#now me personally if i was Storm i wouldn't let that slide

[spinchboli]

Storm really thought she could get away with having a good night's sleep on solsteim 🙄

Miraak only using his dream walking abilities on the last dragonborn in a funny, comedic way is my brand

[anantaru]

cw. yandere blade, toxic, suggestve, fem! reader

blade doesn‘t fall in love easily.

beyond everything, he never envisioned himself to be faced with such vigorous sentiments by origin— from first principles and a closer look at his perceptions, you can refer to his views as ignorance or blindness, something he gazed down on in an almost smug way.

but when he does, he doesn't think it was fun nor comfortable, but entirely has he decided that he‘d burn entire worlds down if it meant for you to remain close to his side, so you wouldn't be able to leave him behind.

then again, maybe he should burn them down regardless, not only for you, but to demonstrate the love he felt, or the very emotion he confused as love...

"it is a necessary hardness." a remembrance of his first sentence towards his cruel directions in life, you reminisce about it vividly. but you hold his eye contact, only distantly, yet refuse to give him any further satisfaction.

it really doesn’t need a genius to figure out what was displayed before one, it being the heart of a passionate, driven person— the emotions intense and wild, allied with a roaring storm, the bolds of lightning signalizing his darkened perceptions and blanketing any good, as if there was any good to begin with.

so he stood calm where he was standing before slumping down next to you, mattress shifting at his added weight. "you didn't have to do this." you silently speak again, just from below him, your breath hitching ever so slightly as his entire body leans into your figure.

you have to remain careful, you realize, but his eyes would be an intoxicating weapon, flickering up before you watch him place his hand on top of your lower stomach.

"do you love me?" his expression stood still, passive for the most time, but awaiting a quick response, he wasn't even sure you would answer his question, because his trust in you had graven limits.

you remark back, "i wouldn't be here if i didn't." and force your body to relax under his freezing handle before allowing him to slide his large hand into your garments, your entire skin slowly beginning to feel the untwist under his heedful but possessive ministrations.

"good." blade was simultaneously fascinated and petrified by your outwardly real devotion, "but do you love me?"

silence, blade again, doesn't think it was funny for you to ask such insolent question and demand an answer from him in the first place, so he leaves it unchallenged to obscure through the dark room and carried on to smoother a painfully slow motion on your cunt.

you found yourself longing the intimacy and pull your hips upwards, cradling your arms around the man and holding him close by his shoulders, but the lack of response flooded your mind with deeply broken thoughts. "you're mine." yet at last, there it was, a subtle meaning, with a hidden truth.

his fingertips were warm and dampened by your slick, working in sharp angles on your soft skin. it burned your body with a sort of desperate fever to be able to call yourself his. he could tell that you weren't entirely satisfied though, but blade, could he really answer your question how you so desired it?

your heart grew louder, pounding hard against his strong chest and a 'o' of bare lust formed on your glistening lips, pushing against him further, letting him get to know your scent— the one that set his loins on fire, made him lick his lips with a devil-like grin crossing the outsides of his mouth.

blade could feel you constrict around his first finger and wanted to push himself aside, he wanted to feel you for real now, feverishly dragging his skin against your own as he coos sweet ministrations into your ear.

did his words hold any graven significance? they might, he recalls becoming vulnerable whenever he had gotten intimate with you and it scared him, the thought in particular was frightening— of letting his cruel mask fall flat in front of another person.

but the man wanted to sink into every secret part of your body, experience each bend and curve, and be held. blade watches your back arch into his body as he adds a second finger into your tight hole, flawlessly pulling in and out of your entrance, in and out in and out, scraping his finger pads along your slicked walls.

he wonders how far he could go, or if he should ever tell you about the things you do not know, about commodities he did in order for you to remain devoted and obedient, unknowing and naive.

at the inside, he prefers the idea that came inwardly, occupying his mind— about the secrecy of it all, that he doesn't want your pretty head to worry about anything or everything, why else would you love him if he were to expose you to his blood stained intrigues?

he shrugs himself into your neck before locking a bundle of flesh in between his sharp teeth, sucking on your sensitive parts and keeping an almost calculative pace on your pussy, well, the one that belonged to him of course.

you should feel honored that he always feels the painful need to touch you the moment he sees you fly over his mesmerizing pair of eyes.

with a higher pitched whine, you writhe under his now warmer body, your thighs clamping desperately around his arm as blade adds a third and final finger to lengthen your orgasm filling you whole, laughing lightly as you came on his palm, hard and catching an unimpeded view of his erected length brushing against his pants.

he feels that impulse again and begins to unconsciously rub his hips into your thigh— right after feeling your little hole tense up and down, he hears you whisper a soft "please", only watching a few seconds longer before pushing his long fingers back into your cunt and catching you off guard, your lack of breathing control making itself visible in your aching throat.

to touch you more, to rip your clothes off your skin, to kiss every inch of your body, worship, it's feral, that's what it was, but was it love? there is much about him that you do not know, can never know because it would scare you even more, blade fears.

but presently, even just by doing this, by pleasing your needs, blade knows it's the only way for him to convey his love ...

... or the frightening emotion he mistook for love.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[ddejavvu]

Mei!! You’re one of my fav writers!

