directed towards you. he would snap at you for very minor reasons, like your phone volume being too loud while watching videos or your makeup not being completely put away. when you’d become upset afterwards, he’d hold you and apologize, claiming he was just stressed out with ward and the business.

you believed him for a while. you didn’t want to think there was anything wrong with your relationship. when sarah asked you if everything was alright between you and her brother, you would lie and tell her everything was great. you knew she didn’t fully believe it, your smile didn’t reach your eyes when you talked about your relationship and you no longer took every chance to gush about rafe.

you reached your breaking point exactly three weeks ago. you had gone to the country club to surprise rafe for lunch. you spent that morning dolling yourself up for him. you took an everything shower, spent a significant amount of time styling your hair and doing your makeup the way rafe had told you he loved, and wore a new sundress that hugged your body perfectly, white with small baby blue flowers and a slit up to your mid-thigh on the right side. you spritzed on his favorite perfume of yours and glanced down at your manicured hands, the promise ring rafe had bought you for your six month anniversary adorned your ring finger on your left hand. it was a bittersweet reminder of how things had once been, yet filled you with hope and determination that they’d be like that soon.

the short drive to the country club was a blur for you, the mixture of your nerves and excitement fueled your racing heartbeat as you became closer and closer. as you arrived you stepped out of your car, slinging your purse over your shoulder and checking your mirror to ensure your makeup was still perfect. you couldn’t hold back the bright smile on your face as you walked up to the country club, expecting that rafe was somewhere out on the course with topper and kelce, so you’d wait for him inside until he finished and then surprise him.

when one of the employees who, of course, knew exactly who you were, failed to hide her concerned look when she saw you approach, you felt your stomach do flips. your gut told you something wasn’t right, but she gave you a smile as she held open the door for you. you stepped into the clubhouse and began approaching the front desk to chitchat with the receptionist, but something caught your eye. it was the unmistakable figure of your boyfriend, leaning over the bar as he gave the bartender with short brunette hair his signature smirk.

you could have sworn you heard your heart shatter. the smirk he gave her was the one he had only given you since you started dating, or so you thought. she laughed as he told her something, reaching over to grab his now empty glass and letting her fingers linger a bit too long on his. your bottom lip began trembling and your vision blurred as he didn’t move his hand, or his gaze, away from her. everything suddenly made sense in that moment, his distance, the late nights away from tannyhill that left you alone, his newfound protectiveness around his phone.

without saying a word to anyone, including rafe, you slipped out of the country club. you desperately bit your bottom lip to try and combat the tears as you saw topper and kelce approaching the entrance. they both looked at you with confusion and concern, “hey, are you okay?” topper asked, his lips turning into a frown at you being obviously upset.

you attempted to give them both a smile, knowing how unconvincing it must have looked as your eyes were glossed over with tears that threatened to spill at any moment and your chin wobbled. “i’m sorry, i have to go.” you dismissed yourself, trying to be as polite as possible while avoiding a full on breakdown in front of the two boys.

you stepped aside them and raced to your car, wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible. your head was filled with questions. who was she? why did rafe let her touch him like that? why would he give her the smirk that was reserved for you, and you only? they sped through your mind almost as fast as you sped down the streets of kildaire, wanting to get back to tannyhill as fast as you could so you could grab your stuff and leave.

you did exactly that. ward attempted to question you when he saw you storm into his home upset, but when you wouldn’t respond and pushed your way around him, he knew his son had fucked up. you grabbed what you could remember in a haze, the overwhelming emotions making it difficult to remember what all you needed to get. once you had your bag packed, you took a look at yourself in the mirror. your cheeks were stained with mascara, your lips swollen and your eyes bloodshot red from crying. you couldn’t prevent the new wave of tears as the gemstone on your promise ring gleamed in the sunlight. you pulled it off quickly as if the metal was iron hot and burning your skin, throwing it onto rafe’s bed as you walked out of tannyhill and to your car. you drove off, heading to your home and not allowing yourself to spare another glance at the house that had been your safe haven just hours ago.

in the weeks that had passed since then, you could count on one hand the number of times you’d left the confines of your mom’s house. rafe had blown up your phone with unanswered calls and text messages for the first week following you leaving. he attempted to come see you, but your mom stopped him at the door, shouting a string of curse words at him before slamming it shut in his face. the texts and calls slowly dwindled, as did your emotions surrounding everything.

you forced yourself to numb your feelings for most of the day, not wanting to face the reality of what your life had turned into. the only time you found it impossible to do so was mornings. the mornings you had grown to hate with everything in you because they forced you to mourn your once loving relationship that had dissipated into nothingness. the mornings that filled you with anger and sadness. the mornings that had once been your favorite part of the day. god, you hated mornings.

[lordandladywhistledown]

People wanting Pen and Colin’s story to drag out like they've only just met in ep 1... HELLO???

They've known each other since they were kids, why are you expecting them to have "let's get to know each other" conversations like Pen and Debling had? Polin are so far away from acquaintances that it's diminishing their story and their essence as a couple by adding superficial dialogue. They are each other's best friends (sorry Eloise) and know each other better than anyone (ex. Penelope seeing through Colin’s mask immediately after he came back) and that's why they don't need 7 episodes to fall in love - they're in love even before ep1 of s3!!! (Yes, Colin as well).

You can't expect a slow burn because the slow burn has already happened, specifically in the seasons before this one.

Not all love stories need to have an interesting beginning and build up, some are a bit more tame but much more exciting after they get together (aka the LW drama that's about to ensue) and similarly not all love stories end right after they wed.

People compare the last two seasons to this one and expect the same things, and that's virtually impossible considering we've known Colin and Penelope now longer than we did Anthony and Kate or Daphne and Simon. Plus, the tropes are also completely different so people who expect Kanthony 2.0 this season with Polin are absolutely fucking insane.

We know Penelope loves Colin, we know Colin doesn't think of Penelope as someone he might marry, we know Penelope wrote about Colin and Marina and we absolutely know that they still care deeply for one another. So therefore there's no need to add all of that if it's already astablished but rather to continue and develop their story into a new depth and a new story, with them already being in love from the beginning.

Also,

HALF OF THE FUCKING STORY IS STILL MISSING!?!?!?!

Yes Jennifer, of course the story feels unfinished and rushed by the end of ep4 because IT IS STILL FUCKING UNFINISHED

...

[moodymisty]

Author's note: I dunno, blame @kit-williams or something this is my first time writing Tyberos so I apologize and it’s also very rushed

Relationships: Tyberos/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Tokophobia/pregnancy warning, Loss of bodily automoty? Tyberos kind of likes you but you're also his personal broodmare so like do with that what you will, Breeding kink, The consent is indeed somewhat dubious

"Don't fight."

Your teeth ground together tight as he forced his way inside of you, cunt stretched beyond what you felt you could take. It burned, it made your eyes water, but you knew that this was a blessing in comparison to how he could be with you. Your crying had ceased into little more than whimpers, tired as your body couldn’t keep up any longer.

"It will only bring you more pain."

He is massive in comparison to you; When you'd first saw his men you already cowered, but when he had made himself known the sheer size of him had almost seemed impossible. As such he can’t fit between your legs properly, and so your thighs press back into your stomach and slightly to the side as he folded you nearly in half in order to properly fuck you.

By the time he'd fit his entire cock inside of you that sharp pain had faded into a filled, throbbing ache; Far better than what had been. You barely managed to swallow the knot in your throat from how tight it was. Even just the head of his cock had caused you pain, but it’s all passed.

You couldn't stop the whimper that had left your throat when he pulled out halfway, before thrusting himself back into you and sending your body away from him. He'd grabbed your hip to keep your close then, realizing how his strength could so easily throw you around.

Your voice cracked as you gasped, feeling his hips slam into the backs of your thighs as he thrusts into you again. And again. And again. He doesn't relent, and you feel the black void of his eyes looking down at your form as your face grows hot.

You hated how your body was betraying you. How it's twisting his uncharacteristic show of gentleness as something more, and made your skin feel like it's on fire and sending throbs to your clit. There was still tears in your eyes, though the reason why was slowly changing; Fear still gripped your heart none the less.

Your lips parted with a pant, your stomach tight like a vice. Each time the drove himself into you it felt as if he was forcing himself deeper than you thought possible, letting out hiccuping gasps has the head of his cock hits places that makes your spine arch.

"You're going to make good astartes."

He'd said that before. It's why he chose you. None of his men will ever be allowed to touch you. Or breed you. But he said it so softly that it made you lose yourself in that moment, rather than hearing it as the declaration of your fate that it was.

You cried out as you felt like his cock is in your stomach, stuffing you beyond what you could possibly imagine taking. His ghostly visage watched the entire time, stoic and unreadable. You were cracking underneath him, hands grabbing for anything to try and steady yourself, while he looked down on you cast in his shadow. His one hand grips your ribs for a moment as you dangle right on the edge of coming.

“You’re doing well. I was right about you.”

The knocking on the door disturbs you from your slumber, rising upright to sit legs curled to the side. The door doesn't open however, until you verbally call out.

"...Come in?"

The bed is gargantuan, though it's clear it's almost never used. It seems to largely be due to his status as Chapter Master, not due to need. Though you'll be using it now, it seems.

The serf looks at you haphazardly wrapped in the blankets, small parts of your skin exposed. Some skin is untouched, some is bruised, some is freshly tattooed.

They'd tattooed you before giving you to him.

They're unreadable to you, if they're meant to be read, and are unrecognizable symbols that you assume belong to their culture. A few you'd seen on Tyberos' armor, but the rest are foreign to you. The ones on your sides and thighs had been surprisingly less painful than you'd expected, but the one between your hips and just above your mound still cries out from the stabbing of needles. It hovers just over your womb, lines swirls and symbols surrounding at the middle a circle of sharp teeth; Tyberos’ own symbol.

"I, um, my lady?" The serf doesn't know how to address you; You don't blame them.

"We were instructed by Lord Tyberos himself to make sure you ate."

