#flexing my complexion

[madamrenae]

A socially selective babe 🤎

[buttercup--bee]

Pretty as a vine; sweet as a grape - Sneak Peak

Notes: There are no real warnings, other than this is an unedited intro to the sex pollen two part fic I'm releasing next mid-week. I hope it's okay! Pairing: Cooper Howard/Lucy MaClean Warning(s): Swearing; Implications of Child Abduction; more to come

One might think that he has full sway in what happens while they travel together, as for once, he’s being nice enough to share information. He doesn’t work well with others, let alone keep them alive when it's all said and done. Cooper usually takes his caps from sales or bounty’s. And he already tried the former on MaClean. 

So it’s a wonder he puts up with her deviations at all. Sometimes it’s to help someone, other times it's to explore. 

Most times it’s a waste of daylight. 

He thinks on this now, glaring at the sun steeped beneath an array of violet, orange, and periwinkle. The clouds are capped in gold, shafts of light desperate to pour over the wasteland. They should have made camp an hour ago, and instead they’re tracking some lady’s missing kid. 

The circumstances in which he caves are almost always the same. And this is no different. A local asks Lucy for help, she agrees, he disagrees; it always comes to a head when their knowledge expands upon how the missing item is important, or God forbid, a person is missing. 

Had it been a man or cat or some random family heirloom, Cooper would have sent her packing on her own. But of course, potential life means Lucy has to fit herself into the puzzle and solve it. Whether that absorbs his day too or not doesn’t seem to bother her at all.

Little miss morality has to hold the high ground and smother ethics in his face until he can’t do anything but give in and watch her back—it's a broken system. 

“Here!” Lucy jogs ahead of him, her pip-boy praising her with a jingle upon reaching her destination. 

Vault (#) glowers at them from over the tumultuous desert; darkened steel is lost to vines thicker than his forearm, rich in an assortment of cerulean, egg-white, magenta, and sprawling masses of black roots. It unfurls from the vaults gaping cavern with no obstruction. 

Whatever plantlife this is, it isn’t native to the Mojave. Cooper takes another step, his peripheral caught on the slight thrum the plant seems to emanate. 

There’s no way the kid went in willingly, right? This has to be a set up. The whole scene practically screams ‘death this way’. As far as the Ghoul is concerned, no child of the wastes is dumb enough to wander from home and into the clutches of uncharted territory. Not any with a brain.

His gut churns, his skin taut in warning, and his fingers flex beside his belt before he gathers himself in a single breath. This ain’t right.

Lucy is only a little ways ahead of him, beguiled by the abstract flora at her feet. 

When she looks at him, it's confidence that glimmers in her doe-eyes. “Okey Dokey,” with a slight nod, she readies her flashlight and pistol. Cooper’s brow rises before a word can escape him, and when one eventually does, it isn’t in practice or conscious. 

It just comes out. 

“Don’t.”

Lucy frowns. It’s small, barely lasts a second, “We already agreed–”

“Something’s not right,” he grunts, patience already worn thin, “either we leave together or I leave alone. It’s up t’ you, sweetheart.”

Many emotions fall over Lucy's complexion. Annoyance, concern, her expression is wide and open and full of disappointment. “You said you’d watch my back, you said since it was a little kid–”

“There is no lil’ kid.” Cooper’s tone is short, both with agitation and refusal to be made a fool. 

“You think Alice would lie ab–”

“Who?”

“The woman who hired us,” Lucy’s voice is high, disbelief feathered beneath shock and mild bemusement, “how do you not remember that?” 

He grunts, but it’s all she receives as an answer. After a moment, Lucy adds, “She paid us up front. Why do that if you’re going to lie or kill someone?” She's more amused than displeased as her reasons continue to flow. She meets his gaze for a time, longer than he thought her capable of, until his own furrows and conveniently, the fauna is interesting again.

The vault dweller isn’t wrong, he’ll admit that. But instinct has kept him alive all these years, and he’s more obliged to listen to it than some stranger squalling about offspring she had no evidence of. 

Cooper coughs, clasping to his belt tighter with the tilt of his hips when he recalls, “Half. She paid us half.”

A beat passes. Then another. He lets the insinuation hang between them until it's thick enough to drown in.

“What are you implying?”

He threw a line, she bit, now all he had to do was reel her in. Make her see sense. Whether it’s a raider's way to lure unsuspecting victims, a Vault-tec experiment gone wrong, or a vacant chamber—he didn't care. Cooper wasn't about to go and risk his life for two hundred caps and a boy he's never seen.

Despite himself, it turns out he would much rather Lucy leave with him, than allow her to fumble such an obvious trap. It’s unlike Cooper to care—if he could name it that. Perhaps there is an attachment, a pull, something just under the brittle surface they call acquaintanceship. Nothing he’s looked too far into. If he does, Cooper is unsure of where it will lead.

The fresh finger sewn to his hand itches, tingles, a fluttering reminder of where he got it; Cooper clenches his hand so tight it burns. 

“There is no kid,” he hisses, lurching forward as if to make his point, “no more caps, no helpin’ some lost soul—that’s a death sentence, and you’d be wise to leave wit’ me.”

At first, the silence is deafening. Both edge on what else left there is to say, as Lucy fiddles with the notch of her flashlight. Her eyes dart back from the path they came, the vault, and Cooper himself. 

Thankfully, a decision is made without any more pushback. 

He's almost prideful, the way she takes one, two, three steps towards his direction—

"Mommy!" A riptide of horror settles against Lucy's trigger finger, spinning on her heel so fast, it gives him whiplash. "Mommy, I'm hurt!"

Lucy is gone, sprinting inside the second Cooper reaches for her. 

It delays him, the shock in how fast she had evaded his grip. Long enough for him to think about whether or not he goes after her.  His finger itches again, a gentle warmth crawls up his arm when it flexes, more so when the weight of his firearm rests against it. 

Dogmeat finally reminds the ghoul of her presence, whining in the direction of Lucy's trail.

"Fuckin' hell," he grunts, cracking his neck alongside his saunter, "this is why I work alone."

----

Again, this is unedited and I'm really sorry if there's any terrible mistakes! I promise it'll be much better post-release next week! I also didn't want to give too much away. Thank you!

[imaginesforeons]

ohhh a crumb of yandere gojo PLEASE 😩

Omg so sorry for disappearing. I suddenly had an onset of health problems that got so bad I even had to go into emergency surgery. I'm better now though! Requests for my page are now CLOSED, though I will be answering all the people who already asked me when they were open. But no guarantees with how fast lmao.

One more thing, what do you guys think about me taking commissions? I feel like I'd be able to, and there's enough stuff on my page for people to know what they'd be getting. Let me know in the comments or DM me.

Yandere!Gojo x Reader with an unknown, powerful jujutsu

~Something snaps inside you, primal and unknown. Unfortunately, you aren't the only one that witnesses this~

CW: Past kidnapping. Yandere Gojo, but he's actually super chill compared to his usual self lmao.

WC: 1149

Buy me a coffee?

.-.-.

“C’mon, just a little bit. You can trust me, can’t you?”

A muscled arm wrapped around your waist, dragging your stiffening body closer. Blue eyes peered at you from over black sunglasses, shining with mirth.

“I really can’t do it, Gojo, I swear. Please, just let me go.”

You leaned as far away from him as possible, which, from your position on the couch, wasn’t very far at all. The man had you literally and metaphorically cornered, squished into the corner of the sofa with his hand firmly on your hip. You tried to ignore his fingers, idly tapping an unknown rhythm against your skin, but you felt each digit like a brand. Squirming, you tried to edge away, just a few inches so you weren’t pressed flush against his side. Gojo only grinned, flashing impossibly white teeth at you as his hand flexed, pulling you in until you were practically in his lap. You froze.

His smile only grew bigger. “I think we both know that’s a lie. Hell, the missing person case speaks for itself.”

You felt your stomach drop. The missing person case. The missing person case you had caused. Just yesterday, your life had been achingly normal, something you now craved. It was your day off, and you decided to use the time to catch up on errands. When it happened, you were at a bank depositing a check when, out of nowhere, a creature had risen smoothly out of the ground like it was water, not the rock solid masonry that the bank was made of. You had only gaped uselessly, staring at the thing that had too many limbs and eyes that were more human than beast as it loomed over you. No one else seemed to notice, except for a single man. He was nondescript, with dark hair, plain features, and a grey suit that made his complexion more sallow than it really was. You thought he was an employee. Thought.

When he saw you staring, he snarled a short command at the monster, then he and it both dove at you. That was when everything broke out into pandemonium. All at once, an alarm was set off, people started screaming, and the skylight above you and the man shattered, raining stained glass down around you and your attackers. You thought it was a robbery. If only it was that simple.

Screaming, all you could do was throw your arms up and wait for impact, but nothing came. Finally, you dared to lower your arms, only to be met with a man with shockingly white hair. Amongst all the panicking bankers and customers, he was the eye of the storm; calm, still. Then, slowly, he pulled up part of the bandages covering his eyes, revealing one. When you saw it, you gasped. He grinned at your reaction, a boyish type of smile that in any other situation would have made your heart flutter, but the hunger behind it instead made your stomach drop.

Before you could blink, he had you wrapped in his arms, their strength like that of a steel trap. The last thing you heard before everything went black was, you would later find out, his voice.

“Well, isn’t this interesting?”

You had woken up in those same arms, and when you realized you started to cry, inconsolable even as your kidnapper gently shushed you.

You whimpered at the memory, at the thought of the man at the bank who, yes, may have tried to attack you, but he was still a person. He was still missing. Missing because of you, if Gojo was to be believed.

“I- I didn’t mean to,” you stuttered. “I had never even met him before then. Why would I want to hurt-”

“Sato Isamo,” Gojo interrupted, waving his hand. “The salaryman turned curse-user after power was promised to him, yada yada. Same old shit. He doesn’t matter, I would’ve offed him if you hadn’t gotten to him first-” you felt your stomach drop at such deadly words said so casually “-what really matters is you.”

Suddenly, his hands were holding your face, so big that they almost wrapped around the entirety of your skull. His eyes bore into yours, and even though every instinct in you screamed to look away, you couldn’t, prey caught in the stare of the predator.

“You did something amazing back there.” Gojo’s eyes were glowing, lit by something deep and primal inside him. “Not even I can disappear a man in the blink of an eye without any effort, but you did. You wiped him off the face of the fuckin’ earth to somewhere even my six eyes can’t see, and I want to see you do it again.”

A thumb brushed over the apple of your cheek. It took all you had not to shiver.

“I never thought I was a patient man until I saw you. We’ll wait as long as it takes, but you’ll never escape me until I get to see your technique again.”

He was insane, you thought. Nothing else could explain the glazed look on his face or the way his body trembled finely against yours. This man was more dangerous to you than that monster at the bank ever was.

“And after that you’ll let me go?” you asked. Begged was more accurate, with the way your voice cracked over the last word.

For just a split second, his eyes changed, shifting from blue summer sky to deep ocean depths. “We’ll see,” was all he said, then his eyes flickered back to their radiant glow. “But until then, I’m not letting you out of my sight. We’ll go to the Asahikawa estate, you’ll love it.”

For a moment, you thought your hearing had failed you. “W-what,” you were barely able to stammer out. “But that’s miles away. I have a job here. A family.”

Gojo only shrugged. “People like them don’t matter. You’re better off sticking with your own kind.” He winked down at you. “Like me, for example.”