Can you do a fratboy!Hotch x reader with the typical date to bet trope but then he sees reader on a case with the BAU years later and tries to get reader back??

thank you so much!!! i liked this request sm actually this was so neat <3

--

"Excuse me," A voice calls from behind you, deep and stern, "Are you Y/N Y/L/N?"

You turn at the counter, meeting the eyes of a man that looks eerily familiar. His dark hair matches his eyes, equally inky black. His nose is sharp, his brows set in a perpetual frown- that wasn't there 20 years ago. All at once his younger self floods back to you in memories you'd rather forget, and your chest tightens at the sight of Aaron Hotchner standing in front of you.

"I am," You nod once, "How may I help you?"

He seems just as floored by the sight of you as you are of him. Evidently, he hadn't remembered your name, not that you're surprised. He falls silent, eyes flooded with nostalgia, and his partner, a broad-shouldered man steps in when he doesn't.

"Uh, I'm Agent Derek Morgan with the FBI, and this is Agent Hotchner. we're looking for this man." He slides a photo over the counter of your cafe, a man you recognize having spoken to only hours prior, "Have you seen him?"

"I have," You nod, keeping your eyes firmly and pointedly off of Aaron, "He came in a few hours ago. He was- weird. He kept asking if he could make his own coffee. Like- come behind the counter and do it himself. He said no one else could make it right."

"What did he do when you refused?" Aaron pipes back up, and you study the picture instead of meeting his eyes.

"He knocked that table over," You point to the now right-side-up table, "It had some woman's drink on it, and a baby's bottle. And of course he didn't offer to mop up the spills. He just stormed out."

Agent Morgan nods, solemnity written on his face, "Alright, thank you for the information. Is there any chance we could get a look at your security cameras?"

"Of course," You step aside to let them pass, something you'd been asked to do twice in one day, and they file behind the counter towards the kitchen.

"They're behind the stoves," You call as Agent Morgan parts the curtain, "And one door past the bathroom!"

"Thank you," Agent Morgan calls, already headed for the room. Agent Hotchner lingers, and your stomach drops.

"Y/N," He calls cautiously, "Do you recognize me? We've met before."

"We've more than met," You scoff, "I don't think I could forget you if I tried, Aaron."

He tries taking it as a joke, rolling with the gut punch you've given him, "I wasn't sure. I've aged poorly, at least since we've last seen each other."

"You'd think I'd be the one stuck with frown lines," You grumble, flicking a crumb of what was probably a blueberry muffin off of the counter while avoiding his eyes.

"I'm glad you're not." Aaron murmurs, speaking to your back, "Y/N, I'm sorry for the way I treated you back then. I'm- a different person now. I was irresponsible and self-centered in college, and I'm sorry that you fell victim to that."

"I'm sure you wouldn't make the same mistake twice," You hum, noting that the pressed suits and neat hair are far different from the man you'd known in your Youth, "But I don't think I'd give you the chance to this time around."

He pauses, and you hear Agent Morgan in the back room, fiddling with your camera system. Finally he nods, you see it in your peripheral vision, "I understand. Um- thank you, for your help on this case. We're a lot closer to catching him with the footage I'm sure your cameras caught."

"I'm glad," You nod, "He was an asshole. Trust me, I've met a few before."

The comment stings like a whip, burning his cheeks and stabbing at his chest. He deserves it, or maybe past Aaron deserves it, but he wasn't lying. He's different now.

"You have. And I'm sorry. Really, I- I wish I could go back in time. And not take that money. And not make that bet. You were worth far more than money, and you still are."

"I appreciate your apology," You admit, finally glancing him in the eye. It's only for a split second, then Agent Morgan re-emerges, "I never thought I'd get one."

"Me either," Aaron breathes, and you watch Agent Morgan's eyes flicker between the two of you, "Well, um, thank you. For your help. It was nice to see you again, Y/N."

"I was happy to help. It was... nice. To see you too, Aaron. Agent Morgan," You nod at the man, who's studying you like a textbook, "I hope you can use the footage."

"It's perfect," He smiles, digging through his pocket and dropping a rumpled $20 into your tip jar, "Excellent service."

"Ah, thank you," You laugh, leaning against the counter as they make their way out towards the door, "FBI Agents eat free, if you find this guy anytime soon."

"Much appreciated," Agent Morgan grins, waving goodbye as Aaron smiles. It's real, genuine, and something you thought you'd never see again, if the ones you'd seen in your youth even were real or genuine.

"So," Morgan drawls as soon as the doors to the coffee shop shut, "You two know each other?"

"We met in law school." Aaron hums, tone clipped. When Morgan doesn't respond, Aaron admits gruffly, "We went out on a few dates."

"No way!" Morgan whoops, clapping Hotch on the back, "An old flame! Hey, Hotch, you gotta get her back! She said we eat free, head over tomorrow for breakfast."

"She's not interested," Hotch shakes his head, "She wouldn't be. Things ended... poorly."

"Aw, it's nothing you can't fix," Derek reasons, "Twenty years later? Hotch, I'm telling you, you gotta go see her. I'll bet you twenty bucks you can get a date with her first try."

Aaron tastes the bitter, metallic blood that coats his tongue from the puncture in his cheek. He stops dead in his tracks, hearing the ghost of his frat brothers in Derek's ill-timed statement.

"Hotch?" Morgan realizes he's stopped walking, glancing back at his Unit Chief with a frown, "You okay?"