The serf approaches with a large covered tray, and gently sits it in front of you on the bed. You curiously open it, and see unfamiliar food. It’s not like what you remember eating on your home planet, but it is still distinctly food; Not militarium rations of unknown origin. Your finger pokes at it curiously.

Tyberos is making sure you’re well fed to grow his future sons. He knows a shoddy diet of rations isn’t going to sustain what he hopes will be future astartes.

You ignore the deeper meaning behind the food and quickly devour it, before the serf takes the emptied tray from you.

“Thanks… I,” Both of your heads suddenly turn as the door opens, eyes locking on Tyberos as he walks into the room unarmored.

His face is mauled, scarred and skin twisted. His skin is ghostly pale, and you see the serf cast their eyes downward and quickly flee. It’s not the first time you’ve seen this face now, and you know how to swallow that fear so it doesn’t overtake you as bad as it had the first time.

But you understand why one would find his face horrifying. Something about his expression and his demeanor makes it less so, however.

He is almost like the vast openness of space; Cold, unforgiving, but quiet and vast at the same time. It’s impossible to tell his age, but you assume he’s much older than his men.

He watches you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, the other still holding the blanket against your bare chest.

“You’ve eaten, little one?” He says, jaw shifting as he looks down at you. The term of endearment sounds odd coming from him, but it also makes you feel oddly warm.

“Yes. It was good.” It was the best food you’d had in awhile. Before the Carcharodons had arrived on your planet, you were used to eating bagged militarium rations as a refugee.

“Good.”

He comes closer, and you know what he’s here for. He’s going to keep coming back until he knows you’re pregnant. The ship rocks slightly as it drifts through space, but you barely move.

“Lay down.”

You fall back, hitting the mattress with a soft thud and feeling the blanket fall away from you.

A part of you hates yourself for giving in. For letting this happen rather than fighting and getting killed but still keeping what someone might call your honor. But after months of displacement from refugee camp to refugee camp, of enemy fire and fighting for your life even before the Carcharodons arrived, you’ve given in.

The bed is soft. Your belly is full of warm food. Tyberos’ hand and voice are oddly enough more gentle than any commissar or handsy soldier had ever been. Perhaps something in that void-like stare of his has hypnotized you, that ghostly quiet voice whispering enchantments.

He comes closer and begins to remove his clothing and come overtop of you, grabbing your hips to pull you closer. His thumbs press against the tattoo decorating the layer of fat just over your womb and he looks at it, for a moment. Your lips freeze open for a moment, before finally speaking.

“Wait, I w-“

He looks down at you, and you quickly have to dispel any implication that you were ordering him. You do so, and hesitently shift underneath him until you’re on your knees, arms supporting your head and presenting yourself to him. It’ll be easier you think this way, with how large he is. He won’t have to fold you in half.

“You should’ve said this was all you wanted.”

He grips your hips and lifts them ever so slightly to drag you closer to him, and you feel his cock against your ass. When he slowly begins to force his way inside of you again, still slick with his cum from the last time, he talks over the whine you let out as he pushes his own cum back in with his cock.

“You won’t be able to be this way for long. Not when your belly starts to grow.”

[ecoamerica]

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

[bloodmoonmuses]

mediocre party crashers | mark lee

genre: mark x reader, fluff, strangers to... more! yk. the usual. lol

a/n: unedited, just trying to get out of my writer's block with some summer vibesssss hehe

wc: 2.1k

warnings: crude language, extensive mentions of alcohol and being intoxicated, making fun of the upper class mwahahaha...

summary: with your best friend, ningning, you crash a birthday party... that also happens to be on yacht. when you lose her in the crowd of upper class partygoers, you cross paths with a guy named mark.

In your youth, you would’ve never imagined yourself crashing a party, but being friends with Ningning has brought its own adventures over the years. You think back to the more mundane variations of such; late night grocery store runs, impromptu road trips, scratching your toxic ex’s car with your car keys… Okay, maybe mundane wasn’t the right word. However, the scale of Ning Ning’s spontaneity seemed to grow in scope- the smaller adventures of the past no longer satiating her wanderlust and adrenaline seeking tendencies. 

So here you were, standing on the deck at the edge of the water, staring at a literal yacht. 

Some friend of a friend of a cousin of the second wife of Ningning’s brother had told her about the “little'' get together that was currently underway. Apparently, as suggested by the gaudy banner shoddily attached to the side of the boat, it’s a birthday party.

The scene before you is almost a tableau; unable to be registered as real to your working-class eyes. Everyone in your line of vision is richer than rich- dripping in the kind of luxury that one can only experience when backed by multiple bloodlines of generational wealth. Some say wealth whispers, but the money these people have is shrieking at you. 

To be honest, you were surprised when Ningning said she wanted to crash this party in particular. She’s a socialite, sure, but preppies weren’t really her crowd. Apparently, this was purely a social experiment from her point of view. Ningning had even gone as far as insisting the two of you dress the part. You were clad in a pleated skirt and striped tank top, whereas Ningning was in a collared Polo dress. It kinda felt like you were at a costume party- and when you think of it that way, the whole ordeal becomes way more fun. That is, until the anxiety kicks in. 

“Ning, my love,” you begin, “How are we supposed to get into this party?” 

Ningning pouts slightly, in that cute way she does, and shrugs. 

“Just walk in?” she says as if it’s the most obvious answer ever. “There’s no bouncer, silly. It’s a yacht party.” 

With that, she swings her hips and begins strutting towards the boat. Effortlessly, she walks into the party, not even batting an eye. You waddle behind her (albeit less gracefully) and instantly lose her in a crowd of gyrating bodies. Music floods your ears, and you call out for your friend- much to no avail. When you finally accept that it’ll be impossible to pin down Ningning for the night, you decide to explore the party by yourself. 

As the night progresses, the party becomes livelier. Actually, it’s like a bunch of little parties happening in various sections of the boat. At some point, you find yourself below deck, where it’s darker, grimier.. The flashing party lights make you feel alive. People start throwing back shots, and the music gets sluttier- recession-pop EDM that’s so shrill it’s painful. However, the feeling of the bass permeating your chest gets your heart pumping and your body moving. Also, considering Ningning is still nowhere to be found, your options for socializing are limited. A part of you loves it; being surrounded by warm bodies covered in a layer of sheen- shimmering as they move in sync and the waves jostle you about. You melt away from your form, feeling entirely free. There’s a reason you like crashing parties: you get to be someone else for the night.

 When you’ve danced enough, you take a seat on a sofa to catch your breath, closing your eyes as you take winded breaths. While your eyes are still closed, you feel the sofa dip beneath you. Finally, Ningning’s back, you think. 

“Ning, can we go? I’m kinda over this ‘Members Of The 1%’ circle jerk…” you joke in an exasperated sigh.

“I think the circle jerk is happening downstairs, if that’s what you’re looking for…” The deepness of the voice that responds startles you, making you sit up and open your eyes. Then, the body attached to the voice silences you. 

You’re enraptured by this man’s beauty- that sweet face of his boring into you with an air of amusement that makes your stomach flip. You vaguely remember seeing him on the makeshift dance floor earlier in the night, but the memory is fuzzy around the edges. You’ve been tipsy (bordering on drunk) for a while now. 

Your face immediately warms up. “Shit… I meant-”

“Here for the birthday party, and not the circle jerk then?” the stranger says, cutting off your stammering. There’s a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, and his already massive eyes are dilated, indicating that he’s had a drink or two himself.

“Uh. Yeah,” you lie (not very convincingly). 

The man nods, and you mirror him. “Johnny’s the best, isn’t he?” he says.

“Mhm. So happy we’re able to celebrate him today…”

“Yeah…” he trails, looking at you inquisitively. “-but Johnny’s birthday is in February.” 

It’s currently June. Fuck.

You begin to stammer again, wishing you’d sink into the couch beneath you. “Right! I just meant-”

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“To be honest with you… I don’t know,” you concede.

“Well, for future reference, it’s Taeil’s birthday. Isn’t it, like, Party Crasher 101 to know who the birthday boy is?”

“I’m not really crashing. At least, not in the traditional sense. I’ve been on my best behavior, all things considered.” You’re tipsy, sure, but haven’t caused much harm. Ningning, on the other hand… Lord knows what she’s been up to. She probably has a whole list of new friends at this point. (And has probably swiped a few goodies to sell on Ebay.)

“Well, I am,” the man says.

Oh? you think.

The stranger stretches his hand towards you, gesturing for you to shake it. As you do so, he introduces himself. “Mark. Habitual party crasher.”

“_______. Mediocre, but also habitual, party crasher.”

“Nice to meet you, ______.” You drop your hand from his. After an awkward pause, you stand to leave. “Uh, Where are you going?” Mark asks, panic flooding his features. What’s his deal?

“Off to tell my handler that the jig is up,” you say. When you start to leave again, Mark says, “Wait!” He grasps your hand tightly, shockwaves shooting up your arm from the contact. For a brief moment, you’re enamored. The remnants of the sunset give the room an orange glow and Mark looks golden. His eyes are twinkling.  

However, you snap out of your reverie quickly. When you give Mark a look, one that says “Who the fuck do you think you are?”, he quickly drops your hand from his hold. You snatch your hand away. Now, it’s Mark’s turn to stammer through a blunder.

 “So I was wondering…do you want a tour of the boat?” he asks lamely.

You give him the up-down. He’s in bright orange pants and rugby stripes. A bit dorky, but cute. His brown hair falls into his eyes delicately, making his entire demeanor more… boyish. Even the redness across his cheeks (that’s also spreading to his neck) just makes him seem so inviting. You’re drawn to him like fire- warm, bright and hypnotizing. 

You’re overtaken with the urge to see just how profusely you can make him blush- to see him in his skittish glory at the hands of your teasing. Before you get a chance to act on this, however, Ningning bounds into the room. She’s been swimming, as suggested by her wet hair and swimsuit cover. You notice a new bracelet as well. 