You could only stare at him, mouth agape. Gojo only smiled back at you, and it was all you could do not to scream. Instead, you did the next best thing, diving wildly from his grasp. Behind you, you heard a delighted laugh before arms that were already starting to feel familiar wrapped around your waist.

You shrieked, thrashing, but all Gojo did was scoop you up, holding you to his chest like some sort of disobedient pet. Nothing you did broke his hold, so finally, after fighting out all your energy, you could only slump against him in a panting, sweaty mess. The white haired man smiled down at you, and that was when you finally broke, tears leaking from your eyes as he pressed his forehead to yours.

“We’ll figure this out, no matter how long it takes,” he said. “Together.”

[noirleo]

Oooo, can i plz hear all your jealousy HC for the bayverse boys? :3 hope ur week is going well!

oh my god yes

jealous turtles from most to least ◡̈

(all turtles + reader are adults ♡)

1. raph

c’mon, did you expect anyone else?

being a middle child with three brothers, raph grew up sharing everything he had—his food, his clothes, his personal space. so when he finds someone he has feelings for, he makes a point that he’s not going to share with anyone.

his brothers prefer to take more subtle, graceful methods of claiming their s/os when they feel threatened. raphael does not have a subtle bone in his body.

if someone tries to hit on you while he’s there, he will physically put himself in between the two of you, glaring down at his prey target until they take the hint (and probably flexing his crossed arms as he does so. he doesnt do all of that lifting for nothing).

vern tried to chat you up, once, when you first met. raph swiftly handled it, and you’re not exactly sure what was said, but vern now makes a point to keep a very conservative amount of space between you and him at all times.

a lot of his jealousy comes from insecurity—he definitely thinks you could do better, find someone you could actually walk around with, show off to your friends and go on vacations with.

so how does he cope? by proving his indispensability to you. when you date raph, you don’t lift a finger. need something from the top cabinet? he’s got it in his hands before you even have to ask. want to see a sold out concert? how convenient, he just managed to find some floor seats for you and your friends

don’t ask how he got them, it’s really best for everyone if you don’t actually know (both legally and ethically speaking).

asking someone else for help (god forbid you ask vern or one of his brothers, especially leo) will probably end up in some icy silent treatment and very short yes/no answers to questions that can only be cured by insistent apologies and lots of kisses

2. mikey

oh, our beloved little mikey

mikey spouts confidence, but much like raphael, he is deeply afraid that you’ll leave him for someone whose complexion is a little less green

while raph’s jealousy is defensive, mikey’s is pleading. he needs a lot of verbal reassurance that you’re his, nobody else’s

even when he’s not feeling jealous or insecure about the relationship, he just likes to hear you say it—and once you do, he’ll believe it wholeheartedly, all doubts and anxieties set aside (for the time being, at least)

when you’re around others (and even when you’re not) mikey is extremely physically affectionate, and probably will mention to anyone who will listen in a very unsubtle manner that the two of you are dating and really, really happy together, thank you very much

if you’re sitting, you’re sitting on his lap (or so close that you might as well be). if you’re standing, you can bet that he’s got an arm slung around your waist or your shoulder—just so everyone in the room is clear who you came with and who you’re leaving with

3. donnie

donnie’s jealousy is quiet. he’s much less outward about his feelings of jealousy than raph or mikey, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t there.

when you mention a creepy guy from one of your classes getting a little too close for your comfort, he’ll nod and empathize; little do you know, he’s got the guy’s social security number, address, and name of his childhood pet pulled up on his laptop within seconds.

mysteriously, he doesn’t really show up for class anymore. rumours float around about some pretty shady things hes done being sent to the dean, president, and every RA on campus.

you confront donnie, and he just shrugs innocently. huh, weird, guess it’s a good thing you guys don’t hang out anymore then right? and then he’ll change the subject, but the triumphant gleam in his eye doesn’t go unnoticed

if someone starts to get flirtatious with you while donnie’s around though? all bets are off.

standing at 6’8 and made of pure lean muscle, donnie is fully aware of how intimidating he is, and it radiates off of him.

all it takes is one glare, leering from over your shoulder, and suddenly the person trying to flirt with you has some very important business to handle on the opposite side of the room for the rest of the night.

when you turn around to see donnie standing behind you, one hand on the small of your back, he’s back to his relaxed, smiley self

4. leo

leo is definitely the least jealous of his brothers. he’s confident, bordering on arrogant, and knows what he brings to the table.

i mean, c’mon. the barista who wrote their number on your coffee cup may be cute and share your taste in music, but how many times have they saved new york from an alien invasion? can they do anything to protect you in the event of a foot clan takeover?

didn’t think so.

communicating and trust are monumental to leonardo. right off the bat, he’s very straightforward about his intentions with you, and expects the same level of loyalty from his partner

leo’s trust isn’t easily earned so if he trusts you, then he does so completely and wholeheartedly. if you say that you and someone else are just friends, then he won’t think twice about it

that’s not to say he never gets jealous though. he’s just much more lowkey about it than the others

if you mention offhand being catcalled on your way to the lair one night, you’ll have a private escort for the foreseeable future

hes not big on pda, but you can bet that if he catches someone else’s scent on you, especially another guy, he’ll be extra cuddly when he sees you

he’ll for sure try to play it off though and subtly give you something that smells like him. oh, you seem cold, here’s one of his hoodies that he conveniently had on hand. go ahead and put it on. he’s just looking out for you, no ulterior motives here.

you see right through him, but you’re willing to look the other way for some extra snuggles.

[chiwhorei]

𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐎’𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐃𝐢𝐞 - 𝐏𝐭. 𝐈: 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

Miguel and Peter have been best friends since grade school. You’ve been in love with Miguel for about that long.

He’s messed with every girl on campus, all of your friends, any girl with a pulse except for you- Parker’s adorable little sister. Even so, there’s plenty of ways to get fucked.

|| 𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐃 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦.𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ||

Characters: Miguel O’Hara, Parker!reader, Peter Parker Tags: Explicit- MDNI, College AU, Brother’s best friend, friends-to-lovers, house party, alcohol, voyeurism with a third party, sloppy oral, degradation, yearning, sarcasm, shared Marbies and the insurmountable melancholy Word count: 3k cross-posted to Ao3!

Thank you for your patience and encouragement, I survived my first case of writers block since being back. -xoxo, chiwhorei

You wobble forward on a pair of heels that pinch a bit too tight. Your favorite pair was lent out to a friend, they matched her outfit better anyway. The runner in the hallway slips under the balls of your feet.

The bathroom, that’s your excuse. His room just happens to be right next to the bathroom. You’ll just peek in to see if he’s hiding from the pounding music and drunk college students trying to talk over it.

The fruity drinks Peter keeps making you are starting to tingle in your cheeks. Miguel calls you a lightweight, but you’ve hardly seen him at all tonight. He’s not a very good host, you think, leaving his party guests to mill about without his company.

Most everyone seems plenty boozed enough to not notice, but you would miss Miguel even if you were sedated. You’re certain you could miss him the same, even if you’d never met him. You curse your own hyperbole, God, drunk you is annoying.

“Mmph,”

A muffled groan spills out of the creak in his bedroom door. Sober you probably wouldn’t creep any closer, but she’s long gone. Plus, you have to walk past it anyway, you remind yourself, to get to the bathroom.

Your eyes wander from their strained focus at the end of the hallway and catch on a familiar complexion. Strong arms hold Miguel’s meal against his bed as it whimpers and squeals, muscles flexing underneath the remainder of his summer tan. The space between the door and its fame is just enough for your face- too much, by far, but the blood under your skin seems to pull you as close as possible without it squeaking open any further.

“Calm down, Mami,” He shushes against her, you can hear how wet his lips are, “we’re not going to get anywhere with you squirming.” Miguel’s voice knocks the air from your lungs, it escapes past your lips in a clumsy gasp.

His stare, deep and unblinking, pins you to the doorframe. You’ve gotten Miguel plenty mad, riled him up more times than you could count- but this is different. It’s red-hot, soldering you to the ground below. It’s not anger, not surprise, not the mixture of both it probably should be.

“P- please, I can’t,” her voice is familiar, even broken around a cry, “I can’t cum again, Miggy.” He kisses up her leg, licking at her ankle as it’s pinned to his chest. Pink strappy heels sit limply against the dip in Miguel’s collarbone- the pair you leant her a few hours prior. They matched her dress better, but that doesn’t seem to be a concern anymore.

Miguel doesn't stop, doesn't flinch. You can hear his mouth as it purrs into her again, see his cheeks sitting high on his face- even behind the thighs that obscure your view. Instead of yelling at you to close the door, Miguel smiles wildly. Evil, in the sweet, tooth-rotting kind of way.

“Aw, Pobrecito,” he coos against her, but the words are shot towards his voyeur, “you can give me one more.”

It feels like a bullet in your chest, friendly fire.

“You’re my good girl, aren’t ya?”

“Hey,” A finger and thumb snap in your blank eyeline to rip you from your thoughts, you jump in your seat at the sound, “Are you listening to me whatsoever?”

“Claro,” Your accent lacks any semblance of confidence. Miguel scoffs, at least some of his work is getting through.

You clear your throat and focus back to the textbook in front of you to read off the next prompt, “Write out a response to the following question, ‘¿Qué haces este fin de semana?’

Miguel snorts in response, and your eyes narrow across the kitchen table. He swallows back the snicker he holds in his mouth, hands up in feigned innocence.

“Vale, but this one’s easy, ‘No tengo planes, porque soy pinche abborito-” You clip his last word, throwing the first thing in reach, your textbook, towards his head- hoping to land a papercut.

Your tudor’s braced for impact, catching it with one hand and laughing at your outburst. You huff, arms crossed and posture falling. Miguel and Peter have your parents old dining room set, your chair wobbles as you sink back in it. Just like it always has.

“I got that, asshole.”

“Well, you could have fooled me,” Miguel slides your book back across the wood between you, “You tested out of Spanish 101 and now you're going to flunk out of 205. What was it, hermanita, clerical error?”

God that nickname digs past your skin and into the nerve endings, eating its way outwards. It wasn’t always like this, was it? You can’t seem to remember a time where his voice didn’t ignite every cell of blood.

He must have a talent for house fires, you think, or maybe you’re just more flammable in the days following your little run-in. You retreat ever further into the wobbly dining chair to create some distance, digging your shoulders into the spoked back.

It feels the same as when you were kids. Slinking into your chair and puffing your chest when you and Miguel would pass insults over the table. Your cheeks feel just as hot, your blood just as cold. You’re 13 again and Miguel just told you that boys aren’t going to want to kiss you and get stuck on your braces.

“I did well on the stupid placement test because it was on paper.” You feel like you’re speaking around that mouth of braces again, “I can understand the vocab and stuff, but our final is all oral.”

“If the final is oral,” Miguel chirps, pulling you closer by the leg of your seat with a splintering screech against the floor, “you might as well just drop the class, mija.”

He’s far too close, your skin might start sizzling. This was a horrible idea, one you’re sure you’ll be paying for later. He might as well put it on your tab.

“I’m just going to go to the tutoring center tomorrow, or try to drop, or fail and lose my spot on the dean’s list.” You go to slam your textbook closed but Miguel’s fingers curl over the spine, spreading out to keep it open.