Aaron takes one, two, three deep breaths, then buries his self-loathing deep inside, where it's lived for years and only recently bubbled back up to the surface.

"Don't say that." He orders, tone sharp and leaving no room for argument, "Stop. I don't want to talk about it anymore."

This time it's Morgan that stands frozen, dumbfounded, while Hotch powers on down the sidewalk. He reaches the SUV, storming to the driver's side door and slamming it behind him so hard that the car rocks.

"Jesus," Derek mumbles below his breath, "Garcia, you're gonna have a lot of digging on your plate to figure this one out."

[sunnylands-world]

Red possession

Pairing: draco malfoy x female reader

Summary: your cycle is ending and that means you're feeling needy and distracted. Who better to fix it than your boyfriend…

Word count:1’889

Warning: fingering,mean draco [not really it's more degrading], choking, period sex [it's the last day], p in v, soft draco, possessive draco and reader, let me know if I missed anything

Universe: Harry Potter

A/n: "guess who's back, back again, Sunny's back tell a friend" 🎤 😂💓 no but seriously hopefully this one makes you guys love my writing again since people had requested something like this awhile ago 🙏🥺

You read the warnings if you continue to read. I'm not to be held responsible.

Comments, reblogs, and inboxes are appreciated and motivational

(⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠³⁠˘⁠)⁠♥(⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠³⁠˘⁠)⁠♥(⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠³⁠˘⁠)⁠♥(⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠³⁠˘⁠)⁠♥(⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠³⁠˘⁠)⁠♥(⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠³⁠˘⁠)⁠♥(⁠ ⁠˘⁠ ⁠³⁠˘)

Being a girl was something you hated...

There were probably countless reasons, such as childbirth, but the most annoying aspect of it was the constant bleeding. Every. Fucking. Month.

It was pretty much the end of your cycle now though, and Draco had been spoiling you rotten. You had enough chocolate right now to give away to a village of children and that's not an exaggeration, you had bars stacked in a fridge he also bought for this occasion. He even got a personal chef! When you were on your cycle, you had moments where food wasn't a thought. Then you'd eat a little, and soon you'd eat more, but even then, you felt like one more plate wouldn't hurt.

Draco had you in his room today. Draco is currently beside you, shirtless and wearing black boxers. He was reading a book to you, but every word he said was like whispers in a forest because you were distracted.

"Why does it seem like I want to devour him? Has he always been so attractive? Am I getting closer to him?"

"Are you alright [name]?" Draco announced.

"Yeah, yeah of course. Why wouldn't I be? " You laughed and Draco let out one as well but he sounded nervous.

"Because you're squeezing my arm like you're terrified, surely my reading isn't that bad," he said, looking at the grip you had on his arm.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I just... well, I'm distracted," You muttered, letting go of his arm, feeling a little guilty for it.

“By what, darling?” He inquired, putting the book down and turning his focus on you.

"You," you whispered, and you could see him smirk.

"I'm sorry, what did you say? I didn't catch that,” he teased and you shook your head, you always knew your boyfriend was cocky.

"I said you're distracting me," you repeated, playfully. You looked into his blue eyes, which were like a storm above the ocean, and they were darkening.

His gaze was intense as he chewed on the inside of his cheek.

"Why is he looking at me like that?"

"I think I could fix that," he announces first before he gets up and heads to his bathroom, leaving you confused.

When he comes back with a towel, you realize what he has in mind.

"Wait, just let me use the bathroom first," you say quickly, heading into the bathroom. You pray quietly because you're just spotting. You open the bag you brought to Draco's, grab the wipes, and do your business before washing your hands. Draco's eyes meet yours once you open the door.

“Come here,” he states, and you walk over hesitantly.

Upon reaching him, his hands gently grip your waist and the pads of his thumbs rub circles on your back.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, as he stands over you.

Your cheeks turn crimson, and you say "Thank you."

He cradles your face, kisses you softly, and you become engulfed in him, kissing him back while your hands wander to his waist.

The desire for more causes your heart to race and you whimper against his lips.

"I've got it, baby," he assures you as his hand slides under your shirt, causing your breathing to slow, and you feel the familiar touch of the silver ring he wears. His hand slides up higher along your soft curves and you feel the sense of possession in his touch as he delicately squeezes you.

The kiss grows stronger, his tongue slips past your lips and yours moves with his in a passionate tango that makes you moan softly.

Your own hands find themselves on his back as you feel the familiar desire spreading like wildfire in your belly. You're unsure whether he's teasing you or taking his time, but you want more and you want it now.

“Please,” you beg and he chuckles.

"So needy," he says teasingly before pulling your shirt off.

“I fucking love it” he grunts looking at your breast with starvation and he pushes you back, not enough to injure you, but enough to catch you off guard and make you gasp falling on his mattress. Draco's gaze softens as the breeze from the room hits your skin.

Are you feeling cold, my love? He asks, tucking your hair back before stroking your cheek.

"Just a bit," you say, and he smiles.

“Under the covers” he states.

You do as asked, and he does the same, moving underneath them with you before he's back on your lips. Because you're so turned on because of hormones, you grind against his hips between your thighs and he's trapped by your legs around his waist.

He groans, his lips moving along your jaw only making it worse with his soft kisses on your heated skin. You moan softly, faced with a high.

You tug at his platinum hair and take into detail how soft it is. How his body is pressed against yours, brushing your nipples as he moves to kiss your neck. His tongue darts out and licks your skin, prompting you to tighten your grip on his hair.