“Babe, they’re about to sing Happy Birthday. Free cake!” Ningning squeals. As she pulls you out of the room, you flash Mark an apologetic look. 

The partygoers gather on the deck, the setting sun shining indigo against deep  water. It’s breathtaking. You could absolutely get used to this. A crowd forms around a table with a birthday cake at the center, and you attempt to scan the area for Mark. 

As people begin to sing (to Taeil, not Johnny), you feel someone sidle up next to you. When you turn to see that it’s Mark, you smile. 

“Hey,” he says. 

You lock eyes with him, heart thumping similarly to when the dance music was coursing through your veins. “Hi.”

Mark rubs his neck with his hand, sheepishly trying to pick up where the two of you left off. “So I was gonna ask-”

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOUUUUUU…” the crowd breaks out into song enthusiastically, drowning out Mark’s voice. 

“What?!” you yell, leaning in to listen.

Mark tries to project over the (horrible) singing. “I was saying we should-”

“Huh!?”

Before you realize it, the birthday song has come to a close.

“Do you still want a tour of the boat!?” Mark practically screams. His voice cuts through the sudden silence like a knife. It’s incredibly embarrassing and Mark’s entire face turns bright red.

Taeil looks at the two of you, quirking a brow confusedly. “Um… who are you?” he asks, looking back and forth between you and Mark. 

“Uh… Ningning’s friend.” 

“Mark. Just… Mark.” He’s beet red. 

“Oh. Nice to meet you both,” Taeil says. Everyone resumes the party, firing off confetti and popping some (very expensive) champagne. The music resumes as well, starting back up the party, and you look around to see that Mark has disappeared. Again.

“Gonna try to sneak some cake, then we can head out. Meet back here in 10?” Ningning says. You nod, and make your way to the cabins below deck. You can’t let Mark go.

The first door you open, the room is empty. At the second door you reach, you hear moans, so you immediately run in the opposite direction. The third door you wander to swings open just as you reach for the knob, and out walks the man of the hour, Mark.

“Hey, I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” you say. 

“Do you still wanna-”

“Let’s just chat on the deck. Fuck the tour,” you conclude with a giggle. 

“Sounds good to me. I don’t know my way around anyway.” 

At this, you chuckle, and the two of you walk to a pair of lounge chairs. The moon is out, little fairy lights strewn on the railing making the air feel magical. The breeze is just a little too cool. Mark must notice this, because he takes off his dress shirt and drapes it over your shoulders. 

“Thanks,” you mutter. 

“Do you crash parties often, or is it more of an occasional thing?” Mark asks.

“Relatively often. It’s fun to be someone else for a night sometimes.”

“So the get-up is for fun?”

“Do I look like I wear Polo in my day-to-day life?” you ask. 

Mark chuckles. “I don’t know, dude. You could pass as a preppie.”

You deadpan. “That’s the meanest thing you could’ve ever said to me.”

“I’m kidding. Seriously though, you’re, like, way cooler than anyone else here. I saw you dancing and-”

“You saw that?!” you squeal.

Before responding, Mark stands from his lounge chair to sit next to you. He adjusts the shirt that is still draped over your shoulders, his touch warming you up more than the garment has in the last few minutes. You’re a goner.

For a moment, the two of you bask in each other’s energy, the slight rocking of the boat and sound of crashing waves lulling you into effortless serenity.

“You’re so free.” Mark bores into you again and it’s suffocating. You know nothing about him, yet you’re privy to the lifetimes behind his eyes. Perhaps you’ve been a part of one of them- a message in a bottle finally surfacing on a beach’s shore. You believe in the existence of fate, but only for the night. 

“That’s all I’m saying,” Mark continues.

You shake off the feeling of being so seen, breaking his hypnotizing eye contact. Untangling yourself from his quiet multitudes. 

“What about you? Do you crash parties often?”

“Weddings, usually. Mostly for the cake. Bought a tux for it and everything.”

“A professional. I’m impressed,” you say.

You look out to the water, feeling its breeze envelope you, and a shiver runs through your body.

Mark is bashful again, head dipping slightly as he suggests, “We should crash a party together sometime.”

Your eyes return to him as you say, “For sure.”

“Does that mean I can get your number?” You take Mark’s  phone wordlessly, and enter your number, after which Mark says, “Apparently that Johnny guy is having a rodeo themed party next week… Wanna go?”

“And be mediocre party crashers together? Definitely.”

[rottiens]

✮ tags. . vampire gojo x afab! human reader, helltown au. divider creds: cafekitsune.

✮ cw. . 1.5k

It's late in Helltown, your boots struggle against the pile of white snow under your heavy boots and every so often you sniffle through your nose looking to somehow escape the cold that builds up on your face, exposed to your least favorite weather. 

The trees rise above your head and lull you as if they carry words inside their leaves, autumn is giving way to winter and the whole transition, along with the news that has filled the papers these past weeks gives the picture a gloomy tone. Your hands are inside your coat while an icy air escapes through your pale lips.

You shouldn't be out on the street so late, much less alone, much less with the news of the disappearance of those young women.

It wasn't just disappearance. It was the murder of that young woman who studied at the same university where you teach and then her best friend who had been missing since Halloween night and of whom nothing was known after that day. The parents had announced rewards, and the local police were scraping clues even under the rocks; however no one had heard anything from her or anyone had managed to provide relevant information.

You grab the edge of the coat around your neck and pull it upwards in an attempt to battle the cold as your steps quicken, you are close to your house, however due to the lack of movement on the avenue it feels more like a much longer walk than it really is. All the doors and windows are closed, including the houses and premises, you only have the company of pale light bulbs illuminating the entrances and your way home. 

A shiver runs down your back as the wind howls around you, a foreboding feeling tells you that you are not alone, though you dismiss one terrifying idea after another as this can and must be due to your suggestion. You grab the pepper spray inside your pocket as if your life depended on it and quickly turn around to verify that it was all in your head, holding the white bottle at the level of your head, your finger trembling on the tip of it. 

The wind roars in your ears, the noise of the blood pumping overwhelms your senses. In the distance you hear fluttering and your eyes snap, checking the shadows for movement within them. You remain in this position for a few seconds, frozen in time, until your legs tingle with warm blood and you return to the front to hurry on your way. 

Turning your eyes forward you meet a pair of piercing blue eyes that lock with yours for a few seconds before the man quickly looks away, you stifle a scream by clenching your jaw and the adrenaline makes you spray the pepper near his shoes. 

You take two steps back, raising the pepper spray to a considerable height. The blue-eyed man wears a baggy black hooded sweatshirt and a leather jacket of the same color over it making uncovering the features of his face an impossible task. 

“That's not how you use pepper spray,” he says in a strangely friendly voice.

You look him up and down wondering where he came from, though the voice sounds familiar, you don't remember seeing him anywhere before. Although you can't tell for sure since most of his face is covered, all you can see are those intense blue eyes scanning you up and down. 

“Tell me who you are or I'm going to scream,” you warn him, raising the spray to the level of his face. 

He raises his gloved hands to his chest in surrender. 

“Hey, take it easy. It's me.” He brings his hands to his hood and pulls it back to reveal a shock of white hair swirling in the icy wind. 

“Oh my...” Your horror turns to panic as you realize you were about to ruin the eyes of the new Biology teacher's assistant, he had only just moved to town a few weeks ago. You slowly shake your head, moving the spray away from his field of vision, back into your pockets. “I'm so sorry,” you utter, your panic slowly transforming into an embarrassment that burns like a torch on your face. 

“It's okay,” he smiles sideways, pulling the hood back over his head. “You acted properly.” 

The now not-so-stranger looks you up and down again, with those blue eyes that break the harmony of the white snow.  You run away from them when you get the chance, hurrying your pace along with him who starts walking with you.

“It's terribly cold.” You laugh, downplaying the sudden fear that still rubs your veins against each other. “I'm freezing,” you try to make it sound like something to break the tense moment, but your voice comes out cracked as you hide your face in your coat at the same time as you lift your shoulders to get out of the chill. 

“It is dangerous for you to be out here.” He looks down at you, you can feel it out of the corner of your eye. 

“I know,” you stutter, avoiding those haunting eyes. “You mean because of the deaths and stuff?” As soon as you add the last you regret it, you really didn't want to talk about it. “I was running late reading my students' papers, then visiting my grandparents,” you add, giving him explanations he doesn't need to hear but you feel somehow compelled to say. “I hope the police catch them soon, whoever the culprit is,” you finally say with a frown, remembering the news.

“Hm.” Is all that comes from his lips. “Mind if I walk with you? I live close by anyway.”  

At the proposal your heart pumps fast. Despite the fear you feel, you think it's better to accept than to walk alone. You nod, swallowing hard. Saliva cuts your dry throat.

You say your name waiting for him to introduce himself. “I haven't seen you around here before? Are you new to the neighborhood?”

“Yeah, I just moved in a little while ago. I- I've been watching you,” he whispers, you stop walking abruptly looking at him with wide eyes and quivering lips, pepper spray hovering against your fingers hidden in your pockets. The man stares at you for a few more seconds, before throwing his body back, chuckling. “I meant to say that I've observed your classes and you're good, my name is Gojo Satoru.” 

You relax a little at the joke, forcing a smile but still tightening your spray, maybe you were too tense, maybe your friend's assistant... Satoru, how he had introduced himself, was nothing more than that. So still with your nerves making your senses more responsive you decide to keep walking beside him.

“Thank you,” you reply. “My house is the next one,” you point to a tall brick house around the corner.

“All right.” He walks in the same direction you pointed, still staying close to you. His steps are light, as if he's gliding along the sidewalk. “I imagine your husband must be worried.” You look at him briefly, clearly confused. “I mean the man who comes to pick you up from college sometimes...”

“Oh,” you chuckle. “No, no, that's just a friend. No husband... I live with my friend,” you say. “But now she's visiting her parents for the vacations.” This time your eyes go to him shortly, hair escaping through his hood in white snowflakes, falling softly over his eyes.