“Cálmate, you’re not doing any of those,” instead of looking dumbly into his stare, your eyes fix on the rings Miguel wears; one for every long, beautiful finger. He mixes silver and gold, and you can’t decide which metal looks better against his gilded complexion. The things those fingers could do, your eye threatens to twitch at the thought, the places those fingers have been. Nearly all of your friends and the majority of Sorority Row.

“I promised you I’d help, I’m a man of my word,” his tone feels earnest for a beat, and you watch a pointer finger come out to barely graze the hand you’ve still got holding your book. It’s hypnotizing, maybe you shouldn't be so hard on the girls that hang off of his every sentence. All of these years you should’ve been inoculated, and you’re still no better. You might even be fatal.

“Plus, your brother bet me that you’d fail your final.”

Fuck him. And every perfect plane of skin. And that lopsided, toothy grin. And that goddamn laugh that makes you feel undercooked and mushy.

You pull your hand away, moving to stand up but those dangerous fingers curl around your wrist. His touch is so familiar, so easy to get sucked in to, like a rerun of your favorite movie. A physiological horror, maybe.

“C’mon, I bet him that you’d ace it. You’re my smart girl, mi nenita.”

The opening you have to throw a smart remark, or maybe another book, is wasted thinking about if you’re the only one who gets called that.

Miguel drops his grip on you as the front door opens. From the corner of your eye, you see his tongue lick over his bottom lip, just like he does every time he’s won. He must like the taste of your turmoil.

“Is our girl fluent yet, Mig?” Your brother’s presence is booming and a more than welcome distraction. Peter’s hands wrap around your shoulders, pressing his stubbled cheek against your face hard enough to squish your mouth to the side.

“Oh absolutely, she’s on her way to nailing that final. We’ve just got to work on her or-”

“Peter,” your voice interjects, a few octaves higher than what would pass for normal, “you got a lighter? I need a break.”

Your brother pats his jacket pockets a few times before tossing you his zippo. You fumble the catch, nerves rubbed raw and bloody. Don’t give him a reaction. You reclaim a bit of your composure and swipe the pack of Marblo reds from the table.

“Hey! Those are mine,” Miguel’s protest dosen’t reach his eyes, and you can’t hide the pleased smile that he pulls up over your teeth, “fucking brat.”

“Put it on my tab.”

The cement fencing around your brother’s apartment is cold against your ass. Your brother’s lighter sparks a few times before you can light up the cigarette. He should get a new one, but you know he won’t. Peter hates change.

Must run in the family.

It wasn’t always like this, you think against the first pull from Miguel’s cigarette, maybe if I keep ignoring it, we can both pretend it never happened.

What’s longer, death, or a life sentence?

You would have gladly lived and died a lovesick puppy, following your brother and his best friend around like Miguel was leash training. Living in between the moments of your life where he was, where he’s always been. Wrestling in the living room, pretending to hate when he’d gain the upper hand and pin you down helplessly under him. Playing tag, playing house. Calling shotgun in his old mustang, giggling every time your brother tried to argue. “It’s her seat, Peter,” he’d say with his arm over the back of your seat, pulling out of the driveway as if he hadn’t just ripped out your bleeding heart, “get over it.”

You couldn’t tell at first, but that open bedroom door was the last straw bending. The last few moments before the break, the aching stretch as you’re snapped in half. You’re not just Peter’s clumsy kid-sister anymore, you’re the drunk college girl that watched Miguel fucking his tongue into your freshman-year roommate.

You’re the still-drunk girl that walked home alone and touched herself to the memory of his wet smile and lashing tongue. The sobered-up girl that came hard on a toy named after him.

Heavy boots stalk forward, tracing the sidewalk and landing in your eyeline. You take another drag, blowing out into Miguel’s face.

“No fucking manners,” Miguel pulls the cigarette from where it sits between your lips, “what am I going to do with you.”

From where you’re perched, you meet his gaze without having to crane upwards. Miguel’s lips wrap around the stain your lipgloss left. You wonder if he notices, if he likes that taste too.

“I think I’ve had more than enough of you today.” Your quip is half-hearted and falls flatly on the pavement between you.

“Ya know, for someone with a stick shoved up her ass,” Miguel steps closer, taking up the space between either knee, “your posture sucks.”

You straighten your back in protest, but a low tree branch pokes into your spine. A yelp splinters from your throat as the wood catches where your leggings meet your sweatshirt.

Miguel laughs, but leans forward and reaches around your middle to snap the branch from where it’s stuck against your tailbone.

“Told ya.” He flattens his palms against the cool cement, you can feel the warmth of his thumbs on either side of your thighs. Rule number three, Don’t let him get too close. But you’re trapped already, surrounded in three of the four directions.

“I think we need to have a little chat, Mami.”

Maybe if you fall backwards into the tree behind you, you could try to make a break for it. A few scrapes and bruises sounds significantly more palatable.

“I think I’m good, I’ve met my heart-to-heart quota for the year.”

You try to stand, but Miguel’s hands keep your hips down where you’re sitting. You can feel the ridges of his fingers where his rings lie, the warmth of his skin, the slight tremor in his left hand.

“Ay coño,” Miguel tilts his face up to give you a smile, his canines look sharp enough to break skin, “no need to play coy now.”

Flashes of wet lips and borrowed shoes run past your vision. There’s no way you’ll make it out of this conversation in one piece, you feel yourself chipping already.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you yank the cigarette from Miguel as he exhales, blowing his smoke from the side of his mouth. What a gentleman.

“I see,” he tuts. You watch him swipe his tongue across his teeth, it takes every ounce of will to keep you from thinking about how your lip gloss tastes in his mouth.

“Maybe I should bring in an outside perspective, I wonder if Peter saw anything on Saturday.” Miguel stands up straight and spins around to feign walking away, “He can help us track down the creep that was watching me fuck your little friend-“

“I don’t know what you want me to say, O’Hara,” your jaw is clenched hard enough to snap wire, “That I’m sorry? I promise I didn’t see anything? I promise I won’t tell anyone?” At least anger is a little easier than shame. Even if you’re the one in the wrong, it feels evil for Miguel to play with his food like this.

“O’Hara?” He laughs, turning back to face you with crossed arms.

“Well, Parker, I guess I’m just wondering,” Miguel takes the spent cigarette from your hand, pulling the last of it with a final inhale and dropping it onto the ground. You hear the crunch of his boot as he puts it out.

“Did you like what you saw?”

His face is only as far away as your eyelashes, two hands coil around your legs, hiking them up behind your knees. His lips are so close to you that you can taste his gum- cinnamon. A flavor so specific to him, you swear that’s the only reason he likes it.

“No,” your voice is barely above a whisper, speaking to someone you wish couldn’t hear it, “I mean, I wasn’t trying to… watch you. I was going to the bathroom and-“

“And you thought you’d stop by for an anatomy lesson? I only promised I’d help you with Spanish.”

Your eyes prick with frustrated tears, it’s either fess up or fall backwards and make a break for it.

“I was drunk,” your voice is louder than it should be, the arch in Miguel’s eyebrow seems to agree with you.

“I was tired, a- and drunk, and when I walked by your room I was… curious, I guess.”

His hands loosen from where they press into your leggings. He hasn’t let go yet, thumbs now drawing circles into the thin spandex. If his touch wandered any farther, you’d be done for- the damp heat spilling from your center outwards is mear inches from the tips of his fingers.

“Little Parker was curious,” his voice croons, “about what exactly? The birds and the bees? What mommies and daddies do when they love each other?”

Miguel’s waist blocks your legs from twisting over each other, there’s no relief to be found, it seems there never is- for you at least.

“I know what the-” his patronizing widdles down any sharp comeback you’ve got holstered until the points are dull, “I’m not a fucking kid anymore. I’m plenty versed in that area of study, and I definitely don’t need any notes from you.”

You’re not as hopeless as Miguel thinks, your first year of college was spent on any ‘anatomy lessons’ you had still been missing. Underwhelming, unsatisfying, clinical even, but the specifics would be buried next to your grave before you’d give them to Miguel.

“Hey Mig, ya ready to go?” Your brother’s voice almost knocks you from the cement ledge you’re perched on.

Miguel doesn’t falter for a second, whispering into the shell of your ear and punctuating with one last malicious smile. Your skin feels sticky, like you’ve just crawled out of a mouse trap.

The words he moved around his lips are left to echo in the now-empty space in front of you. His Mustang whines as it pulls out of the driveway and you try to shake loose from the grip still searing your thighs.

“Just let me know if you need help studying those more private subjects, I’m known to be quite the tutor.”

©️chiwhorei.2023 || don’t fuck with me I’m so serious

[kairiscorner]

˗ˏˋ ✮ kairi's AUtober !

day 2: mechanic miguel o'hara

you grumbled as you begged your car not to give out on your way to the nearest auto repair shop. it wasn't that fancy, not that any auto repair shop you came across was anything too grand, but if the mechanic inside did the job right, you wouldn't kind waiting here for a few hours.

you cussed as your engine sputtered and your air conditioner gave out, but you were right on time as you parked the hunk of junk inside the garage, and might've accidentally bumped into one of the mechanic's under chassis trolley, knocking all their tools over with a series of loud clangs and clinks. the sound of the back door to the home connected to the auto repair shop flew open, and a big, tanned complexioned man with a white tank top and low rise ripped blue jeans entered the garage, muttering some things in spanish.

"puta madre, qué diablos trajiste a mi garaje?" he asked you in a gruff, irritated tone. the mechanic ran his hand through his tousled, dark, curly brown hair and breathed in through his teeth and shook his head, he picked up all the wrenches and screwdrivers that fell over and put them all in his tool box.

you climbed out of your car and accidentally stumbled over in your haste to apologize. "sorry, it's just, my car's–woah!" you exclaimed as you stumbled and fell down on your knees. he sighed and clicked his tongue as he went over to you to help you up, extending his large hand out to you that was a bit stained with oil and dust, but one that wanted to help you get up on your feet after you failed trying to help him out.

you took the man's hand, and as though you were nothing but a feather in his hand, he lifted you up with ease and set you down on your feet. he walked past your fazed figure, fazed and dazed at how strong the man was. it wasn't surprising, his size was nothing to joke about, he was... very, very built. "tell me, what's wrong with this thing?" he asked you as he began to lift the hood of your car, the muscles on his back flexing as he did. you couldn't help but check out every curve and bump on his back; from his shoulders down to his waist, and even lower than that.

you gulped and tried explaining to him how your engine was giving out for the past few weeks, to which the mechanic sighed and put the hood back down and wiped the sweat off his forehead from the blazing hot sun beating down on you two. "this might take a few hours, this baby's been begging for maintenance." he muttered as he walked over to put on his gloves and to get his tools.

he pulled up a chair for you to sit in, and when you didn't sit, he raised an eyebrow at you. "por qué no estás sentado? don't make me feel like a bad host, take a seat." he insisted as you darted your eyes from his glistening, sweaty collarbone and neck to the chair he was holding out for you. you mumbled out your thanks and awkwardly sat in the chair, shifting from here to there as the mechanic nodded to you in response.