“You're so responsive, so sexy” he whispers before he sucks and licks a bruise onto your neck. He grinds his hard length into your panties, brushing your clit and making you wetter. Your whimpers and moans like music to his ears that he could play on a loop.

He growls as he releases your neck and kisses your collarbone once before disappearing under the covers. He holds you down, branding your waist, with the pressure of his ring as he kisses and nips at your breast.

He whispers "fuck" as he sucks on your nipples. You writhe, eager for him, feeling his tongue flicker and his teeth nipping at your breast until he stops.

He lowers himself, resulting in the blanket following him as he pulls your panties off, tossing them to the side so he can look at you while his fingers glide through your slick folds before he slowly pushes them into your entry.

"So wet and warm," he groans, pumping his fingers in and out, watching you moan softly with a dark hunger gaze. You wither and buck your hips as he picks up the pace curling his fingers just right to hit the spot inside you to have you weak in the knees like you're never gonna walk again, and he doesn't stop, he just goes harder and deeper as you arch your back moaning loudly.

When he hears the wet noises from your pussy as it latches onto his digits, begging to release, he removes them and makes you whine, almost teary-eyed.

“Shut up,” he growls and you bite your lip.

He knows you so well...

He observes and shakes his head.

"God, I'm in love with you," He groans when he takes his boxers off, and your eyes glow with excitement as his cock, slaps against his abdomen, just as happy to see you.

Had you not been so desperate to have him inside you, you would have sucked it like there is no tomorrow.

"It's alright, baby. You'll be home soon."

Draco crawls back between your legs and rubs his tip repeatedly through your wet lips and you swear he whimpers before plunging into your velvety walls, making you moan softly as he seat's himself inside you.

He won't admit it, but he's just as needy for you. He couldn't tell you how many times he's been hard without relief because nothing satisfies him like his girl.

Fuckkk, that's good,” he moans, his head falling back as he shudders.

Your cheeks are heated as he leans forward, resting his hands on either side of your face.

Holding your gaze, he begins to gently and slowly thrust forward, causing your lips to part in a silent cry. Your breath practically stops as he glides so easily inside you, as though you were made just for him, fooling your senses and riddling you blank with every teasing thrust. As he leans forward, making you shiver, his warm breath ghosts over your skin.

“That's it darling, let me in,” he whispers, his accent clear as day.

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you hear the creaking of the bed as he picks up the pace, making you moan a little louder and grip the sheets.

He's playing with your pussy, whispering the right things, and kissing the right spots to make you relax and become comfortable, all in order for him to go faster, harder, and deeper.

"Draco, please," you beg as your eyes start to roll.

He growls, "Look at me when you ask for something."

As you meet his eyes, you moan, "Harder."

He knows exactly what you want, so there's no need to ask twice.

As he smirks, he sits up, and those blue eyes lock on yours. He wraps his hand around your neck, pressing lightly, and slamming into you, while you choke on air and pathetically moan and mewl.

As the headboard hits the wall, whoever is on the other side is forced to listen to your pornographic sex while he thrusts into you like his pleasure is more important than your own.

He watches as your legs begin to shake and your body becomes possessed with pleasure. You know that leaving his room will cause you to feel embarrassed.

He allows you to breathe better by releasing your neck, as he fucks you without mercy, ruining you for anyone else.

“Mine,” he growls.

His eyes say it all, his forceful pace says it, you're his girl and this is his pussy.

His cock slams into your pussy faster than it can throb or pulse and you almost beg him to slow down, but this how you like it, hard and possessive. When you can feel your walls begging him to stay inside you as you try to clench and his thrust are so hard and deep you know he needs you too.

He pants, and groans, his own body nearly shaking.

"You feel so good," said in unison, in thought..

You'll always be his, even if you try to escape nobody will fuck you like this, so if you try to find someone else you'll be left unsatisfied.

As you near the edge, he kisses you, tongue and all making you moan softly as you tug his hair.

You can't tell who wants who more with the way you're both making out, and thrust so powerful that somehow your poor little cunt still weeps for more until you can't take it. He finds your hands interlacing your fingers grounding you.

“Be a good girl and cum for me” he whispers, and as you cum lost in bliss and overwhelming pleasure he follows, moaning that he loves you.

He collapses against you, breathing heavily and you wrap your weak legs around him, stroking his hair, affectionately because he's vulnerable like this.

He hums softly in response as you feel your sweaty, sticky skin against his and you inhale your passion in the air while you catch your breath.

“Still distracted?” he says, finally looking at you, you shake your head with a lazy smile.

“Wanna take a bath?” he asks softly

“If I can walk,” you say sarcastically and he chuckles.

You don't have to walk, because he'll carry you, you're his…

(⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠❤(⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠❤(⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠❤(⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠) (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠❤

©Sunnylands-world this belongs to me therefore you don't have the right to do anything with my work or ideas without permission.

Nice thought, reblogs, and inboxing is appreciated and motivational ❤

[charliesgoodboy]

2010-2011. ʙ. ᴋᴀᴜʟɪᴛᴢ

#🖇️𝓀𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝑒𝓎𝑒𝓈 𝑜𝓃 𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑒

ᴀɴᴅ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ,💎

𝘪’𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶

𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬. . .🌙

𝓼𝔂𝓹𝓷𝓸𝓼𝓲𝓼: you love eye contact, need it even. growing up you were told eye contact is respectful. it applies to bill as well.