You flee to the road before he can notice, your cheeks burning. As you stand in front of the door, you pull your keys out of your backpack.

“Thanks for walking me out, Satoru.”

“No problem. I'm glad I could help you get home safe and sound.” He gives you a warm smile even though you can't appreciate the fear and hesitation of the moment. 

You want to invite him in and be nice, but you know your friend would slap you if you told her about the stranger you let in the house knowing there's a killer on the loose. So you smile weakly at him and lean your body forward momentarily in a bow.

“I'll see you at school,” you say instead. 

Satoru doesn't reply anything else. He remains still, standing a few feet from the front door, waving his fingers in a goodbye that you cut off as you close the wooden door. Inside, the heat envelops you and you let out a purr of reassurance. Warmth surrounds your neck and cheeks cool as a woolen scarf, and you sigh in relief, letting out the fear and tension that encounter had caused you.

Satoru was a interesting guy… You try hard not to think of situations that might make your job uncomfortable, but you can't help the questions that arise in your mind. You wish, deep down, to know a little more about this mysterious man.

[turtlecleric]

Trapper!Raph >:)

CWs: violence, blood, bear trap injury, talk of death, including a known cycle of repeated deaths over time, gruesome, gory, and creepy things, feelings/thoughts of hopelessness and being resigned to death/pain, uhhhhhhhh horror vibes?? Based on the Trapper character and entire premise of Dead by Daylight

-

The mists are thick tonight. Thicker than usual. You can barely see fifteen feet ahead of you, and the darkness beyond seems almost tangible. Like some great cage in all directions. Even if you were to scale the impossibly high walls surrounding the estate, you feel like you would still slam into solid black if you ran far enough. Sometimes it feels as if the darkness itself is what's keeping you here, in this insane loop of death and suffering and fear. Maybe the darkness is just as alive as you are. A sentient, ancient being that feeds off of your anguish and terror.

A silly thought, maybe. But part of you believes it's the truth. 

It's so quiet here. Unnaturally so. Your shallow breaths and light footfalls feel like blaring alarms in the eerie silence. You know you need to watch where you step - always, always watch where you step - but you can't help glancing around every few seconds at the trees surrounding you. You can't shake the feeling that he's nearby, watching. Like he can see through this oppressive fog somehow and he's just waiting for you to lower your guard before he makes his move. 

Focus. Listen. 

You hear a generator. Somewhere to your right, you think, and it sounds like it's well on its way to being finished. So close to being done, actually, that you hesitate. You can't hear anyone working on it right now. Surely there's a reason that whoever started it didn't finish if it's that close. Maybe he found them and he's chasing them away. 

Or maybe it's a trap. That's his whole thing, after all. Traps. 

…But the generator sounds so close to being done. And you only need two more to escape this wretched place - at least until the darkness drags you back in.

Breathe. Focus. Keep going. 

You didn't think you could get more tense than you already are, but apparently you can. The fear is a constant, choking thing, but it's especially strong now that the trees are starting to thin. So strong that you're sick from it, that you can barely breathe through it, but you keep walking. Carefully stepping among the gnarled tree roots, one eye on the ground and the other on your surroundings. It's just trees and mist and darkness in every direction. Everything looks the same, like you're walking in circles, but the sound of the generator is getting louder, so you know you're going in the right direction. 

A shout in the distance has you gasping and stumbling over your own feet. It's not close, but it's not far enough away for you to feel safe, either. You push away the tightness in your lungs and keep walking, even as a longer scream tears through the air. 

He's caught the last of the others, then.

You consider going to save the person. No doubt they're being carried to a hook. You're not sure why, but usually that's what happens when you're caught. You've been thrown onto one plenty of times before. The pain is indescribable - having a rusted, metal hook shoved through your shoulder, your own weight dragging you down as you hang there and pray to a god you no longer believe in that one of the others will be brave enough to pull you off before you're consumed by those terrifying tendrils that come from the sky. 

Your chest aches just thinking about it. 

A third scream sounds, and you get that distinct feeling you always get when someone is hooked that confirms your theory. Maybe… maybe you should-

There. The generator. You were right; it's almost finished. The pistons are moving quickly, the rickety thing so loud that it sounds cacophonous in your ears. Shouldn't take more than a minute to get it done, and then you only need one more to power the exit doors before you're free.

You'll finish the generator. Then you'll go save that person. Yes, that's what you'll do. 

You glance behind you, looking for a hint of that terrifying mask he wears somewhere among the trees. You're being paranoid - that scream was too far away for him to suddenly be close enough that you could see him - but you keep scanning the treeline anyway. You notice a hook nearby and feel a phantom pain in your shoulder. 

Come on, focus. Keep walking. You're almost to the gen-

Something snaps. Sharp, intense pain flares in your lower calf, and you try not to make a sound, you try, but a jagged shriek rips out of your throat anyway. You fall to your hands and knees, your heart in your throat. Thoughts splintering, your fingers reach toward the source of the pain and find metal. 

You've stepped in a bear trap.

Stupid. Stupid. Always watch where you're stepping when it's him, you know that, that's the number one rule and you've broken it. Stupid from fear, getting ahead of yourself, you've stepped right into one of his traps - and he definitely heard you. He always does.

You try to shift your weight so that you can get a good grip on the top of the trap, but even moving an inch has you crying out and freezing in place. For a long moment you can only shake and whimper and try to breathe. Every twitch sends shooting pains through your leg, waves of nausea and dizziness making it hard to focus on anything aside from the pain. 

Still, you've got to at least try to get free. He's almost certainly on his way. You need to get free and run - but fuck, fuck, you can't even see straight. You don't think you'll ever get used to how much it fucking hurts. The surreal, lightheaded feeling. The way your very bones seem to tremble. It hurts. It hurts. 

It'll hurt no matter what, you tell yourself. And it'll hurt more if he gets his hands on you. So you shift, inch by inch, and you grip the top of the trap, and you try to focus past the sparks dancing in your vision. 

The teeth of the trap have embedded themselves deep into the flesh on each side of your lower calf. Blood gushes between the teeth, soaking the fabric of your torn pants and making both the metal and your fingers slippery. 

Fuck.

You take a shuddering breath and try to adjust your grip. You just have to pry the trap open. You've done it before, and you can do it again. It's simple. Simple, but not easy. 

You can do this. Focus. Deep breath. Pull.

The teeth start to pull away, and more blood gushes out. Your ears ring, an intense dizziness making your vision blur even more, your arms shaking from the effort, and - you lose your grip. The teeth hadn't even fully retracted from your skin, but you can't help letting out a choking sob as the trap snaps back into place. Fuck, it hurts. Your chest heaves, your whole body trembling as you moan pitifully through the pain. 

You can't do it. You can't get out. Too weak, too tired, too stupid. You're trapped, you're trapped, you're trapped-

And then. You feel it. That unnatural, inexplicable something that tells you he's close. A sound, a feeling, like your own thundering heartbeat, but so much more. You look around, frantically searching for that telltale red light that accompanies him everywhere, wiping desperately at the tears blurring your vision, probably smearing blood across your face in the process. It doesn't help you see any better - only makes the smell of copper that much stronger in your nose. Movement from the corner of your eye catches your attention, and helpless dread settles in your stomach like a stone. 

It's him. The Trapper.

You take in the hulking figure. The slow, lumbering gait. Just his silhouette is enough to make you freeze like- well. Like prey, caught in a trap. Normally you'd be scrambling to pry the trap off, desperately trying to get away, but… not this time. Maybe it's the blood loss. Or maybe you're just tired of fighting a pointless battle in an endless war that's impossible to win. Either way, instead of trying to free yourself, you watch him stalk closer in a daze.

The monsters in this place are all unique. Some look just like humans, while others are so horrific it makes you nauseous just thinking about them. The Trapper, though… he's something in between. An enormous humanoid… turtle? You think so, yeah. With spikes jutting out along his arms, his shell, his long, thick tail. He wears a filthy pair of overalls, frayed at the edges and covered in dirt and viscera. His spikes have poked through them in several places, as well. His mask, a horrific, grimy thing that was once white, covers all of his face except for the eye holes and the opening over his mouth that's twisted into the shape of a grotesque smile. The cleaver he carries is almost the size of your entire torso, and you can see blood still dripping sluggishly from the blade. 

He's getting closer. Slow and steady, as always. You've never seen him run - and isn't that strange? That you can sprint for half an hour without stopping, and somehow he manages to keep up with you the entire time? That's odd. Then again, everything about this hell is odd. You can't remember the last time you ate or drank anything, yet you feel no hunger or thirst. You've died countless times, yet here you are. 

You're not sure why these are the thoughts fumbling around in your head. You're not sure why you're still just watching him advance. Is this what it feels like? To finally give up? 

The Trapper is almost upon you. Your heart throws itself wildly against your ribcage, begging you to run. Silly thing. Doesn't it know that there's no point? You'll die, and then you'll be back, and you'll die again. What's the point in even trying? This is what your life, if you can even call it that, is going to be like for eternity. Pain and fear and death. Over and over and over. 

Still, it screams. Run. Run away.

You keep watching him. The way the mist swirls around him is almost pretty, especially with the red glow that emanates from him, staining the ground in front of him a deep crimson. When he gets close enough for that red light to wash over you, you wonder if your heart might actually leap from your chest and run away without you since you refuse to listen. 

He's so close you can feel the heat radiating off of his body. So close that you have to angle your head back to keep your eyes on his mask. His arm raises, and this is the part where you should look away. Or shield yourself, or beg for mercy, or- something. But nothing has ever made a difference in the past. Why bother? He'll strike you down and toss you over his shoulder and carry you to that hook you saw nearby. That's just the way it is, now that you're caught, and anything you do now will just be delaying the inevitable. 

So you watch. And you wait for the strike. 

…The strike doesn't come. 

He's just… standing there. Looming over you. His hand still holding that great cleaver in the air. Now that you're paying attention, you can hear his heavy breaths - unsteady, with the hint of a growl in each one - starting to come a little faster. 