"ah, thanks for... you know, doing this." "you're paying me for this, the money will be enough thanks from you." he told you as he got down underneath the car and began to check the bottom of the vehicle. you chuckled awkwardly and shifted in your seat again, fidgeting with your thumbs. "right, right... um, i never got your na—" "o'hara." he responded promptly. you coughed a little at his response. "i meant your first name." "...miguel, miguel o'hara." he introduced himself as you nodded. "well, thanks for fixing my car, miguel." "again, thank me when this is over–" he said as he pushed himself out from underneath the car and looked at you with a piercing gaze, with those pretty light brown eyes of his that were so hypnotic. "–and in cash." he muttered in the end, his eyes glued to you for a few seconds until he went back underneath the car to begin fixing it.

though... maybe he would bring the fee down a little, if you'd stay there and keep talking to him to keep him company; but he'd keep that offer on the table, show him a good time with some equally good company and he'd probably do this for free–but that's all just a probably.

tags !! @miguelswifey04 @hearts4gabri @hisachuu @wreakingmarveloushavok @fictarian @yuridopted0 @simsrandomstuff @luvstarrstruck @popeheywardssecretgf @meeom @arachnoia @melovetitties @fable-library @ophanimgold @smokeywhalee @capnshtfce

[octuscle]

Moments ago during the last night of the county fair my friends and i decided to go, there were many people and many atractions to play, while my friends decided to go to some atractions that i wasnt interested, i saw a muscular tanned hairy bald man with a manly beard wearing a black shirt with white pants and bots, standing in the middle of the crowd, he saw at my direction for some seconds then left to a tent where was sign saying "fortune teller, enter if you want to know your fate". I entered and a old man offered to read my hand, and after some moments i wasnt myself anymore

You're a typical WASP. Dutch and Swedish roots. A bit unathletic. But educated, liberal… What are you supposed to do with a fortune teller?

"You come from a country far away" Great, you think. Another person who doesn't tell you the future but tells you things you've known for a long time. And anyone could have told you that you are not from here with your black hair and brown eyes.

"You have a strong and assertive personality. A real fighter." Yes, the fortune teller is flattering you a little. But there's nothing wrong with a little flattery. We're all a little vain. You flex the muscles of the arm he's holding.

"You've always had to stand up to strong opponents." Which the guy can bet his ass on. You've never been given anything. Not in your childhood, before the civil war devastated your Syrian homeland, not in the times when bombs took your parents and your home, not when you fled here. And not since you have been here. But you are a fighter.

"You are a strong man who can hit hard. You move big weights." Oh my God, you think. Who would have guessed. The calluses on your hands are not from holding a fountain pen or typing on a keyboard. And neither are your broad shoulders. It's really obvious that you're no stranger to the gym.

"Whatever they tackle, it will be a success, it will be gold!" Ah, finally we come to the interesting part. Just the fact that you are here today, that you have your own stand at FIBO, one of the most important fitness fairs in the world, is already a huge success for you. You are here to present your new fitness app. But also to put yourself in the limelight. Because you can't yet make a living from your app alone. You also need lucrative advertising contracts.

"Champ, now stop with the manicure and take care of your sponsors!" The booming bass of your manager shakes the backstage area. He stands in the doorway of the room where your calloused hands are being shaped. A muscular tanned hairy bald man with a manly beard wearing a black shirt with white pants and boots.

He's right, but looking good is the be-all and end-all here at the trade fair. Hopefully you'll be shaking a lot of hands over the next few days. And your hands need to be just as shiny as you are. You thank the manicurist who is giving your hands a final massage. Excellent work. And most importantly, she didn't talk while she was working. You have it when you have to talk in situations like this or are told things that you either already know or are not interested in.

A quick look in the mirror. Perfect complexion, perfect hair. The show can begin.

The next few days are going to be hell. Pitches to investors, posing for fans, toadying to sponsors. But you are a fighter. And a professional. And whatever you touch turns to gold!

[chrollohearttags]

musician!eren proposes to influencer!y/n before goin on tour. when they get home, it's romantic as hell; candles lit, rose petals in the bed. Overall, jus some sweet ass romantic soft sex.

my faves! my faves! my faves! 😩 and here I was having withdrawals for them. say less.

cw: just some sickeningly sweet sex with my fav ship :( , food and ice play (if you squint), oral (f. receiving) pregnancy mention, breeding

Eren’s comeback tour was something himself, you and all his fans alike had been anticipating. Going from city to city..performing a track list comprised of new joints and old favorites. He received amicable praise on his shows and had quite the time while on the road. Especially with his favorite lady by his side. The two of you exploring the country’s finest as future husband and wife. See, Eren had just popped the question shortly before he started his string of concerts. Elated as you were, more so to be by his side..you guys hadn’t properly celebrated the proposal..at least in the way that he wanted to! He wasn’t one for showing off or flexing for the public eye but lord, did this man go all out in private! The day you touched down back in your city, (y/n) was in for one hell of a surprise! Having already called up his assistant and some other help prior, Eren wanted you guys’ homecoming to be one that would never be forgotten. In addition to having them decorate the entire living room with a giant rose arrangement that spelled out ‘will you marry me?’ setting in the corner. As if he needed that validation once more. “I just wanna hear you say it again…tell me you’re mine..” cooing sweetly as you stood at the bottom of the staircase; immersed in his grasp and his finger underneath your chin as he gave you sweet kisses. And you of course said yes, with the same elation and excitement in your eyes as the initial one. He also a had a line of gifts waiting for you.

He’s been holding back and resisting his urges all throughout the tour. Being stuffed up on that bus with other people made it quite irksome. Sure, you had your fair share of hookups on there but not the experience you deserved. (Y/N) was no longer just some hopeless fling..a girl he’d fly out when he wanted some ass. No, you were his wife, bride to be and the woman he’d undoubtedly spend the rest of his life with. You deserved to be treated like a queen..his queen. Eventually, those cute little butterfly kisses turned to a full blown make-out session..getting lost in one another right there. However, there was way more to this extravagant surprise.. “..let’s go upstairs, okay? Get a little more comfortable.” muttering gently against your lips in a light huff before tugging away.

awaiting you beyond those doors was something you wouldn’t have believed. Akin to a scene from a movie, there were red rose petals scattered about the floor, leading up to the bed, candles flickering and burning underneath the dimmed lighting..along with some champagne, chocolate covered strawberries and some ice displayed neatly on a nearby stand. It was like a scene from a movie but never did you think you’d experience this in your lifetime. “Erennn..you didn’t..this is—“ before you could get too teary eyed, he grabs your hand, placing a kiss to your forehead and ushers you over to the bed. “This is all for you, princess..for us. It’s just me and you now. No interruptions, no work..I’m all yours.” Affirming all of this whole slowly removing the straps of that silk bodycon dress from your smooth shoulders and replacing them with kisses; that ethereal complexion glistening underneath the embers of the flames.

There was one more humble request he had asked of his team and that was to be left the hell alone for the next week. To not be disturbed with anything not pertaining to the matters of your body. He wanted you to himself..selfishly and hopelessly so he could make up for the all the lost time he had taken away. Starting by feeding you the strawberries..rubbing them slowly against your lips before letting you take a bite. Meanwhile, he’s starting to come out his clothes as well..discarding that black button down and slacks he has on. Far more dressed up than his normal Dunks and gym sweats and the only thing you wanted was to see him out of it. So low and behold, that’s what happened. You two eventually rendered yourselves nude, stripped out of everything and entangled in the bedsheets. Rubbing your hands across each other’s bodies, kissing and touching like you couldn’t get enough. Working his way down your neck to your stomach and thighs with a frozen cube between his teeth, Eren made a trail of gentle kisses all over that beautiful body..marking you up inch by inch until he reached your soaking center. Parting your thighs so that he could get in between. He wanted to take his precious time and spoil you with all the love he neglected to give out on tour..

taking the time to carefully taste your flavor; flick his tongue up and throughout your folds and suck on that sensitive clit, rub some cool ice on it and let it melt against your warmth until you’d fill his mouth with your sweet juices. Underneath those candle lights, your future husband masked his muffled whimpers with that plump, newly waxed mound. Your fingers tucked between the strands of his hair, guiding him along and he’d let you. All those nights you had to cut your sessions short out of fear of waking someone or him being too exhausted to do much..he wanted you to take all those frustrations out of his face! Ride his tongue until you had the sides of his face sticky as far as he was concerned. “You can come as many times as you want, beautiful. Don’t hold back..” encouraging with your fingers intertwined as he held your hands. And that you did, even stimulating yourself to tears, which he was happy to wipe away as he leaned up to let your lips meet in a steamy, passionate kiss.

“I love you, (y/n)…I’m so sorry we didn’t get to do this right the first time but I promise I’ll make it up to you..” saying all of this as he’s slowly making his way inside of you. Legs spreading on instinct and wrapping around his waist before he began to thrust. The two of you have holding each other close as he begins thrusting up into you. Your hands around his neck as he cradled his face into the crook of yours. Slowly he begins to give you long, leg shaking strokes.

Ones that have you clutching his shoulder blades and clawing your nails into his back..oh, he loves when he’s fucking you so good, it leaves him scarred. A sign that he’s doing it right. Eventually, the bed begins to shake and you’re moving the headboard. It’s getting deeper; swelling up inside of you and (y/n) just relentlessly begs for more. “Don’t stop, baby. Please keep fucking me…just like that.” Crying out in a tearful plea..whimpering and moaning as he gave every inch and part of himself to the woman he loved. Soon, those same tears would fall from his cheeks and he’d just push past that tightness, finding home inside of you..the feeling, the sensation of knowing that this was his and no one else would ever make you feel this way. You’d explain breathy ‘I love you’s’ and climaxes alike. He’s continue to make you come and before you knew it, he had filled you up twice. Flipping you around in every position until you found yourself on top of him, hand to his chest and on your final strides. Those green eyes glossed over in pure ecstasy but he had to let you have one more. Lying across his torso with his hands on your ass, you’d grind slow and let him pulsate inside of you. “Swear ‘m get you pregnant…oh fuck. Want you to have my baby, (y/n)..” whether he was delirious or dead serious, you wanted to feel that warm nut spill into you one last time. With that sweet voice, you’d urge him or rather beg for his last big load. You tell him it’s his and he takes that as he should, pouring every last drop he had to offer into that womb.

you lie there completely spent, latched in each other’s arms and ready for this type of treatment until death did you part.

[callofdudes]

Did they just post artwork? Yes. Am I in love with every viking/cod au that crosses my path? Yes. Do I like shifters? Fucking absolutely.

And @aidenlydia has fed me all of those at once. So obviously I'm writing something for it because it's beautiful! Here is their original post.

Winter fall.

09 SoapGhost

Snow in the Highlands was always to be expected. Even in the deep treks as the white specks of freezing cold weather clung to his beard. Icy blue eyes only added to the background, wind whipping around them up in the mountains.

John stopped in the slow, noticing part of the thick pine tree line had been caved in. Branches snapped and trees arching from a weight.

Deep foot prints quickly being filled by the pummelling snow leading into the dark abyss of the forest.

Along his collar, Ghost stirred. Fluffing his feathers along John's neck, making him shiver a little.

"You wanna go have a look?"

The rather large crow's wings puffed out from the fuzzy fur cloak John wore, making a rather disgruntled noise.

John chuckles. "Be quick then, we're both hungry."

His little feet bounced, pushing off of John's shoulder and flapping his large black wings against the harsh winds. Snow landing across his feathers and beak.

John watched as Ghost took the wind, soaring up over the tree line and dashing through the pine wood.

The trees bowed and swayed, bending as Ghost monitored the snowy forest floor. Seeing broken branches and trees bent all the way down the side of the embankment.

Sharp eyes surveying every inch until he spotted their goal. The large elk that had wandered it's way into their trap and woken their stomachs gnawing on some grass.