𝐓𝐖: mirror sex, degration, submissive bill(still topping), reader being snappy(and bossy), overstimulation(cumming too much), smeared make up, begging, size kink(?), unprotected sex(i think)

# bill kaulitz , who was aware he could talk up a storm. once you got him started he wouldn't stop unless you gave a hint and even then you'd need to give a few more hints for him to get it. but for you? you were perfectly fine with it. as long as he was looking at you of course. at times people would say it was intimidating the way you would stare right at them, making them not want to speak with you but what could you do about it? it was respectful to the person who was speaking, and if they weren't looking back at you what was the point of the conversation. yet regardless it was fine with bill as long as he could keep talking.

# bill kaulitz , who would understand the nervousness people would get when speaking with you. you wouldn't get 'mad' or anything of the sort yet he felt like a child when you would re direct him if he wasn't paying attention if you were speaking. "and then..bill," "hm?" "look at me when i'm speaking to you." your eye brows would raise as you'd give him a look. the conversation really was interesting he just got a little distracted. his mouth would feel dry with the way you'd look at him. at times you would stop talking completely and just stare— almost glare if you weren't having their eyes on you. it wasn't narsisitic, just respectful.

# bill kaulitz , loved teasing you at times. purposely not looking you in the eyes, loving to watch you sometimes move positions to have his eyes on yours. or when your hand would lightly squeeze his chin turning his head back to maintain the contact, and the way you would simply keep talking just gave him a lustful feeling he couldn't control even if he wanted to. it was as if you would chase it.

# bill kaulitz , who would let out breathy moans next to your ear with each thrust on feeling the warm insides of you. his eyes catching yours and the way they had been filled with pleasure, the way they would roll back, or look at his movements mirroring through the glass like object. he would get all shy and nervous, leaning his head down into your shoulder while moaning your name over and over again. the intoxicating feeling of your body would have had him on his knees for you if he wasn't in this position.

# bill kaulitz , whose make up would be all smeared as the dark eye liner would trickle down his face, he wouldn't stop with the "oh god, please i can't look up right now— 's too much.." and the way he would look in defeat..you just had to see it, had to see how pathetic he looked it was all the more arousing and erotic for you.

# bill kaulitz , who would whine at the feeling of you making him cum again. you just felt too good and you wouldn't keep him from doing so..as long as he looked at you. your little rule wouldn't slide with him at all, and each time he would usher the words— 'i'm cumming..gonna cum fuck..' regarding you barely being able to form words you'd tell him to look at you through the mirror as he did it. the way his face would contort into more pleasure as his bottom lip would catch between his teeth while his eyes would roll back, a few more thrusts being given as he felt himself release himself inside of you. he loved looking at your face as well, your thighs trembling as your body shuddered as you'd have to be held up a bit by bill as your body felt like falling asleep from the feeling. he could get used to this little 'look at me' thing, of yours.

#tagging: @tokio-motel @evieskiesss @iheartheoustiders (also please let me know if you wanna be on this tag list as i am updating it)

remember: most of my fics are now gn. if you would like a afab/female fic or amab/male fic or any type of request please dm me due to my inbox malfunction.

[starburts-addict]

Never Again

Pairing: Yandere!Vil x afab!Reader

CW: Pregnancy ment., Dead beat Vil, implied accusations of tampering with pretoection, kidnapping, parents being shitty and disowning their pregnant kid, heavily implications of some actually tampering with protection, just not talked about, Reader is not Yuu, not proof read, drugging(?) But it's just Vil using a handkerchief he cast a curse on beforehand

NOTES:

[S/N] = Son's Name

[Y/HC] = Your hair color

[Y/N] = Your name

Honestly this was based off a dream sorta, so it's probably shitty and ooc. It was a late night writing practice tbh.

This wasn't supposed to happen. Not at all. It is your graduation day and right now you're panicking in the bathroom. Two weeks ago, you and Vil decided to spend a night with each other to destress. You both even went extra lengths to make sure nothing would arise from that night. Now here you were, having a breakdown over the fact you were pregnant with his child. He would never let this slide. You can't keep it from him though. After the ceremony was done with, you approached Vil and asked to talk to him in private. You told him about your pregnancy to which he scoffed at and said that he wanted to do nothing with that thing. He called the baby a thing. A thing! You held back tears. You didn't really have any strong emotions towards Vil, he was your friend, you thought he would at least help. He wanted nothing to do with you and the baby. Even accused you of having to do something with it. You both argued, but in the end you stormed off crying.

It's been eight years. You gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. With Vil's eye color, but with [y/hc] hair. When you initially told your parents, they left you at the ceremony. You ended up not telling anyone and you didn't have any means to get back to your hometown. What did you end up doing? Staying at Sage Isle. You started to work at two jobs, one at a restaurant and another at the local library. You did everything you could do to ensure [S/N] had a good life. You didn't need any help from Vil. You were both happy and at some point, you met a guy named Leo who lived In the isle. He moved for school and he was back a year after you had graduated as he had stayed an extra year for a longer education. He helped you out for seven years and in the fifth, you both ended up falling for each other and started to date. 