That's… new.

You stare up at him. He stares down at you. After what feels like an eternity, the cleaver lowers, and he- he drops it.

What?

Never. Never. Not once in the entire time you've been trapped in this hell has a monster dropped their weapon. Even when stunned, or blinded, or while watching the last survivor sprint through the exit doors - they've always kept a firm grip on their weapon. You wouldn't have been surprised if the weapons were somehow bound to their hands, in fact. 

And yet. 

He moves, slow and steady, to settle on one knee. Even kneeling, he towers over you, the red light that seemingly comes from nowhere making you squint until your eyes adjust. You're still panting, little whimpers slipping out against your will. And he's just staring. 

What is he doing?

You glance from his mask to his hands. He's released his cleaver, sure, but those hands could easily crush your skull like a ripe melon. Maybe that's what he wants. Maybe he's tired of striking people down in the same way every time, maybe he wants some variety. 

No. You focus on his eyes. You've never been this close for this long, never been able to see what they actually look like beneath that mask. They're fully white - no pupils or anything - but you see… confusion there. Something tentative and unsure. Something you've never seen in a monster before. 

His hand reaches toward you, and a spike of panic has your next breath stuttering in your lungs. You wait for a blow, a bruising grip around your throat - but it doesn't come. His hand has three fingers, you realize. Not as though two are missing, no, but more like that's just how he was born. 

You're not sure why that's what you're focused on at a time like this. 

Two of his fingers brush over your cheek. His skin - scales? - are rough, but it doesn't hurt. He's… gentle. It's almost a caress, the way his fingers trail along your jaw. 

What is happening?

You focus on his eyes once more. The confusion you see in them is more intense now, and you can see the hints of his brow furrowing beneath the mask. 

Earlier you'd been stupid from fear. Now you must be stupid from blood loss, or just plain stupid, because in the next second you open your mouth to whisper. 

“Trapper?”

He inhales sharply. Blinks. And suddenly the red light is gone. Suddenly you see his pupils, suddenly that overwhelming something you always feel when a monster is near dissipates. His breaths come even faster, a hysterical undertone making you worry for him. 

This creature has killed you before. Why are you worried about him?

He shakes his head, a jerky, panicked motion, and pulls his hand away from your cheek. You could swear his eyes look almost - afraid. Darting between your bloodied face and your leg in the trap and the foggy woods that surround you both. His eyes settle on yours again, and you swear - you swear - that you start to see his eyes shine with tears. 

You don't have time to think too much about that before his hands shift to grip the bear trap around your leg and snap it open like it's nothing. Once again, you can't help but let out a pained shout between clenched teeth, the dizziness and ringing in your ears coming back in full force as more blood flows sluggishly from the puncture wounds. He doesn't even need to throw you on a hook, you think deliriously. He could just leave you here and wait for the darkness to take you, as long as no other survivors come along and help. But that's not an option, since the last survivor is on a hook right now. Even if they were free, there's not much time left, anyway, since you can already feel yourself starting to-

-

Motion. Dull, rhythmic thuds. Harsh panting, tinged with something like panic. Someone is carrying you, each step jostling your leg and turning your thoughts to static. It takes a few minutes before you remember. Before you realize. 

You passed out. That's what happened. Opening your eyes presents you with the blurry sight of the Trapper's mask above you and a starless sky beyond. 

Oh. He's carrying you. To a hook? But there was one right by where you were, why would he have to run to- 

He's running. He's running. 

You try to say something, but it just comes out a garbled mess. Even you aren't sure what you were trying to say. He doesn't respond, but he does glance down at you. His eyes are wild, but not in a way you'd ever expect. There isn't fury or bloodlust there. Instead, you see fear. Desperation. Guilt. Things you hadn't thought the monsters in here were even capable of feeling. You also realize that he's carrying you bridal style, cradling you close to his chest. Usually he just tosses people over his shoulder when he carries them to a hook. 

So many things that don't add up here, so many things out of the ordinary. What happened? What changed?

Where is he taking you?

You turn your head, looking in the direction that he's running. Your vision is still blurry, and you can't make out anything but vague shapes through the mist and darkness. Your head rolls back, and you catch the unmistakable sight of those inky black tendrils reaching down from the sky in the distance, twisting and curling until they breach the top of the treeline.

The last survivor. You'd wanted to save them, but if those things are descending for them it's too late. Not that you're in any state to lift someone off a hook anyway.

You're sorry. Fuck, you're so sorry.

You blink and suddenly the Trapper isn't running anymore. Instead he's shifting you in his arms. That was odd. Did you pass out again for a few seconds? You can't really tell, but you're distracted by the flare of pain in your leg that the movement causes. 

Focus on something else. 

Again you twist to look forward. You're shocked to see that he's brought you to the exit doors, and he's pressing a hand to the switch. You're not sure what he's doing, exactly - it won't activate unless all the generators are up and running. 

Wait. Why did he bring you to the exit doors?

You can't focus. Can't organize your thoughts. Can't even lift your head for more than a few seconds at a time. Surely you're close to bleeding out at this point. Maybe all of this has been some strange hallucination that your brain cooked up while you lie dying on the ground, still stuck in that bear trap. Sometimes the monsters do that - leave you there to bleed out. Sometimes they just stand there and watch you as the light leaves your eyes, guarding the area so that no others can help you. 

A faint red glow distracts you from your thoughts. Your eyes focus back on the Trapper's hand against the switch, and you're shocked to see his hand glow red. It's not the same red that usually accompanies him, though. This feels… different. Just as strong, but more… pure. 

A blaring horn cuts through the air as the exit doors grind open. He shifts you in his arms once again and starts to carry you through the doors. You can see the dark, empty field beyond. Your path to freedom and safety, temporary as it is, sends a rush of excitement through you. Incredulous, you stare up at the Trapper as he kneels and carefully lowers you to the ground inches away from the edge of the little area that separates the walled estate in one direction and the open field in the other. Behind him, you can see the grounds of the estate starting to shake. Angry red lines crack the earth, and little tendrils of darkness start to curl up from the shadows. 

The Trapper is watching you. Holding you upright with a hand supporting your back. You try to blink away the blurriness, but you can't. Can't focus. Can't think. But you know freedom is within reach. You only need to crawl across the threshold and you'll be fine. It doesn't make sense, but as long as you cross the threshold you always make it back to the campfire. Even if you're on the verge of death, you make it back. 

And he's brought you right to the edge. As far as he can go. No monster has ever been able to cross the threshold. 

You must have finally lost your mind. He isn't holding you here, isn't trying to stop you from leaving, and yet you haven't moved. Not only is he still very capable of killing you, even without the cleaver he seems to have left behind, but you're also on a timer. Once the exit doors are open, there's only so much time before the darkness swallows anyone who hasn't escaped. It's a quick death, sure, but incredibly unpleasant. Just the memory of what it sounds like for your bones to crack and crunch inside of you sends a shiver up your spine.

But… this is all so strange. You're half convinced that you're dreaming. A monster showing any sort of mercy is unheard of, much less a monster helping you escape. Could this be another trap, somehow?

It's at that moment that you hear him speak for the very first time. His voice is a rumbling, scratchy thing that sounds like it hasn't been used in ages. Cracking at the edges and colored with something timid and pleading.

“Please,” he whispers. “Go.”

There are things you want to ask. Things you want to say. You didn't even know he was capable of speech until now. But you're running out of time. Every second that you delay is another second closer to death. Dying is never easy, never pleasant, but you seriously consider waiting it out just to get more time to experience whatever the fuck is happening right now. You have no clue how long you've been stuck in this hell, but it's been long enough that you've started to forget things. Like your mother's maiden name. Your address. What color your best friend's eyes were. And in all the time you've spent here, nothing like this has ever happened. You don't know if it ever will again. 

He nudges your thigh with his free hand. Gentle but insistent. You have to blink a few times to focus on his face - mask. Mask, it's a mask. You wonder what he looks like underneath it. 

It isn't until his hand closes around your wrist that you realize you had started reaching toward him. “Mask,” you mumble, hearing the slurring in your own voice. You think you might be dangerously close to passing out again. Somehow that fact doesn't bother you as much as it should. 

“It doesn't come off.” He clears his throat, releasing your wrist. “I've tried.”

That must be uncomfortable. Stifling, even. Does that mean he doesn't want to wear it? Who put it on him, then? And why?

His voice interrupts your thoughts again, but you don't quite catch what he says. Something about sorrow and meaning… or, no, that's not exactly what it was. You're drifting a bit, you realize. Having trouble keeping your eyes open. You feel him nudge you again, a little harder this time, and manage to pry your eyes open long enough to catch his gaze. You see tears there. 

Crying. He's still crying. 

Why do you care? 

You glance behind him. The grounds of the estate are almost unrecognizable from how warped they've become. You need to go. But for the first time, you're wondering what it's like for him. Does he wake up at a campfire once the trial is over, too? Is he stuck on the estate until the darkness whisks him off to another location with new victims? Does he even want to kill people? And how did he even end up here in the first place? You'd always thought the monsters were sort of - part of it all. Just like the dilapidated buildings and the black sky, something that was created just for the purpose of torturing you and the others you've seen between the short reprieves offered by the campfire. 

Was he stolen away from his life just like you were? Is he just as trapped as you?

Time is almost up. If you delay any longer it'll be over, and you can't stomach dying when escape is right here at your fingertips. So you lean, falling onto your forearms, and start to drag yourself over the threshold. 

Just before you're clear, you glance back. He's still there. Watching. Kneeling. You can't be sure, but you think he's… trembling. 

What must it be like? Watching you crawl away while he's stuck behind?

You swallow thickly, hesitating. You can't stay, and you can't take him with you, but you also can't leave without saying something. “Thank you, Trapper.”

The mask obscures his expression, but you see his hands tighten into fists. “Raphael,” he says weakly. Something in his inflection makes you want to turn back and sit with him until the darkness takes you. But you don't. “My name is Raphael.”