Ghost cawed, alerting John before diving toward the large beast.

Hearing his cry, John grabbed his axe, rushing through the flurry of snow. Past pine branches and into the thick darkness.

Following the deep trails of the elk until coming across the opening where Ghost was picking a fight with it.

Feet planted on the elks muzzle as it tried to shake him off and cant him away. Ghost squawked, flapping his wings into its face, disorienting it.

Before the elk could figure out what was happening, John slammed his axe in an upper cut, the blade lodging between the thick fur and skin, tearing at the ribs, making the animal cry.

Blood covered the pearl white snow, soaking into the flurry as it fought and then fell to its demise.

Ghost squawked, flapping his wings rapidly and landing on John's head and fluffing his feathers, stretching out one wing to finely clean the feathers.

John secured the elk to a rope and pulled it up over his shoulder. "You all good up there??" John reached up and Simon hopped along the top of his head, crooning his beak to peck at John's firm hand.

"Good lad. Let's get this back to a fire. I'm starving."

Simon flapped his wings, hopping down into the fur of John's cloak, snuggling up and puffing out his feathers a little.

They trekked back through the snow with their meal, heading back to the cave opening where they'd been set up to hunt game for the last week.

Their leather bed rolls laid across from each other, the rocks pulled up around thee scorched wood of last night's fire.

John set the elk onto a rock, grabbing out his dagger. "Get the fire going yeah?" Ghost nuzzled his beak against John's neck and flapped down into the snow.

Tight leather shoes crunching to the snow. Ghost wrapped his arms around his body, the cloth scarf that wrapped around his neck, one end falling to end at his breast, the other wrapped over his nose. Hiding his pale complexion amongst the flurry of snow.

His eyes still resembling the sharp, cunning gaze of the crow. Nimble hands wrapped in leather picking up wood from under their small camp out and replacing the old logs.

He looked up at John, his large muscles flexing as he split open the elk. Stripping the intestines and skinning the top from the meat of the animal.

He grabbed their chipped rocks from by John's bedside, striking them over the fresh wood and watching them catch light.

"How long will that last us?" He finally asks before blowing on the starting sparks of the fire.

"A week or two if we eat wisely." John replied, throwing the skin into a pile next to the rest of their leather, which they would use to package and conserve the meat in the cold climate.

"How long do you suspect we'll be out here?"

"Long enough. Why? Wanting a vacation already?" John chuckles softly.

Simon scoffs, folding one knee up to his chin, poking the fire with their stick. "No, just wondering."

A gentle silence followed. The howl of the wind passing by their small alcove but never entering. And the occasional noise of John chopping up the fat of the animal.

It wasn't a long process, they'd done it before.

When John was ready he pulled off part of the pure thigh meat. The slick slabs from each side laying in the snow.

For now he'd leave it. So he took the pieces up and sat near Ghost on the small rock carve out, his leather sleeping pad cushioning his arse barely.

He got the metal hook and slipped one of the slabs of meat onto it. The flames in the pit sparkling, popping and reaching up to the meat. Blood dripped into the fire, making it sizzle and crackle.

Ghost watched it. Still poking his stick around in the fire aimlessly. John noticed, even Simon's small amount of feather coverage around his forearms, shoulders and ears were barely enough against the wind that passed.

He unclipped his heavy cloak, pulling the emblem away from his neck, catching Ghost's attention.

It was a silent exchange when he laid the cloak over Ghost's shoulders. Watching him slightly slump as the fabric engulfed his body into the warmth that John's own body had.

Ghost pulled it close, sinking into it while he watched the fire.

John's large muscular shoulders bare to the cold weather turned slightly red around his neck muscle, dusted with barely noticable freckles.

Ghost looked over at him, shifting a little closer. John hummed softly, feeling Simon's smaller body closer to him, "We'll head back to the village soon for proper rest."

Simon hummed, staring into the fire. "We can get some alcohol too.."

John chuckles softly. "And alcohol, bloody yes we're getting alcohol."

Simon looks up at him, leaning slowly against his side. "You're a dumb drunk."

"Mm, well I can say the same about you."

John tucked the cloak in tighter, pulling Ghost right against him, surprising the smaller man.

He huffed softly, looking away at the ground, but it was warm. John's large hand wrapped around him, holding him protectively. There was always something so nice about it.

His eyelids fluttered slightly, drooping and allowing himself to lean in further to the side of the steady man.

A branch snapped, making him sit back up straight again.

John's attention also moved to the opening of the cave, placing a firm hand on Ghost's thigh. "Easy, just the wind." He assured.

Ghost slowly relaxed, looking back over at the snow covered land once more to double check.

John's arm remained protectively around him, holding his thigh, letting Simon curl up closely to him.

John poked the fire with the stick, splashing more embers up onto the meat. The time slowly ticked away as it cooked.

The small amount of feather coverage on Simon's forearms bristled. One arm poking out from the cloak, crooning his neck to nip at the mashed feathers and preen them back into place with his teeth.

John thought it was adorable. Sitting with him in that peaceful moment. Getting some time to just relax. Knowing they'd be out here for hunting season quite a while. But they made a good team, that's for sure.

I was gonna do more but got a road trip and I love these two. This was what I could splurge onto the page. I want more 😭😭

[overtaken-stream]

Thinking about Modern AU!King who is a police officer

This loses its plot... For a reason unclear to me. Also, rats and snitches although annoying are my guilty pleasure characters

Happy Valentine's Day My Pookie(s)!

Also, it's been a minute since I've last written smut, sorry if it's underwhelming and ooc for King, blame it on the stress of having to enforce laws all day.

Warnings: Choking, breeding.

King is an officer in his own right, wearing the black patrol uniform shirt that flexed with his moves, not exactly tight but enough to make the muscles under it visible, the lightweight body armor leaves his hidden underbelly to the imagination.

The officers at the station are jealous of his physique, while women fall over themselves at the sight the man brings. His sense of justice is firm, the way he speaks and treats the criminals he catches is enough for people to swiftly figure it out.

Alber doesn't complain about his job, even when his co-workers encourage it, with that scowl constantly on his face it's hard to differentiate enjoyment from irritation. He is a man of few words outside of work, is what every person thinks. It's what they assume.

They don't know about the bribes he accepts in the alleys when no one is watching, not when the criminal proposing it is shaking in their boots, afraid to say a word about Alber's betrayal of Just, they could never use the blackmail material even if they wanted to.

His co-workers don't know about the second face he puts up in front of them, a mask not much different from the real Alber, but distant, one that can be overshadowed if kept in one place too long.

They don't know about his connections to the underworld, his relation to the King, let alone the Emperor.

There's only one person aside from his Relations who knows of true him.

He arrives without a mask to uncover, a cozy place he calls home awaits for him with open arms.

Your face is bright as you greet him. Arms tight around his neck and your fragrance in his complexion is not enough to distract him from the fact that he can feel your breasts through the layers of clothes separating you two. Your whole body is hanging off of him, yet his muscles are unfazed.

He is home.

! !NSFW! !

The exhaustion in his gut is replaced by a pool of arousal and he can feel his pants tighten.

Only after grabbing your thighs and putting them around his abdomen, does he catch your gaze before firmly latching his lips with yours, tongues intertwined together as you gently cup his face, the soft temptation of your lips swings the craving in front of his face. The mess of saliva is nothing compared to what he wants to do after a frustrating day.

Getting to the bed and not fucking you in the middle of the living room is a hard task to accomplish considering all King wants to do is rip the clothes off and taste the sweet nectar already.

Your back meets the silky sheets and hands tug at King's shirt, eyes glazed over and lips covered in saliva. You are truly an apple of Kings' eyes. In seconds it comes off, leaving the fruits of your labor sprawled on the table as the shirt goes flying off. Not wasting a second, King leans over you, hands grasping at your attire until the nude figure lies before him.

The tips of his eyebrows turn down, framing an evil smirk on his lips, not a single malice could be felt.

You can feel the butterflies flutter in your stomach. Can feel your insides clench down on nothing. Flush rises on your face and in the moment your legs try to close around the hand now resting in front of your heat, but to no avail.

``Don't get shy on me now.``

His two fingers glide slowly on your clit before plunging swiftly inside, picturing your shivering walls is driving him to get on with it, your sweet wail does not help. His lips seal yours shut, stealing sharp hisses from you as he stretches out the fingers and drags them unhurriedly but with pressure out and in. His teeth clash along yours, lips eat away yours until he engulfs you, it's what you feel anyway. His furrowed brows are that much more handsome on his heated face. His passion takes your breath away and blows the air right in.

Digits are knuckle deep as he finally fastens his pace, thumb pressuring your clit and rubbing harshly on the button, you turn your face sideways, mouth agape and eyes shut, with no shame you let loose the sounds that'll make the neighbors turn red and King fall deep into perversion.

``Oh? You like that? Like how my fingers feel?``

Your hips have a mind of their own, chasing the height without your permission. King lets you hump his wrist, too busy shoving one more finger down the pleasure hole and spearing them into you, it touches every right place, pushes on every button, tightening every knot you have and making your eyes water from the ecstasy.

``O-oh-ugh—yesss! Fuck yes...♡``

You barely respond, the loud and wet sounds your pussy emits as his thumb finally pushes on the right angle and keeps it there, giving you the pleasure you've been wanting since you woke up. It snaps the rope holding your body together.

``G-good girl. Fuck...``

Mind blank, a whine emits from your bruised lips, thighs quivering around his wrist, holding him in place as your hips unexpectedly jerk forward, your pussy releases the orgasm with a cloudy hue, glistening around the fingers until King gets himself free and brings his face closer to your opening, it seeps the slick out like drool from your maw. King treasures every drip you produce.

Once you've calmed down you realize that it's rare for him to talk during sex but man should he do it often.

With quick work he gets free of his pants, finally feeling relief and getting unrestricted access to what he wants to do. The deep gulps of air you take are quickly forbidden when his fingers rest on your throat, wet and smelling of your sex. The gentle touch almost makes your eyes roll.

He is so impossibly close, resting his whole body on top of you, all the while holding himself up by the elbow as to not crush you.

The tip of his shaft rests between your pussy lips, rubbing your essence all over it while it beats against your clit, heavy and engorged.

Kings one arm clasps the bedding while another flexes against your neck, lightly tensing its grasp. You can only bring your digits to caress his abs built and maintained over the years. The sheen of sweat covers your body.

His hips jerk forward to push in his length carefully, it slides in with ease thanks to your previous orgasm. The stretch gives way to the burning pain at first, until it devolves into entirety. The way you feel around him steals small groans from King, the spikes of pleasure stab at his heart the longer he stills inside.

He can't hold himself back and you don't want him to.

The euphoric movement of his hips slamming against your cunt and his hand wandering closer to your chest, all the while struggling for breath is overwhelming in the most sinful of ways. The sound his body makes as he connects lights up your world which is already rocking with his actions. It's unbearable for you to contain all of it. Your face goes red and his grip is only making it angrier.

Your heavy eyelids close, legs shake, but he dares not to stop, a high pitched whines emit from you, who's grabbing at his hand that's squeezing and rolling your nipple in between his fingers.

He is nowhere near done with you.

How can you keep up with him?

You don't.

The next morning, a bouquet of bright red roses awaited on the bedside table, alongside angry blue and red marks littering your back and breasts, nipples sore and swollen, there's still cum dripping out of you, and a present lying on top of a love card reminding you of the special day.