It may not be perfect, but it was perfect to you. This life was perfect. Even with all the blemishes it has. You would do nothing to change anything… So why did everything have to take a turn for the worse? You heard Vil was shooting part of a movie in the Isle. You avoided him. You made sure you avoided any setting he was at. You made sure that Vil didn't see you at all so as to not upset him, you and especially [S/N]. One day, Leo and your son were shopping for groceries for your shared home. Leo had to step away to answer a call from wor, and you were keeping your son entertained until you heard your name being called out by a familiar voice you'd hope to never hear in person again. Your fear raised as turned to see Vil. Your expression was fearful for a split second before you had to keep a straight face.

“Hello Schoenheit.” You said to him nonchalantly. “What are you doing here?” Vil asked coldly. All your fear washed away and was replaced by rage, but you kept it hidden. “I live here, I'm shopping with my kid and partner.” “Aren't you supposed to be in [H/C]?” He doesn’t know, nor do you care if he did or not, but  you did if [S/N] knew. You turned to him and smiled. “Go with Leo, I'll be there.” You said, hesitantly he followed your request and you turned to face the man who practically shared the blame of ruining your life. “If you must know, they disowned me. If you're here to mock me, you're better off leaving me alone. Especially since you constantly have paparazzi. You wouldn't want to ruin your reputation would you?” Vil sneered and came close to you. “It's better if we talk in private then. Meet me at the docks at ten at night.” You rolled your eyes as he walked away. You wouldn't end up going.

How foolish were you?! It's almost ten and you ended up going to the docks. You told Leo beforehand as he took care of [S/N]. You both were hesitant about this decision, but you ended up arriving like an idiot. “You did arrive.” You turned to see Vil with a smirk. “Wipe that off your face. What do you want? I want to get this over with.” Vil approached you and came closer. “I did some investigation… I know you aren't happy, let me propose this. Let's get married. Don't you want a good life for [S/N]?” He said. Your blood boiled as he put a hand on your shoulder. You swatted it as he finished speaking. “Don't you fucking speak to me as if you care. You know nothing about me. I am very happy with my life. If anything I'll be happier than you ever will be.” You both argued for a long while before in the heat of the moment, Vil couldn't keep the facade up he held. “You aren't supposed to be happy! You're supposed to be sad and come running to me!” He yelled. You were confused was an understatement. “What's that supposed to mean Schoenheit?” 

There you go again referring to him as his last name. He hated that, but he had spilled a piece of information he wasn't supposed to. He was furious at himself, but he can't dwell on that. “I rejected [S/N] so you could depend on me. I wanted you to know you needed me. You weren't supposed to have a good life. I was supposed to rescue you. Leo came into your life and ruined everything.” You were pissed off by this revelation. It can't be true he's bullshitting. “Stop fucking around Vil.” “I'm not messing around my dear. I never forgot about you nor my son. I love you [Y/N].” You were pissed off. He isn't telling you the truth, or at least the full truth. You were lost in your thoughts and anger that you failed to realize Vil getting closer. You snapped out of it as soon as you felt his arms wrap around your waist as he covered your mouth. With a cloth. It wasn't chloroform. He used something completely different. You passed out almost immediately. “We'll live happily as intended… just the three of us…” Those were the last words you heard before your consciousness slipped away. 

You will live as intended, happily with him. 

[slvt4lanadelrey]

Nothing but a game; a game I'm still willing to play | Wednesday Addams

Warnings: swearing, arguing, blood, Wednesday Addams, Xavier.

Part One | Nothing But A Game.

Part Two ~

Part Three | Nothing but a game; a game in still willing to play, if you'll let me

She stared unblinking.

Her hands were wrapped around her dress, standing awkwardly in your door way. She bit her bottom lip, wondering what she should say.

"Bianca, do you mind?" Wednesday mumbled, shamefully talking into the room. Bianca glance at you, then shuffled out of the room after getting your tight nod.

Bianca glared Wednesday out as she passed, storming out of the room; assuring the door slammed behind her. Wednesday was left to stew in the middle of the room, her teeth grazing her bottom lip in thought.

"Can I explain?"

You slumped down onto your bed, the mattresses sqeaked in objection; making a cringe worthy nose that scratched your brain.

You hummed, fiddling with the rings that were decorated on your fingers. Wednesday strode through the room, coming face to face with you. Considering your face was tilted down to her; she cupped your chin: using her index and thumb, she tilted your head up; forcing eye contact.

"That's better." She mumbled, keeping her fingers wrapped around your lower face. You blushed, on accident.

"Why are you here, Wednesday? Xavier's probably crying for you." You whipped your face away from her cold fingers, moving further up your bed. Wednesday tucked her dress in, sitting down on your bed.

"Y/N, I- It wasn't what It looked like."

You laughed dryly, gritting your teeth.

"How famous of you. Quoting every fuck boy ever." You quipped, face swelling with anger. The raven haired girl infront of you sighed, awkwardly staring at floor.

"I suppose. But i am being honest, I made a promise didn't I? I would never break such a vow" the dark haired girl infront of you asked, situating herself on her hand as she looked at you.

"I don't know Wednesday, would you?" She groaned at how stubborn you was being, she wasn't used to someone not bowing down to her every word.

"I would never."

You didnt give her the attention, sliding off your bed. You shrugged your coat off your body, slamming it down on the floor.

Anger festered back into your chest, seizing every thought that bloomed within the moments Wednesday was staring at you through doe eyes.