“...Thank you, Raphael.”

And you crawl away.

-

tag list: @yorshie @luckycharms1701 @thejudiciousneurotic @khayalli @thelaundrybitch @mxalmighty @justalotoffanfiction @shakeyourtrees

[laurfilijames]

Easy Access

Pairing: Will 'Ironhead' Miller x female reader

Words: 4.6k

Warnings: Rated E, 18+. Swearing. Alcohol consumption. Fingering. Unprotected intercourse. Creampie. Semi-public sex.

Summary: Unable to keep your hands off of each other since Will's return home from tour, going to a party at Benny's proves to be no exception, especially when he discovers you're not wearing any panties under your sundress.

A/N: It is so rare that Will is smiling and happy so I've made it my mission to give him every ounce of joy he deserves and packed it all into one delicious fic for you, all while indulging in the slutty "bend me over and fuck me in a sundress" fun which is still very much IN 😤 I am also celebrating my 1 year Charlie-versary of when I posted my first fic for one of his characters, which just so happened to be Will Miller, Breathe.

---

Three days had passed since Will returned home, meaning it had been three days since either of you stepped foot out of the house.

Keeping your hands off of each other since the moment they made contact again was proving impossible, your attempt at making up for lost time a challenge both of you had eagerly accepted.

Even now as you sat in his truck on the way to Benny’s, Will had his hand planted firmly on your bare leg, your short sundress giving some relief from the sweltering summer weather, but his palm felt like it was on fire the longer it lingered there, spreading a heat through your whole body that rivaled the sun beaming in through the open window.

He gave your thigh a squeeze before reaching for your hand, bringing it up to his mouth where he pressed a kiss to your knuckles, letting it linger there so you were able to feel his breath and the soft prickling of his beard.

Pulling up to a stop light, Will glanced over at you, smiling against your hand as he sent you a wink that ignited even more fire through your veins.

“You look good, sweetheart,” he praised, his familiar drawl low and enticing.

“Do we have to go?” you joked, tilting your head as you squirmed in your seat, seeing his smile grow into a chuckle that you had missed more than you ever thought possible.

“Yeah, we do. Unfortunately we can’t stay locked up in the house all week.”

His eyebrows rose on his forehead when he looked at you, and when he tucked his lip between his teeth after he stopped speaking, you wondered how much effort it would take to convince him otherwise.

You nodded, giving his hand a squeeze as he looked forward at the road again when the light turned green.

“I know you’re looking forward to seeing your brother.”

Will nodded in response, using his free hand to turn his truck left onto the next street. “Yeah, I am.”

Benny had deployed nearly two months before Will had, Pope along with him, and with Frankie, Tom and Will all on their own tours, this was one of the longest periods they had all gone without seeing each other.

Frankie had arranged it all, gathering everyone together for a dinner at Benny’s as a reunion, the need to celebrate each of them returning home safe a priority and perfect excuse to smoke a giant slab of meat and toss back some beers.

“We won’t stay too late,” Will assured, stealing a glance over at you again, his eyes traveling up your legs to your chest that bounced along with the movement of his truck over each bump in the road.

“We can stay as long as you want, Will. I can’t keep you all to myself forever.”

A sort of growl mixed in with his laugh as he shook his head and tried his best to focus on driving, and you felt your pulse quicken as you watched his hammer in his thick neck.

“See, sweetheart, that’s where you’ve got it wrong.”

He pulled onto Benny’s street, slowing down as he approached his brother’s house and found a spot not far down from it, parking his truck behind Catfish’s.

Unfastening his seatbelt, he leaned over the console to get closer to you, his expression somewhat serious even though the hint of a smile played on his gorgeous lips.

“All I want is to hide away with you forever,” he admitted, making your heart feel as if it would burst in your chest.

Before you had the opportunity to say anything in response, Will reached over to close the space between you, his left hand cupping the side of your face to keep you in place as his mouth crashed into yours, a surprised gasp that turned into a soft moan tumbling off your tongue as his danced with it.

It was dizzying, the passion in that kiss and every one that had come before it since his return unlike anything you had experienced before, the crave you felt to taste him on your lips again and again an addiction you could never be rehabilitated from.

You heard him chuckle quietly after he had pulled away, his thumb rubbing your cheek while you kept your eyes closed, almost feeling afraid that if you opened them, he wouldn’t be there. Everything you did in the last three days felt otherworldly, too perfect to be real, and even now you let your fingers dig into the tattooed skin on his forearm just as you had so many times already in order to believe he was actually there with you.

A sigh of relief blew past your lips when you finally did open your eyes, finding him staring back at you with a warmth that made his eyes seem to glow in the late afternoon sun, the smile he flashed at you grounding you just as much as it disarmed you.

“I wish we never had to leave that bed,” he purred, moving to pull the handle to open his door to step out.

“Who said we can’t carry on what we do in bed anywhere else?” you replied, cheekily, grinning in reaction to seeing his eyebrows raise high on his forehead in amusement as he walked around the front of his truck and over to the passenger side, giving you a somewhat warning look as he opened your door for you.

“You’re playing with fire, here. Better watch yourself.”

You chewed on the side of your lip as you hopped out of your seat, feeling mischievous in knowing he had yet to discover your dirty little secret, excitement mixing with arousal as you wondered how he would react when he noticed.

Closing your door, you met him at the open door of the back seat, standing to the side as he reached in and grabbed a dish off the floor, leaving another that contained one of the other appetizers you had prepared for you to carry in as he lifted the small cooler full of beers out of the bed of the truck.

You made a point of leaning in as far as you could to reach it, bending at your waist as much as you could even though it wasn’t necessary due to the height of the truck, but knowing this angle would allow for him to see your bare ass.

“Are you not wearing any panties?” he asked, surprise and amusement in his voice, the expression on his face matching when you stood upright and faced him.

You grinned and shrugged, watching his sly smile reach his eyes that were now tinged with a darkness that you knew was lust.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he huffed, slamming the door shut before turning to step onto the sidewalk. “Jesus Christ,” he added under his breath, clearly wondering how he was going to manage now.

With satisfaction giving you a spring in your step, you followed, walking up the driveway beside him, hearing music coming from the backyard along with the familiar laughs of your friends.

Will paused, quickly meeting your lips in a forceful kiss, the deep breath he took when he parted telling you how hard he was working at keeping his composure before reaching the gate that would lead you into the party.

He flicked the latch on the gate, but grabbed the top of it with his large hand before letting it swing open, blocking the entrance so you were stopped beside him. The look he gave you was stern, adding to the flurry of excitement already pulsing wildly through you, and his voice held a tone that made you hold your breath and your skin tingle, feeling the light, humid breeze tickle the sweat on your legs as your less-than-innocent sundress moved with it.

“If you’re gonna play games like this, you’re gonna have to deal with the consequences,” he warned, the corner of his mouth pulling upward ever so slightly as he backed himself against the door to open it, still holding eye contact with you as he let you pass by him.

You didn’t know how long you had been there for, the only thing you knew was that your need for Will was increasing with each passing second and that he seemed to enjoy torturing you, the game you had set up to have him begging for you effectively reversed. It was difficult to keep a steady conversation with anyone - impossible, even - your focus drawn across the yard to wherever Will was standing, seeming to latch eyes with him each time and feeling his locked on you when you forced yourself to look away.

The way he was making you feel almost had you regretting your decision not to wear panties and make it known to him, but as you watched him lick his lips and rub the back of his neck as he half-listened to something his brother and Pope were laughing about, you knew your choices would be rewarded despite him acting like punishment was a more suitable response, and if you were honest, that was exactly what you were hoping for.

You knew you were pressing your luck, sitting down on an old lawn chair, your gaze fixed on Will to make sure he was watching as you blatantly crossed your legs, knowing he could see your naked sex before the overlap of your bare thighs concealed you again.

Despite the somewhat smug grin on your face, your heart was racing uncontrollably, the nerves coursing through you growing at a furious rate as you took in the unreadable expression on Will’s face. You couldn’t decide if he was angry or amused, his arms folded across his chest, his stance sturdy and confident, chewing on a toothpick that he rolled from side to side across his lips with his tongue, and it made you wonder if he couldn’t decide how to feel either.

He shook his head and you noticed his chest rise and fall with a huff before looking away, plucking the toothpick out of his mouth so he could take a sip of his beer that he reached for off the picnic table.

You bit your lower lip, trying to mask your satisfied smirk, and took a deep breath of your own as you attempted to refocus on the conversation happening around you, but you still couldn’t seem to peel your eyes away from Will.

He was clearly trying to do the same, but also failing, and when he stole a look over at you again, you took the opportunity to recross your legs to give him another glimpse of what was his for the taking if he dared.

The crunch of the aluminum can being crushed in his powerful hand seemed to echo in your ears, his eyes steely as he maintained eye contact with you while his other hand subtly adjusted his cock in his shorts that you knew was getting hard.

Will licked his lips before looking back to Benny where he patted his brother firmly on the shoulder, saying something to him as he held up his empty beer can, taking a step in the direction of the garage.

Catching your gaze again, he tilted his head, nodding for you to follow him before he disappeared around the wall of the building.

With your mouth now feeling dry, you downed what was left of your drink and stood, politely excusing yourself from the others who sat near you even though you hadn’t contributed to the conversation in too long a time thanks to your occupied thoughts, your hand instinctively smoothing the back of your dress to make sure you were covered as you walked through the yard.

Looking over your shoulder to ensure no one was following, you rounded the corner only to walk straight into Will who lunged out and grabbed you, laughing as you yelped, your heart stopping from the scare.

“Jesus, Will!”

He continued to chuckle, his smile crooked as he still held the toothpick between his lips, his hands groping at your waist and then lower to your bare ass. You couldn’t help but join his laughter, seeing him smile and be this playful replacing the brief fright with a swell in your heart.