You can't wait for him to get back so that you can show your gratitude.

[hanasnx]

Kinktober: House of Amateurs - S1E17

MINORS DNI 18+

SUMMARY: october 17th | tuesday polys: foursome WC: 0.4k | CHARACTERS: anakin skywalker x f!reader, trela coran (oc), rika chaise (oc) WARNINGS: f!reader | dom!anakin | pnp | coitus | onanism | kinks: agoraphilia, voyeurism | car wash | polyamory: foursome | unprotected sex | body image: “big tits.” | no y/n

KRAYT HOUSE M.LIST | NAVI | INBOX | @KRAYTHOUSE

“You girls didn’t have to do this for me.” Anakin commends your trio while he’s balls deep inside of you. Bent over the sudsy hood of his car in your micro-bikini. Although it’s now a tangled mess of strings from being unceremoniously pulled out of his way. The other girls make themselves useful, Trela and Rika, who arrange themselves for Anakin as if they’re part of an exquisite display case. Trela mimicking your position, reaching behind her to spread her cheeks so he gets view of her gaping and waiting hole. Rika climbs onto his car, tucking her thigh under your cheek as she strokes your hair. It’s plain to see how liquefied you become when speared on Anakin Skywalker’s cock. “Especially ‘cause I’m about to fucking ruin it.”

Washing his car in the warm sun had worked up quite a sweat on all of you, all the better for Anakin to devour off of you one by one, and now it’s your turn to be pillaged. You glance over your shoulder in time to see his thick fingers dip into his mouth, and his lips curl to see you’ve caught him in the act. Slyly, he ventures his lubed digits towards Trela’s entrance, circling it all the while he plunges his dick deep in your insides. Her sharp whine sounds as he sinks his fingers in to the knuckle, thrusting his hips and his wrist in tandem. A low groan emits from the base of his throat at the sight of your, and Trela’s, round asses rocking back on him. There’s never been a moment stronger than this one that he’s wished for two cocks.

Rika’s gaze on him only spurs him on, peacocking for her as he rolls his hips and flexes his arm to curl those fingers inside your companion. His taut abdomen rippling beautifully under his sun-kissed complexion with each movement. Anakin comes alive under an appreciative gaze.

When his tongue moistens his lower lip, it hooks over his teeth, sharpening his jawline. A devious idea forms in his head, and he enacts it by increasing his pace. Two sets of bare tits against the hard metal of his car makes his dick twitch inside you. It exacerbates when he inclines to the side, watching your generous flesh collect under your pit, swiping back and forth on the soap. You whimper from the friction on your sensitive nipples.

“Cleaning my car with your fucking tits. Who needs sponges?” he jeers. He can’t get over the idea of driving his car around knowing two pairs of perfect racks had a hand in washing the dirt and grime off it.

[sunoosets]

heeseung x reader

gonna repost all of my enha smuts from ao3 here for u guys<3

subby hee🤭

warnings!: smutty, masturbation, sub!hee, dom!reader, very in control reader, tit sucking, mentions of cum eating, grinding, teasing, begging, praise and mentions of the term 'good boy'. i believe that's all...enjoy🫶

"Please." He whimpered. The short breaths, puffing out from his swollen lips were harsh. Speeding up with each rut he took against the sheets beneath him. "Please what, baby." You whispered back. Fingers lifting to trail and drag amidst his dampened hair. Pulling softly against the darkened wisps to remove them from over his blinking, doe eyes. They watered as he peered up from between your legs. Scanning over your features through the slits in his lashes. "I want your touch." He sighed, eyelids collapsing. His chin fell against your chest, and as your brows flinched upwards his hips rubbed into the duvet. Rolling and rocking as a desperate attempt for friction. You could see over his flattened body. So pristine, as it shone with a delicate coating of sweat. A sheen that shimmered below these dim lights, and enunciated the curves and crevices in his muscular back. 

His moan dragged out, and the eyes that he hid beneath those closed lids began to roll. "Y/n.." He breathed in pleasure. From your position you could see his tight briefs roll up his flexed thighs and settle over the flesh of his upper ass. Squeezing the skin, and letting his subtle flinches become more obvious. His breaths deepened, and his chest heaved against your thighs. His palms lay splayed against your waist, where they rested on your hips and held you softly. As if you were to disappear in a heartbeat. The pads of his fingers gripped harder, rougher into the skin of your waist. Clutching your sides every time his cock twitched within his boxers, and made his cherry lips part. 

His lips were yet again, split by a whimper. A long-drawn sound of arousal, before his melody was muffled. His lips wrapped around the bud of your nipple, and you gasped at the contrast between temperatures. The cold encompassing your tit, while the warmth of his mouth caressed the perked skin. "Hee.." You whined. Cutting the noise by settling your teeth into the flesh of your lip. The boy moaned against your breast. Lifting his other hand, and drawing his smooth fingers over the sensitive area. Circles were drawn out against your complexion, before his entire palm began to mould and massage the area. Triggering a soft moan to fall from your lips. "Heeseung." You muttered his name. Gifting him your lowered gaze, as your hips raised up against his hardened chest. The boy smiled, his lips stretching while he still sucked on your tit. Moving his wet lips around your now dripping nipple. Covered in his spit, while he grinned up at you like a proud baby. So smug to see his girlfriend such a mess.

"Can you touch me now?" Hee spoke, voice measly as his lips pulled from your tit with a pop. He swiped the skin with his tongue. Flicking his gaze to your raising chest for a moment, before landing it back against your eyes. "So desperate." You smirked. Hands meeting the warmth of his cheeks as you cupped them. Squeezing lightly before dropping them to the valley of his collarbones. "Give me a show and I might consider it." You whispered, head leaning so that your breath could flicker against his jaw. You paused while the boy hesitated. Breath being caught, though his hips still moved. Stuttering as you could guess his cock throbbed. Just begging to be touched. Used. 

"What kind.." He sighed. Arousal edging across his tongue. You smiled, pressing your lips to his skin. "Beg for me." You breathed before kissing him and leaning back. Pulling away all of your touch and allowing him to obey your command. 

His stare fell and was replaced by those doe eyes of his. Glimmering with some kind of feigned innocence. So pure, while he got off against your covers. Humping the mattress, and rubbing his aching cock against the fabric of his own underwear. All while sucking on your tit like a baby. Panting and whining while he dry-humped himself to pure bliss.

"Y/n, please." He whimpered. Biting his own lip before letting his head fall. His soft hair tickled the skin of your stomach and you watched in complete awe while he moved. Hips lifting and ramming back into the material beneath him. His moans being hushed by your skin. His underwear slid further up his thighs, bunching up as he grinded. Sighing each time his pants became tighter, unable to hold his bulging cock. So desperate for attention, it was straining against his stomach and poked awkwardly at the waist-line. 

"Good boy." You praised. Voice soft, and lips twitching into a smirk. His head lifted, and his glossed over eyes met yours. So needy, as the corrupt desperation for release shone in those dilated pupils. "Please.." He whined beneath his breath. Brows furrowing. You pouted, pursing your lips as a joke, and then smiling at his attempts. "Just a little more." You whispered, shushing his next cries as he whined further. Your fingers took his cheeks once more, and while the pads brushed against his skin in calm, comforting strokes, you guided his head toward your tit. Resting him there and letting his cute little mouth take your nipple for the second time. Hee's eyes closed, squeezing shut while he nipped the skin with each muffled cry. 

"You're so perfect." You sighed, leaning your head back against the rest of your bed. "You'll cum for me, won't you?" 

Heeseung swallowed, pulling from your tit and lowering his head, Unable to form coherent sentences. "Of...of course." He stuttered, lip slipping between his teeth. His body shook the bedframe. Rocking it with each pathetic thrust into the sheets. He whimpered consistently, eyes rolling back and flickering to the darkest confines of his head. His iris was shielded by his hooded eyes, which drooped and fell whenever his cock seemed to twitch. 

"Go on.." You allowed. Voice gentle. 

The boy sighed appreciatively. Taking one of his arms, and as he turned onto his side, he reached for the evident bulge in his boxers. The palm spread across the outline and he gripped it. Moaning loudly before cutting the tease he gifted to himself, and tugging his boxers down. Freeing his hard cock, and letting it stroke the lower part of his abdomen. It leaked with anticipation. Already glossed over with pre-cum which dripped down his veined sides. Heeseung bucked into the thin air, gripping his cock. His fingers wrapped around the base, and his thumb flicked over his sore tip. Swollen and red as it seemed to produce more pre-cum by the second. He bit back his whine and began to drop and raise his fist. Pumping himself as he thrust desperately into his palm. "Y/n, y/n." He chanted, jaw dropping and lips spreading with the force of his moans. "Y/n." He cried out, gripping harder and arching his brows. "Please!" 

"Such a good boy for me." You bit back. Pussy throbbing at the mere sight of him writhing before you. Coming undone with your name on his lips. 

"Yes, yes." He repeated, tongue edging at the corner of his mouth while he stuttered his hips. Never ceasing his rapid movement before cumming into his hand. Shooting warm loads of white against the supple skin of his fingers. It dribbled down his digits and mixed along the creases of his palm. 

"Well done." You cooed, hands going to brush his cheeks once more. You tilted his chin, and he sighed. Reddened cheeks just begging for your cool touch. His eyes drooped and his lips were parted while he regained his lost breath. 

"Now can you touch me?" He spoke between breaths. Eyes peering up as he pleaded through his gaze. You smiled, drifting your stare toward his hand. You took his wrist and lifted the limb. Eyeing the covered digits. Dripping with his milky pleasure. His doe eyes blinked while you brought the two fingers toward your parted lips. His eyes gradually grew until his soaked fingers had been placed between your teeth. Your tongue swirled around the skin, lapping up the cum he had created, while the prominent taste of his flesh entered your throat. "Of course." You smirked, licking at your lips as you pulled away from his clean hand. 

"Anything for such a good boy." 

[seuluv3]

Space and Us | Y.J [teaser]

yoo jimin x fem!reader

warnings: cursings, mentions of violence, making out, nudity, eventual smut

more to come...

a lil smth that i have been working on...idk when ill be done tho

—————

21:47

you stared up at the sky as you let the hot tub water simmer against the skin, its warmth juxtaposing to the very cold nights of the planet they were occupying at the moment. God why the hell does Jinsoul live here, it's cold as shit!, you thought to yourself, at least she got this hot tub. you sinked yourself further into the hot tub until only your eyes were above water. The blueish moon shone brightly onto the land. It reminded you of the long nights on Earth where you and Jungeun would drink and look at the stars, wishing there was more time.

  “ What are you doing here at this hour?,” a deep, raspy voice had asked. “Wouldn’t you like to fucking know,” you replied, taking a long sip from your 5th bottle of beer that night. “I don’t mean to enrage you but it's late and you’re intoxicated. We're on a mission not a vacation.” “Why don't you suck on my ass huh Karina. Or maybe better suck my dick.”

    Silence filled the landscape and you thought you had won this battle. If you couldn't beat Karina in the brain or muscle department, you can beat her in being a jackass. But before you could break into a victory hum, a ruffle of clothes could be heard and as you turned to the left, there was Karina, undressing. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“Relaxing,” Karina responded, slipping into the tub in her sports bra and panties. 