"You know, if you would have only just told me that you didn't like me. Or hell, you could have said, 'hey, Y/N, I don't want to go to the Raven with you anymore', shit it would have hurt but it wouldn't leave be feeling so hopeless like I do right now." You practically howled, your face flushing red; the memory of you slamming your fist into Xavier's face still fresh.

"God, I made such a fool of myself." You cried out, slipping onto the desk chair beside you. Wednesday stood up, un-creasing her dress before advancing over to you.

"I did want to go to the dance with you?" You hissed at her words. Wednesday was always a cold, and unforgiving girl; the person standing infront of you was riddled with insecurities, scared, almost mourning at the thought of you leaving them.

"Then why did he say that." She stared, blinking away the strands of emotion that flashed in her eyes.

"He asked me to go with him-" the confession was enough for you to storm onto your feet, chest to chest with the women who destroyed your heart.

"I told him no, Y/N. But in a destroyer, when i get somthing that's good i ruin in." She wanted to break down, she wanted to plead with every fibre of her body for you to listen. You was already gone, hands in your hair as every moment with Wednesday flash through your mind.

"You played me like some sad game." You laughed, wiping away the tears that drenched your cheeks. You sniffled, humming into the air. "Lika a fucking fool."

Wednesday flinched at your words, her face scrunching with distaste. She made a play to hold your hands, single handedly watching as you spiraled.

"I would never do that. I wanted to dance with you, I've wanted you from the start, couldn't you see? I didnt chase him, I chased you. Y/N, your a lot of things but your not dumb."

You gulped, looking down at the brown wooden floor.

"I feel betrayed."

Wednesday cupped your cheek, placing a small kiss on your cheek.

"I am so deeply apologetic, I can only hope that one day you'll forgive me. Xavier is nothing, an absolute burden compared to you. You, Y/N, are the very darkness I seek, the monster that calls my name when im scared. Your my everything-" Her words blended together. You was left to stare into her chocolate pigmented eyes, the dusky shadows of her irises bleeding into your own. Her lips moved, indicating she was talking. Her shallow pink lips moved, etching closing to your own.

She kissed you.

She hadn't kissed you before; you had kissed other people through, a small act of physical contact but it felt so different, so right. She held you close, pouring every thought, every emotion, every image that scattered across the both of your minds into the act. Her lips thrashed against your own, holding you in a feverish kiss.

"Do you understand?" She looked at you, nothing but admiration and honesty seeping into her expression. Your breath hitched, thinking on your feet; you had no clue what she was talking about.

"I like you. I want you. I'd sooner listen to one of Enid's Pop songs than ever, ever like such a creature. Understood?"

You nodded, silently telling the girl infront of you. She hummed in appreciation.

"Now, let's check out your knuckles. When you heard that crunch, sadly most of it was your hand. Instead of his monstrous face."

Tags:

@ctrlamira

[kaylees-fandomworld]

Imagine being the only person in Rafe's life that can clam him down and make him feel loved.

Rafe was a wild card, you knew that. You knew that there was a side of him that most people were terrified of. However, you had known Rafe for years even before the cocaine took over his life. He had always been a bit wild, but in a way you liked that about him. Of course when his wild behavior became unhinged and erratic it was a bit unnerving.

You had gone to his house one day, a smile on your face, the one that he loved and found comfort in. However, your smile faded when you saw the tall boy pacing in the backyard smacking the side of his head with his strong hands and mumbling to himself.

Any rational person could see that Rafe was angry and wouldn't think twice about walking away. Yet you were still drawn to him. You stepped onto the back patio cautious not to startle him. You weren't scared of him, you knew in your heart he would never hurt you and in truth he never has. But when he was like this, his anger bubbling over the surface he could be unpredictable.

"Rafe." You spoke softly, watching his hands shake and his pacing steps faulter. He stared at the ground for a moment before slowly lifting his head to look at you. When your eyes captured his, your heart broke at the glassy tears that began to form. You caught sight of the red hand print on his right cheek as he brought his hand up to his mouth. He chewed slightly at the skin on his thumb as she looked away from you.

"W-what the hell are you doing here Y/n?" He grunted. You stepped towards him and the angry look in his eyes grew. You weren't sure what happened but you knew it had something to do with his dad.

"It happened again didn't it?" It was the only thing you said before he stormed toward you forcing your back to hit the glass door behind you. It wasn't hard enough to hurt you, but it did startle you. You stood your ground though refusing to let something that you've seen countless times before scare you now.

"You should leave, I...I don't... I don't want to hurt you." He whispered, his minty breath fanning your face. Without thinking your hand moved to his face and he quickly caught your wrist in his large hand.

"You won't hurt me." You whispered back continuing to move your hand closer to his face with little resistance from him now.

"Rafe if I thought that you would ever hurt me I wouldn't have come out here. I trust you Rafe." You could see the original anger simmer to nothing as it now turned to heart ache, the tears in his eyes finally falling down his cheeks.

"Rafe I trust you, and I love you. You could never never hurt me or fail me. Rafe I would do anything for you, and if that means having you snap at me a little when your angry or even push me against the sliding glass door then so be it, because I trust you and I'm not going anywhere." The words warmed him and it didn't take long for him to wrap his strong arms around your waist and bury his face in your neck. Only collapsing to the ground pulling you down into his lap as he cried.