“I don’t think you have any idea how much I missed hearing your laugh,” you admitted, resting your hands on his warm chest as he beamed at you.

“Is that so?”

You nodded your head in confirmation, smiling as he dipped in and kissed you, your arms wrapping around his neck while his secured around your back and pulled you against him, able to feel his cock pressing against your body.

“Come here,” he said through a growl, his voice rough and lusty while his eyes continued to hold a playfulness in them, leading you in through the open door and giving the toothpick a flick that landed somewhere on the oil-stained concrete floor.

Walking far enough in so he was sure no one would see you unless they actually came inside the garage, Will wasted no time in planting you against Benny’s workbench, his kisses coming on so forceful and desperate it was hard to keep up.

Both of you were smiling between kisses, completely elated and lost in the thrill of it all, and as much as you had expected Will to follow through on making you pay for your little stunt, it still caught you off-guard when you felt his fingers trail up between your legs to stroke your wet folds.

“Here? Now?” you asked, half squirming and half leaning into his touch, a breathy moan passing your lips as you let yourself succumb to the feel of his index finger pushing inside you.

He peered down at you, his eyes shifting with amusement as you relaxed into him and started to roll your hips. “It's what you wanted, isn't it?”

You nodded quickly, biting your lip to stifle your sounds of pleasure that he was already coaxing out of you.

“You're lucky I can't get enough of you,” he growled, adding a second finger and hooking them to massage your g-spot. “If you're gonna dress and act like a slut then you're gonna be treated like one.”

His words sent a shiver up your spine, your nipples hardening against the thin fabric of your sundress, and your eyes closed as he fingered you as perfectly as always. You felt his face draw close to yours, his breath hot on your dewy cheek, his beard grazing your reactive skin as he dipped in beside your ear.

“No one's gonna know…”

You grinned when his lips attached to your neck, the thought of denying this man anything he wanted humourous, knowing that after being apart for as long as you had, nothing could stop you.

It all progressed quickly; your kisses intensifying with each one, the sound of your name coming off his lips as he told you he loved you making you delirious, your hands grasping at each other desperately.

The smell of his shampoo was awoken by your fingertips scratching through his hair, the press of his lips on yours and the way his tongue claimed your mouth while his beard chafed at your chin and cheeks all a reminder that there would never be a day you would be sated of him.

You let your hands slip down his neck and over his broad shoulders, finding a resting place on his thick chest that radiated a warmth that made his cotton t-shirt cling even more to it, and you could feel his heart thrum against your palm before his laugh rumbled through to it.

“The things you make me do, sweetheart,” he chuckled, allowing his hands to leave your body for a moment while he unfastened the button and zipper on his shorts and pulled out his cock.

You returned his smile, yours feeling lazy on your lips from the haziness of lust, and you reached for his cock, smoothing your hand up and down his length until his smile was wiped away and he clutched your jaw with his hand, squeezing it as he kissed you again.

He peppered along down to your neck, his fervor increasing as your reaction to it encouraged him more, the hand that had been gripping your chin falling to your chest where he pawed at you roughly while the other rucked up the skirt of your dress.

“I still don't think you realize how much I missed you, and I’m not even close to being done yet,” he growled, driving his fingers in your soaked cunt again.

You leaned back against the workbench, your hands gripping the edge of it for stability as your head tipped back, allowing Will more access to attack your neck and chest with his mouth, feeling the grittiness of dirt and grime left from Benny’s projects under your fingertips.

“Fuck, Will…” you breathed, riding his hand without shame.

“Turn around, I wanna see that ass,” he demanded, though his tone was light with mischief.

He removed his fingers from you and aided in spinning you around, kicking your feet apart with his as you hinged forward and resecured your hold on the countertop, his hand trailing from the small of your back where he had pressed with intention to down between your cheeks while lifting your dress back up over the round of your ass.

You moaned, arching back into him, feeling him rub his cock across your cheeks as he continued to finger you from behind, his other hand reaching around to grab your breasts and tug at your neckline.

He gave you a playful spank, but it didn’t come without a sting, making you jolt forward slightly which caused the bench to shake against the wall, his voice gruff but light mannered when he spoke.

“I know you think this dress looks all pretty and innocent on you, but only I know what a whore you actually are in it.”

“Fuck,” you gasped, his words and the way he was hitting the spot that would make you fall apart each time he moved in and out of you causing your arms to break their support, knocking over a few empty beer bottles and cans that sat amidst the rusty tools.

“Easy, baby,” he soothed, but not ceasing his pace. “We gotta be quick but not that quick.”

Continuing to prime you to take his size, you heard him chuckle again, his tone completely satisfied and humoured as if he was basking in the fact that he now had the upper hand in the situation.

“How are you gonna manage with no panties after you’re filled up and dripping with my load, huh?”

You sighed out, glancing over your shoulder at him as he proceeded to grin smugly at you, realizing you hadn’t thought this stunt entirely through.

“We’ll call it an oversight.”

Your response only made Will laugh more, the sound of it making your heart sing in seeing him this happy even if it was partially at your expense.

“You could always put it somewhere else?” you suggested, your mouth watering at the thought of swallowing his hot cum while looking up at his pleasured face from your knees that would end up dirty and scuffed.

He shook his head as he lined himself up to your entrance, pushing into your soppy cunt as his voice changed to be slightly gruff. “Not a fucking chance.”

Your nails raked across the gritty, wood surface as Will bottomed out in you, stretching you completely to fit around his fat cock, the first of his hard thrusts making the workbench slam against the wall.

You cursed under your breath, having him pumping in and out of you a reminder of how hard he had already fucked you that morning, the mix of pleasure and pain making your whines grow to soft cries.

“Does it hurt, sweetheart?” Will asked, the concern in his voice genuine even though he didn’t relent on his pace.

You shook your head ‘no’, pressing your hips back to meet him blow for blow, feeling a tingle scurry down your back at the thrill of it all.

“You know I like it,” you replied, your skin erupting in goosebumps despite the heat when you heard him chuckle in a gratified way.

“That’s my girl,” he grunted, continuing to pound you with ardor.

It was getting difficult to keep quiet, but with how loud the bench was hitting the wall you suspected what you and Will were off doing was no longer discreet to the rest of the party, so you allowed yourself to stop worrying and focus on how good it felt.

Although Will’s heavy panting and rough moans were equally as loud as you were, he gave the occasional warning to quiet down, and each time one of your wails out-did any other noises you were making together, his laugh would ring out, clearly finding the prospect of getting caught hilarious.

“Shit!” Will called out, still through a chuckle, releasing the grip of one of his hands from your hips to grab at a mason jar filled with various bolts, screws and washers as it tumbled down from an overhead shelf. It danced off the tips of his fingers and hit the floor with a loud smash, sending its contents scattering around your feet.

“Will!” you half cried, half scolded, and as you moved slightly to try to see the damage done, your arm knocked a couple of cans off the table to add to the mess on the ground.

“Jesus…” Will laughed, picking up his tempo a bit to quicken getting the job done, the risk growing with each passing second.

The rate at which he was fucking you had you a disheveled mess, the straps of your dress having slipped down your shoulders, and without their security, each hammering thrust continued to shake your body enough until your tits easily fell out.

Nearing your climax, you lost control of the volume of your cries, and in your haze of pleasure, you could barely hear Will telling you to pipe down.

Right when you were about to fall into bliss, Will pulled out of you and roughly turned you around to face him, his hand gripping the side of your face somewhat forcefully before he crashed his mouth against yours to quiet you. His other hand grabbed the flesh of your thigh and lifted it up to lock around his waist, driving back inside you with his cock that was warm and wet from you.

You moaned into his mouth, only to have him force his tongue deeper inside while he resumed fucking you with all he had, moving the hand that had been holding your face down to your exposed breasts.

Like he had given up caring if you were heard, he broke your kiss to look at you, his blue eyes soaking you up as he drank in the heavenly sight before him; your bare boobs bouncing to his movements, the sweat glistening on your chest and neck that made your hair stick to it, your swollen, moist lips that parted as you fought for breath between moans, and then his gaze fell lower where he watched your drenched cunt taking his dick.

“Fuck you are so hot!” he said through a grin, his tone hinting that he couldn’t believe you were his to treat like this.

He dipped back down to your lips, kissing you once before letting his open mouth hang against yours, stealing another glance at where your bodies connected and crude, squelching sounds came from.

“I missed this fucking pussy so much,” he muttered, his lips teasing yours as he did, and unable to take it anymore, you reached your hand around his neck and pulled him against you, kissing him fiercely while driving your hips into his to grind on him roughly.

Broken kisses continued their attempt at suffocating your sounds as you found a rolling rhythm that would see you to your end, your hands desperately tearing at Will’s thick, sweaty flesh through his damp t-shirt.

A violent orgasm ripped through you, forcing Will to press his lips harder against yours to drown out your cries, burying himself deeper inside your walls that choked his throbbing cock, your leg wrapping around his plump, half-bare ass to help ensure he didn't leave you as you rode out your high.

Even if he wanted to hold back, he wouldn't have been able to, your climax inducing his own, his thrusts slamming and stuttering as he pumped you full with aggressive spurts of cum.

“Fuck, baby,” he smiled against your lips, his forehead resting on yours as you both panted for breath, drunk on each other and completely spent.

You giggled, the thrill of your naughty behaviour adding to the post-fuck euphoria, feeling the rumble of Will’s laugh resonate through your body as he remained inside you.

He pulled away from you enough to peer down at you, his eyes heavy and lusty but crinkling at the sides as he smiled lazily at you, his cheeks blushed and covered in drops of sweat, his blond hair darkened from his efforts.

He continued to smile at you as he fixed the straps of your dress, his fingers gently and lovingly grazing your shoulders as he did, looking at you so adoringly that you could never deny how much he had missed you while he was away.

“I really like this dress,” he spoke softly, his fingers trailing down to trace the material that hugged the curve of your breasts, bringing his face close to yours as he pinched your nipple and tugged it, making you moan and arch toward him.