Awkward silence filled the air as both looked anywhere but each other. What the hell does she think she is doing! You thought to yourself. You take sly glances at your bionic counterpart and can already feel your face heat up to that blush you loathe. Karina is stretching, practically flexing her muscles right in your face. You could see the intricate water drops slowly gliding down her already perfect skin, digging into the crevices of abs and pure buff seemingly crafted by God himself. You had enough of this so you decided, more correctly the booze in your system decided that you needed to say something.

“You know what… you are just hilarious Karina!” you huffed out.

“Pardon?” Karina turns slightly, facing you.

“ You think you can just come in here lecturing me about relaxing and then strip in front of me and flex that stupidly good body of yours? Well I had enough frankly.” you yelled and crossed her arms.

Silence.

“Oh Really?”

Silence.

Then Karina slowly made her way into your vicinity and you could swear that your face had the same complexion as tomato now. 

“Do I irritate you as much as you say I do?”

you sighed heavily.

“What about me makes you so enraged with me? I would like to know, (y/n).”

Karina continued her way across the hot tub until she was face to face with you, with just enough space to intimidate the hell of you: inebriated, frustrated, and now slightly horny.

“You know why you make me so mad? It’s everything about you. I hate your face, I hate your personality, I hate your body, I hate the way you use your powers to just shove it in my face, I hate how much you are seemingly loved by anyone and anything we meet, I hate how you make me feel-!,”

you ends your rant abruptly, realizing the words that just stumbled out you

you basically just confessed to the bastard.

As you cautiously looked back at Karina's face, it was once again that stoic manner that had continued to remain on the woman for as long as they knew each other. But you didn’t know whether it was the moonlight gleamingly down on them, or the blueish purple hue illuminating their skin in the warm bath, but Karina's eyes told a story different from her stoic nature. you honestly couldn’t put a name to it. 

“I see.”

And before you could acknowledge Karina's statement, a firm and wet hand reaches for the back of your head and you suddenly feels a pair of lips of your own. 

Is Karina fucking kissing me right now?!

[autumnblooms]

Hold Me, Hand in Hand

My first Ghost fic, and it's MountainDew angst because of course it is. This is my attempt to expand on this post after I cranked out a full outline while very stoned last night. Turns out writing sober with actual sense takes a hell of a lot longer. Anyway, I didn't proofread much so go easy on me.

Cw: dermatillomania, anxiety, some blood, possibly incorrect Italian, Mount gets stuck in his head but Dew brings him out of it, 2.5k of hurt/comfort

Mountain feels it creep in slowly, so slow that he hardly realizes until he’s deep in it. The height of summer in July has left the Abbey grounds in a drought, the crunchy grass and oppressive heat keeping most ghouls and Siblings indoors. The ghoulettes have been trying their best to keep air moving through the halls of the Abbey, and Rain has hardly left his generously sized bath all week. That’s left Dew reveling in the sun’s energy alone, and Mountain using the last bit of energy he has avoiding him. Mountain can feel all too keenly through his magick the way the plants on the Abbey grounds wilt and die in the sun’s rays, and it’s left him feeling lethargic and in his own head.

That is how Dew finds him one day in late July. After hardly seeing anyone for days, Dew, in his boredom, had gone wandering out to the greenhouse to look for Mountain. He opened the door, helping himself in and calling a greeting to the earth ghoul. 

“Hey sapling, whatcha up to…out here…” Dew trails off as his eyes find Mountain, sitting on a stool in the back by his workbench, eyes staring into the middle distance out the closest glass wall.

“Hmm…?” Mountain hums his acknowledgment of Dew, not moving his eyes from their spot.

“What, is a Sibling skinny dipping in the lake again? What’s out there more interesting than me?” Dew jokes as he walks closer to Mountain, looking out the greenhouse windows to try to determine what he was so entranced with. He looks back to the earth ghoul, confusion creasing his brow as he tilts his head to try to look in Mountain’s eyes. “Hello?” Dew eyes him up and down, and finally catches what his hands have been doing in his lap this whole time: Mountain’s left hand has been rhythmically digging and peeling at the skin of his right thumb. Dew can see bloody gashes already formed on the sides of at least four other fingers, all the way down to the second knuckle. 

“Oh sapling,” Dew coos softly, changing his tune from joking to an attempt at soothing. “Hey baby, can you look at me?” The fire ghoul puts his hands over Mountain's, being careful not to add more heat to the already overheated ghoul. Dew looks closely at him now, noticing just how dull his complexion has become and how dry the skin of his hands feel. He slowly pulls Mountain’s hands apart and rubs soothing circles over the backs with his thumbs while he waits for the earth ghoul to come back to his element. 

Mountain begins blinking his eyes, slowly at first, and Dew sees his attention drift back to reality from the middle distance. He turns his head towards Dew, and a few dry leaves drift out of his horns and fall to the floor of the greenhouse, joining a small pile that had already congregated there. Dew briefly wonders to himself how long the earth ghoul had been out here, stuck in his own head.

“Hey firelily” Mountain croaks, his voice sounding like dry kindling. “Sorry, I think I was somewhere else for a bit.” He smiles down at the smaller ghoul, feeling his skin stretching uncomfortably as sensation starts to come back to him. It’s at this point he notices the sharp pain in his fingers and flexes them experimentally in Dew’s hands, wincing as he does.

“Yeah, you really got yourself good this time sapling. Hold tight.” Dew places Mountain’s hands on his knees and stands up, looking for a clean rag and soaking it in the greenhouse tap. He returns to crouch down in front of Mountain who hasn’t moved, but Dew can feel the embarrassment radiating off him now that he’s fully back online and processing what had happened.

“You don’t have to do that Dew, I can get it” he mumbles as Dew starts washing the blood off his fingertips, trying to wipe his free hand on his apron before Dew can see the full damage. The fire ghoul grabs that hand too, tsking at him.