He kissed the space between your ear and neck, and growled as if he was already fighting to restrain himself again. “But I’m gonna rip it off of you at some point and ruin you completely.”

Will’s teeth nipped along your jawline, and before he pressed his lips on yours, looked at you with a dark, promising look that had your body set aflame all over again.

You hummed against his lips, feeling him slip out of you while wondering how much longer you would manage to stay at the party, knowing it would only be a matter of time before you were desperate for him again, and judging by the force of his kiss and the way his hands clawed at your sundress, he was feeling the same.

“You go inside and get cleaned up,” he said, nodding to the door that led into Benny’s house. “I’ll sort all this out.”

You glanced at the mess on the ground he was referring to, broken glass and various types of hardware littered all around you, and being the gentleman he always was, he took your hand and assisted you safely over to the door.

Will tucked himself back in his shorts and promptly located a broom and dustpan, beginning to sweep up when he heard the shuffling of his brother’s footsteps walking into the garage.

Benny stopped, causing Will to look over at him, laughing when he saw the annoyed look on his face.

“Really?” was all Benny managed to get out, his arms outstretched while Will just shrugged and continued cleaning up.

“You two are fucking unbelievable, you know that?” Benny hissed, pushing Will hard on the shoulder as he passed to add more empties to the disrupted collection on the workbench.

Will only laughed harder, dumping what he had accumulated in the dustpan into the garbage as Benny grabbed two beers out of the fridge and handed one to him, knocking his bottle against his and then twisting off the cap to take a sip.

“It’s good to see you happy, man,” he said, clapping his hand on Will’s back before heading out of the garage and back to the party.

---

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Taglist:

@sotwk @dailydragon08 @sunnys-day @thedreadandthefugitivemind @glassgulls

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[justamakeshifttorch]

posting the longer version of my previous reblog bc it was being weird and glitchy

Thoughts after watching this trailer a few times:

Are we seeing this quasi-ragtag group just getting their bearings? Or could this possibly be a glimpse into the struggle they will continually face. I've thought about this before (as im sure many have) but this trailer has me wondering again: will the lack of cohesion in the kitchen and the looming deadline to pay Cicero back cause The Bear to crumble?

We love an underdog story. We root for the characters we love to beat the odds, making the impossible possible. However, this show hasn't shied away from showcasing the way many restaurants in the area have failed. How unrelenting and unforgiving this industry is, in general. One of the restaurants Sydney went to on her "tour" shut down soon after that visit. So it isn't unrealistic to think that The Bear is being set up to be an example of putting blood sweat and tears into this industry and coming up short.

I'd hate for this to happen mostly because Sydney has already dealt with this heartache. She's already started a business from the ground up and suffered from its failure. At one point, when talking to her dad, she expresses that she doesn't think she could do this again, if she has another one in her. Her feelings are understandable. But our girl is just too good, too talented for this to be the end. Yet, I can also understand feeling burnt one too many times by an industry you thought could be a forever one.

I also want The Bear to succeed for Richie. His time at Ever showed him how he could grow and change with The Bear. He doesn't have to be stagnant. He can see his purpose. He talks about struggling with that in S2 'Beef'. I don't want the potential failure of The Bear to derail Richie's growth. If The Bear is destined to fail I want everyone to come out of it with other prospects, but I especially want Richie to continue to pursue this new purpose. Maybe at Ever. Maybe somewhere else.

As for Syd, I truly want to the world for her. If this is the end of The Bear I hope she becomes CDC (or EC) somewhere else. Maybe she's able to open up her own place (brick and mortar) down the line. I want her to get her stars because she deserves them. I want her to love going into work every day (or atleast most days like let's be realistic lol).

[semercury]

What if I applied to online school to try and finish my bachelor's? What then? Ha ha just kidding.... Unless...???

[sugarcoatednightshade]

thinking about how Humans Are Space Orcs stories always talk about how indestructible humans are, our endurance, our ability to withstand common poisons, etc. and thats all well and good, its really fun to read, but it gets repetitive after a while because we aren't all like that.

And that got me thinking about why this trope is so common in the first place, and the conclusion I came to is actually kind of obvious if you think about it. Not everyone is allowed to go into space. This is true now, with the number of physical restrictions placed on astronauts (including height limits), but I imagine it's just as strict in some imaginary future where humans are first coming into contact with alien species. Because in that case there will definitely be military personnel alongside any possible diplomatic parties.

And I imagine that all interactions aliens have ever had up until this point have been with trained personnel. Even basic military troops conform to this standard, to some degree. So aliens meet us and they're shocked and horrified to discover that we have no obvious weaknesses, we're all either crazy smart or crazy strong (still always a little crazy, academia and war will do that to you), and not only that but we like, literally all the same height so there's no way to tell any of us apart.

And Humans Are Death Worlders stories spread throughout the galaxy. Years or decades or centuries of interspecies suspicion and hostilities preventing any alien from setting foot/claw/limb/appendage/etc. on Earth until slowly more beings are allowed to come through. And not just diplomats who keep to government buildings, but tourists. Exchange students. Temporary visitors granted permission to go wherever they please, so they go out in search of 'real terran culture' and what do they find?

Humans with innate heart defects that prevent them from drinking caffeine. Humans with chronic pain and chronic fatigue who lack the boundless endurance humans are supposedly famous for. Humans too tall or too short or too fat to be allowed into space. Humans who are so scared of the world they need to take pills just to function. Humans with IBS who can't stand spicy foods, capsaicin really is poison to them. Lactose intolerance and celiac disease, my god all the autoimmune disorders out there, humans who struggle to function because their own bodies fight them. Humans who bruise easily and take too long to heal. Humans who sustained one too many concussions and now struggle to talk and read and write. Humans who've had strokes. Humans who were born unable to talk or hear or speak, and humans who through some accident lost that ability later.

Aliens visit Earth, and do you know what they find? Humanity, in all its wholeness.

[thekittyokat]

you ever just have a lot, a LOT of feelings all at once about a character and not even remotely enough words or brainpower to FORM the words to describe everything you're feeling. so it feels like you may explode. yeah

[thefirstknife]

Getting real sick of a certain subset of Destiny players complaining that it’s a baby game and crying to Bungie to nerf exotics and abilities when their ENTIRE POINT IS TO BE STRONG in specific ways as if they are being locked into using them.

IF YOU WANT AN EXTRA CHALLENGE STOP BEING SUCH A DPS GOBLIN AND JUST EQUIP SOMETHING THATS NOT TOP TIER META AND STOP COMPLAINING JESUS FUCKING CHRIST

MOOD. Go off.

It's incredibly annoying to me. They always use the argument of "the game should FORCE me to do things, I should not SELF-IMPOSE challenges." And like. ? I'm sorry but what? It's a video game for a big audience, it's here to be playable and accessible to the widest possible playerbase. There are plenty of ways to make the game difficult for yourself, so knock yourself out if that's your thing, but don't force others into it.

Like, I enjoy hard content, I regularly at least attempt day 1 raids, I do master raids, GMs, solo and solo flawless content and all that. But only when I want to. Sometimes I don't and I don't want to suffer in a patrol zone or struggle in a seasonal activity I'm doing for the story. The majority of the players don't want that. Designing games for the professional gamers only has NEVER been a good idea and never will be. Fifty streamers can't sustain a video game. It needs casual players who will want to come back to the game instead of feeling defeated.

One of the reasons I really enjoy helping others is because I know that casual players tend to struggle in stuff that's basic activity for me. I've seen people unable to get through a strike. I've sat for 10 minutes rezing someone who couldn't do the jump in a seasonal activity. I want those people to be able to play basic content without feeling frustrated and I want them to know that there are people out there who will help them out.

And this doesn't apply just to basic content, although it should start with that. I think all dungeons and raids and everything should be things that all players can complete. Fine, doing a master raid with all challenges should be tough, but it should be achievable with time and practice, not impossible. What a lot of these "pros" want is just completely divorced from reality.

It takes days and days of practice every time a new master raid is out for me and my team (all with thousands of hours of playtime) to get comfortable to finally finish it. We're far from casual players and it still takes a lot of time to be able to finish hard content. Making it even harder is insane to me. Like, if something is so hard that my team full of people, each with 5000+ hours of playtime and a coordinated team that's been raiding together for years now can't finish it, that means it's absolutely impossible for probably 90% of the playerbase. That's wild to me. Raids and GMs should have more people playing them. If master raids are too easy for you, Mr. I-Play-Destiny-For-A-Living, that's on you buddy. Unequip the super god tier god roll meta guns and loadouts or play something else.

And ofc, another excuse they make is "if I don't use meta, I am not going to win a raid race!" Then don't. Idk. Let me play you the tiniest violin. This affects literally nobody except a grand total of 50 people. Run your meta in day 1, and play with random shit otherwise. Play raids with all white weapons. Play without mods. Play without a HUD. Do things solo only. I don't know, make up a way to spice things up for yourself. I'm not interested in that and neither are 99% of the players out there. The game is genuinely hard enough for the majority of the players. On top of that, I am here to feel like a powerful space fantasy superhero. I am NOT here to die to dregs in patrol zones. If there's ONE thing that I know for a fact that put people off from Lightfall (as in this year of Destiny), it's the difficulty changes. They're annoying, frustrating and for some a barrier to entry more than anything else.

[milkweedman]

forcing myself to "eat protein" and "be responsible" after once again encountering a week long period of all my muscles hurt so bad and are so weak despite doing the same thing they always do assuming without checking that it was probably because im eating mostly coffee and plain untoasted bread in small quantities. and its not even a whey bread or 100% whole wheat, ive been trying to use up my bread flour/whole wheat blend (i dumped them in the bucket together, maybe on accident ? unclear) so its just that with whatever else i threw in. spent $6 on the only yogurt in the store that had at least 5 grams of protein per 1/4 cup, which is still very little, only to get home and finally google what the symptoms of protein deficiency are. they are not that. those are the symptoms of Who Fucking Knows, As Always