“Don’t do that big guy, you’re gonna get an infection. That apron’s as dirty as your work tables.” Dew knows that Mountain’s connection to his element is the only reason he hasn’t gotten an infection yet; the wounds on his hands never being left alone long enough to heal but that not being enough to stop Mountain from submerging his hands in soil daily. He hopes though that a little light ribbing might snap Mountain out of his guilt. Mountain cracks a half-hearted smile and allows Dew to finish his work, though if it’s out of true acceptance or a desire to just have this over with quickly Dew doesn’t know.

~~~~~~~~

Dew had gotten Mountain to join him back inside the Abbey after his hands had been cleaned and some water from the rag had been applied to his neck and face, not fully rehydrating the tired earth ghoul, but doing enough to give him the energy to walk back inside. Mountain didn’t feel like doing much, embarrassment from disappearing from his pack and being caught in a vulnerable moment still twisting in his stomach. But he knew it was getting late and Papa would be expecting them all for practice after dinner, and the anxiety of not doing what Papa expected was enough to get him moving.

Dinner went by in a bit of a haze, the sound of his pack teasing and laughing with each other becoming background noise. Even Rain seemed to be feeling back to his normal self, the day spent in the lake being enough to shake off the effects of the dry season. Mountain hangs his head over his food and hears a small voice in the back of his head tell him to get over himself, that he’s an earth ghoul not a water ghoul- if Rain’s not in pain he has no right to be either. The hand not holding his fork moves under the table, middle finger finding a rough edge on the thumb and resuming its rhythmic picking. Dew spies this movement from across the table, mid conversation with Swiss, but stays quiet and saves that information for later.

The pack finished up dinner not long after that, continuing their conversations as they cleaned up the table and filed out together to the practice room to meet Papa, who greeted them warmly with a “Hello my ghouls, so good to see you” as always. Aurora and Rain hug him as they pass, the rest giving a smile and a nod as they make their way to their instruments and begin tuning. Mountain sneaks behind the group to his kit while Papa is preoccupied with Aurora squeezing him around the middle, not wanting to taint practice with his moodiness. He sits himself down behind his kit and grabs two sticks from the holder, grimacing as he feels the skin on his fingers pull tight, the wounds he opened earlier in the morning keeping his fingers from bending far enough to wrap around the sticks in his usual grip. As though from a distance he hears Papa say he wants to do a full run through, and Dew kicks up the first few notes of “Kaisarion”. Mountain takes a deep breath and forces his fists to close as his count approaches. He makes it a little over a minute through however before the stick in his right hand goes flying backwards, his grip becoming weakened from pain. His packmates, ever the professionals, keep playing without missing a beat, but Mountain doesn’t miss the sideways glances of worry they give him. It’s not like Mountain to mess up, he’s been around too long for that. 

Mountain slips a few more times after that, not quite throwing the stick again, but fumbling his notes as he attempts to play more in a more subdued fashion than normal. He grips harder, forcing his fingers to bend past the point his healing wounds wish him to go. He grimaces through the pain as he feels the torn skin open up again. Mountain tries his best to focus his attention on the beat and the familiar burn in his muscles instead. He somehow manages to make it to their first break before “Cirice”, and carefully peels his stiff fingers off his drumsticks, wincing as he sees the blood soaked into the wood. His attention is too focused on the sticks in his hands, however, to notice Papa approaching.

“How are you feeling, alberello? Are you alright? It’s not like you to drop sticks like that…” Copia trails off as his gaze moves down to the sticks laying on top Mountain’s snare, and sees the blood stains. Mountain jumps at his Papa’s voice and looks up at him with surprise, a knot of anxiety working its way into his chest. He doesn’t wait for the look of worry to finish creasing Copia’s brow, and he certainly doesn’t wait for the next question to leave his mouth before he’s scooping up the evidence, mumbling a quick apology, and running out of the practice room. Copia stands there in shock, watching the door close behind his earth ghoul as Dew comes up behind him, carefully setting down his guitar and putting a comforting hand on his Papa’s back. 

“It’s alright Papa, it wasn’t you. This weather’s been tough on him. I’ll go get him, try to bring him back.” Copia shakes his head.

“No, take as much time as he needs. We’ll finish up here and end early. Just help him back to himself, lucciola.”

Dew gets lucky and guesses correctly the first time, assuming that Mountain’s room being the closest is where he’d go in his panic. He tests the door and finds it unlocked, so he lets himself in. Inside, the scene that greets him almost breaks his heart: Mountain, sitting cross legged on his bed, whole body shaking as he’s desperately trying to lick the blood off his own fingers, that thousand yard stare back in his eyes. Dew knows Mountain hasn’t registered his presence yet, not when he’s in that state, so he silently closes the door behind him and slips into Mountain’s bathroom, grabbing an empty snack bowl he finds on the way. Dew gives the bowl  a quick rinse and fills it with the coldest water the tap can manage, grabs a washcloth, bandages, and antibac ointment, and heads back in to Mountain. 

“Shhhh hey baby, you’re alright” he coos, sitting down cross legged in front of Mountain and carefully settling the bowl between them. He takes Mountain’s hands, just as he did earlier in the day, and dips them into the cool water, watching the earth ghoul’s face the whole time. Dew’s careful not to let his own hands in the water, not wanting to warm it any more than the blankets already will. He waits patiently, eyes never leaving Mountain’s face, whispering soft encouragement while he waits for Mountain to come back out of his head again. When the tears start welling at his eyes, Dew knows he’s back.

“There we are, hi sapling” he soothes, carefully setting the bowl on Mountain’s side table and wrapping his fingers in the washcloth. Mountain whines at the sweet words, hanging his head further, shoulders still shaking. “I know baby, I know. Just let me wrap you up and we’ll make you all better.” Mountain holds his hands a few inches above Dew’s lap and whines again, resting his head on the fire ghoul’s shoulder. Dew inspects the wounds, placing ointment on the worst cuts and counting how many bandages he’d need. “You’re doing great, big guy, almost done.”

“It hurts, Dew,” Mountain whispers.

“I know it does, baby. The ointment will help.”

“Not just my hands…my chest…my arms…” Mountain tries shaking out his arms to show what he means, pressing against their mental bond to explain what can’t come out in words. His anxiety is lingering, settling into his chest and arms like an insistent pressure that can only be released by shredding all the skin off his fingers. His tail comes up to his mouth and Mountain starts chewing; the longer he goes without picking, the more the pressure builds, and if Dew won’t let him pick then biting is the only way to release it.

“Hey, hey now, we’re not gonna do that. I don’t have enough band-aids, pebble” Dew says, quickly wrapping the last bandage and pulling Mountain’s tail from his mouth. The tears return to his eyes, this time out of frustration. “Shhh…I told you I’d help, let me help.” Dew runs his hands through Mountain’s hair, down his neck and over his back, kicking up the warmth in his hands now. Mountain shakes his arms again with another whine, trying to show Dew where he needs the warmth the most. Dew catches on, turning to lay down on his back with his head in Mountain’s pillows, bringing the bigger ghoul down with him to lay his head on his chest. Mountain latches onto him like a koala, wrapping his arms and legs around the smaller ghoul and burying his face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his comforting scent of woodfire and spice. His shaking subsides, low whines turning into purrs as Dew’s warm hands soothe over his arms and neck, fingers trailing across his face, and back down in a loop. “How you feeling pebble?”

“Mmmmm…better. Your hands feel nice” Mountain purrs. “Gotta get back though, Papa’s gonna be so pissed at me.”

“Papa’s ending practice early, he said take your time.” Mountain groans, burying his face further in Dew’s neck.

“Dammit…I didn’t want anyone to notice…”

“Baby, you fucked up ‘Rats’ and bled all over your sticks, they were gonna notice” he says, tickling Mountain’s sides to make sure he knows he’s being lighthearted. Mountain groans again, and Dew wraps him in a tight hug. “I know, I’m sorry. I should’ve helped you wrap your fingers before we left for practice. I just didn’t want to stress you out more by bringing it up.”

“ ‘S not your fault, firebug. My problem, I gotta deal.” Mountain mumbles. 

“Hey, no look at me,” Dew tilts his chin up, leaning forward to look in his eyes. “That doesn’t mean it’s your fault either, or that you have to deal alone. We all get fucked up by the weather topside, your element just gets it a little worse. It’s not fair, but you’re strong. The Dark Lord wouldn’t have sent you up here if you couldn’t handle it. It will rain again, you will be yourself again, and we’ll all be here for you in the before and after. We love you, sapling. I love you. More than words can say.”

Mountain squeezes the smaller ghoul back, mindful of his hands. “I love you too, firelily. More than words can say.”

[jttw-monkeybusiness]

Does Wukong let Sophie brush his fur ? 👀 Like in a very “I just saved your ass the least you can do is brush out the tangled mess my perfect complexion has suffered from this fight.” I ask for reasons.

Honestly when you put it in THAT way...yes, yes he would do that! Usually, he is very picky about who can brush him and if he does let you / demand that you brush him, he would call it "Do you understand how much of a privilege it is to brush a King!? Consider yourself 'special' Hmph. Look at this mess that you caused! This wouldn't have happened if you listened to my orders, woman. This perfect complexion is not easy to maintain. Back in my home, many females would have done anything to groom me, but since I am a lovable King I had to do more important duties than hanging around with the ladies. " he would be dramatic about it because he takes so much pride in his looks and its also one of his insecurities. It's also one of his ways of flirting/flexing if Sophie is one to brush him. Which honestly doesn't necessarily work on her but we love a strong and independent king, right? :'D

Only his mother (adopted mother) is allowed to groom and brush him without asking his permission.✌️

[lavaflowe]

JTTW BOOK CLUB

CHPT 7-9

@journeythroughjourneytothewest

Chpt 7

•”All this was probably refined in his stomach by the Samadhi fire to form a single solid mass” I know other deities can use the fire but I’m wracking my brain for when it used before(this point) specifically- My understanding was the furnace refined the immortal elixirs and fruit- I’m going to assume Laozi is just theorizing and doesn’t know what actually happened

•Diamond body….👀

•Erlang gets absolutely DRIPPED out, he earned it FR

•eyes permanently irritated by the smoke churned up the the Xun trigram, someone get this man some eye drops

•he is extra pissed

•HE JUST BODIES LAOZI IM YELLING😂

•”this cosmic being fully fused with nature’s gifts passes with ease through 10,000 toils and tests”

•Big war form out to beat serious ass, he’s not jokin bitch

•” bright and luminous; ….illustrious pearl of mani he is indeed” MMMMM comparing him to a mani- a flaming (wish granting) jewel is hilarious 💀

•Tathagata bringing in the big guns (himself)

•”how tf do you know The Way and not know who I am?? And you’re so….violent” I can sense the side eye

•I wonder if Wukong has previous incarnations?? Buddha says he just reached human form this incarnation but if his rock was there at the beginning of creation, wouldn’t his soul be ‘baking’ (for lack of a better term) the whole time until he hatched?

•” and with a total lack of respect he left a bubbling pool of monkey urine” Iconic moment LMAOOOO

•smart for Wukong to leave a momento- too bad it didn’t matter lol

•ah so he was jumping to visit the pillars again, not run away(supposedly)- he’d rather prove he’s right than escape💀 that checks out

•monkey has been squished, it is now party o’clock

•are you allowed to give the Buddha drugs if it’s an offering? Like wine??🤔 “wtf is this allowed? Wtf”

•”Wukong is wiggling out”

“Dw, take this”

*slaps tag on the mountain like flex tape*

•enough room to breathe and move his hands- I would lose my mind

•Molten copper & iron pellets mimic punishments in hell (just learned this🙏), shedding the Karma like water -I feel like 500 years is pretty good tbh considering everything

Woe molten metal and iron upon ye

Chpt 8 + 9 under cut:

Chpt 8:

•lots of lovely poems in this chapter

•a paragraph recap of the past 7 chapters

•wonder what Feast of the Ullambana Bowl is? (the notes say it’s a mass for the dead and is also know as the Ghost festival, practiced by Taoists and Buddhists)

•”the Chan mind shines bright like a thousand rivers’ moon; true nature’s pure and great as an unclouded sky.”

Lovely poem, and I’m beginning to realize this book is very heavily focused on the Chan school, which I don’t know why I didn’t pick up on sooner? White-Robed Guan Yin is a Chan specific form, usually depicted in their bamboo grove

•Tathagata reveals his 3 baskets of scripture after everyone is done presenting their poems, feels almost like he suggested the celebration to announce these

•Each basket corresponds to scriptures of Heaven, Earth, and the Damned- a total of 15,144 FUCKING SCROLLS

•oooo Guanyin poem!! “ a golden body filled with wisdom, fringes of dangling pearls and jade, …dark hair piled smartly in a coiled-dragon bun. With brows of new moon shape and eyes like two bright stars, her jadelike face beams natural joy. …Her orchid heart delights in green bamboos; her chaste nature loves the wisteria. The living Guanyin from the Cave of Tidal Sound.”

•5 Talismans: Embroidered Cassock that will protect him from falling back into the Wheel of Transmigration, a 9 ring priestly staff that will protect him from poison or harm, 3 tightening fillets- the Golden, the Constructive, and the Prohibitive Spell.

•Guanyin thinks this will take about 2 to 3 years💀 hooooo boy….

•FLOWING SAND RIVER!!! MY 2ND FAV BOY!!!

•Green and Black complexion, Gleaming eyes like the lights beneath a stove, forked mouth with teeth like knives and swords, and disheveled red hair

•like that Wujing is using a priest staff he def took from one of the monks he ate lol

•Wujing fighting Moksa for his life only to drop everything to apologize and talk to Guanyin LMAO

•MOKSA PICKS HIM UP BY THE COLLAR AKFKAKDJDJ

•ah, so Wujing didn’t reincarnate, he was changed, STABBED OVER 100 TIMES EVERY 7 DAYS AND FORCED TO COMMIT CANNABILSM SO HE DOESNT STARVE AS PUNISHMENT- THATS JUST LOVELY😭

•I like the interpretation that he could have been trying to signal a coup by breaking the crystal cup

•Guanyin hearing about Wujing’s string of skulls: it’s a surprise tool that will help us later

•BAJIE TIME

•this idiot bro “HOW DARE YOU TRY TO GET FLOWER PETALS IN MY EYES!!” “IDIOT THAT WAS GUANYIN” “…Guanyin is here??” “LOOK UP”

•Wuneng is reincarnated, he got beat to death in Heaven for hitting on Chang’e LMAOOOOO GET REKT

•ah yes, casually mentions killing his pig family and then his life of eating humans. Lovely.

•AO LIE TIME

•I committed a little accidental arson, please bail me out

•Damn, he got a really short intro

•interesting that Guanyin id’s the Peach Banquet as Wukongs fall from grace. I would def agree with this- eating the peaches like he did was extremely reckless and the beginning of the end imo

•”who tf is talking shit up there”

•No one has ever visited Wukong, I’m guessing the Guards were horrible company

•I like how both Guanyin and Sanzang try to give Wukong a religious name- Guanyin is very happy to hear he has the Wu- prefix as well lol

•arrived in Chang’an, let the hunt begin

Chpt 9:

•Chang’an bb, all blooming flowers surrounded by 8 rivers (DAMN, that’s a lot of water)

•Guangrui got first place in the examination, good for him UwU

•SURPRISE WIFE

•”gave the girl to Guangrui as his bride” UM I THINK SHES THE ONE WHO GRABBED HIM LMAO

•Guangrui has some fated beef with these two random boatmen, Liu Hong and Li Biao- states that he was destined in a previous incarnation to be enemies with them, is this a result of bad karma?

•NOOOOOO MY GUY GUANGRUI

•Liu Hong reminds me of Liu’er Mi-*gunshot*

•since they’re at the bottom of the Hong river, which Dragon King is this?

•Golden Carp coming in clutch, nice

•LADY YIN IS SO METAL LETS GO “she hated the bandit so bitterly that she wished she could devour his flesh and sleep on his skin” DO IT GURL, KILL HIM

•damn, too bad she’s pregnant with Sanzang….dw Girl I know you would kick his ass otherwise…

•there goes his toe…

•get named River Float idiot

•damn bro chill, that wasn’t very monk-like of you

•homie got called an orphan and cried JAKDJSJFJ I FEEL BAD

•she didn’t even check the toe I THOUGHT SHE DID- WHAT WAS THE POINT LMAO

•nvmnd

•I guess licking the eyes is better than spitting on them…sigh…

•GODDAMN THEY RIPPED LIU HONG AND LI BAIO APART….good for them, deserved in fact

•Lady Yin committing suicide even after she was reunited with her husband makes sense, as there was a trend where wives whose husbands died or they were assaulted, killed themselves. This was show loyalty to their husbands and add weight to their claim of SA- Lady Yin’s husband coming back does not change the fact that everyone knows she was forcefully married :((

(I use the term ‘trend’ only as a way to describe the rise and fall in wife suicides tied to either a husbands death or as a response to SA)