[starlightsearches]

Hi again! Kinky prompts 18 and 32 with Eddie. Because, call it a hunch, but that guy just loves to eat p*ssy

Hysteria

Eddie Munson x Femme Cheerleader! Reader

Requests are always open! Comments and reblogs make my day 💖

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, RC is not a nice person, Eddie is also not nice but RC probably deserves it, smoking, mentions of drugs, infidelity (RC cheats), oral (f receiving), a little anal play, over-stimulation, dacryphilia, some sub-par sex with RC's boyfriend not described in detail, language

You should not be thinking about Eddie Munson right now.

You probably shouldn't think about him ever—Eddie's an unfortunate stain on the social tapestry of Hawkins High—but out of all the times you shouldn't be thinking about him, this is probably the worst.

The acrid smell of sweat hangs permanently in the locker room while your silly little fake moans bounce off the walls, and you wonder if Connor actually thinks he's making you feel good.

"You like that, baby? Huh?" he asks, slamming his hips against yours so hard the locker doors are rattling. So there's your answer.

"God, Connor, just like that, baby."

It's too fucking cliché—bent over in your cheer uniform in a room that smells like balls, letting your boyfriend pound into you after the game when he hasn't even showered yet.

And you're thinking about The Freak.

Thinking about how you caught him watching you doing your high kicks during the pep rally, chewing on his bottom lip the second he forgot he was supposed to be pretending he was bored. Thinking about the way he fucking winked at you when you and your friends were throwing little balled up pieces of paper into his messy hair during study hall, watching him brush the garbage from his curls with ring-heavy fingers. Thinking about the cheeky-ass grin he wore after Connor tripped him in the lunch room, how he'd ignored all the insults and stared you down once he caught his footing, waiting for you to look away first.

It probably wouldn't even be that great. Eddie's whole look may scream that he's into some fucked-up, depraved shit, but he'd fumble as much as the other guys. You wouldn't get any of the things you daydreamed about—ring marks on your neck and hickeys on your tits and as much dick as you wanted in the back of that disgusting van.

"God, baby," Connor groans, "I can feel you getting wetter for me."

"I'm so fucking close,” you lie. Fucking close to flipping your skirt back down and walking away.

He cums, finally, slides from you with a pat on the ass and a "so fucking good, baby" before stumbling off to the showers. He doesn't even ask if you finished.

You press your forehead against the cool metal locker, breathing in the smell of weak disinfectant.

You need a fucking intervention. Or an exorcism.

You need Eddie Munson.

This better be the right trailer.

A storm cloud of mosquitos and moths flutter around the porch light, and you swat at a few of them before knocking again, rapping your knuckles against the screen door again until it shakes.

The inner door flies open, and you jump, but it's just Eddie. You watch him recognize you through the screen, taking in the stunned look on his face and the sloppy ponytail he's tied his hair back into. There's a single strand hanging out, clinging to his skin.

"What are you doing here?"

You rip your eyes away from it, and from the thin dark hairs at the nape of his neck—a part of him you would never have seen if you hadn't show up on his porch in the middle of the night.

Look at you, already learning his secrets.

You drop the thought for the moment, popping a hip and meeting his eyes through the fraying mesh. "The fuck do you think I'm doing here?"

Eddie heaves a sigh, but he still opens the screen door, walking away before you've stepped inside.

"You know I charge extra for after-hours transactions," he says, wandering through the dark trailer, "and there's also an additional fee for assholes."

"I'm good for it," you lie, taking the little details of his living room with hungry eyes. You didn't even bring any cash.

"Sit."

Eddie gestures to the couch, metal lunch box in hand. You can smell the thick, musky weed when he falls into place beside you, but there's an undercurrent of something else—Irish Spring and hard water, a few droplets still wet against his skin.

He must have been in the shower when you showed up. You clench your hands into little fists, pressing your thighs together just thinking about it.

"I've got a couple ounces depending on how much you need, or there are some joints if you don't want to roll 'em yourself—"

He keeps talking, voice deep and droning, striking a sinful chord in the pit of your stomach. It's now or never.

You say something, but not even you can hear it, blood pounding in your ears. There's this look in his eyes when your hand grips him by the shoulder, a soft curse from his mouth on your lips. And then you're kissing him.

And maybe you shouldn't get your hopes up, but this is already better than anything you'd done with Connor. Fingers curling through those same, soft hairs you'd stared at standing on his front porch, his cigarette mouth tastes like mint when he parts his lips from surprise, hand just hovering above your waist. You twist toward him, press your chest to his, the HHS logo on your uniform up against the damp front of his t-shirt. You're about to climb onto his lap, ready to see if you could make any of those fantasies you had a reality.

But he rips away.

Eddie presses himself tight up on the far end of the couch, trying to put as much distance as he can between you in such a small space, looking horrified.

"What the fuck was that?"

You can't help it. The rejection stings, and you bury your face in your hands to hide the hurt, peering out through the cracks between your knuckles. "Ugh, god, you could have just gone with it!"

Eddie doesn't even look like he knows what it is.

"Is- is this some kind of a joke?" he says, surprisingly demanding, hand circling around one of your wrists, yanking it away from your face. "Are you fucking with me? 'Cause that's way, waaaay too far."

"No—" God, he's touching you, harsh, forceful like he is in your dreams, and his hand is warm and your skin is burning and the sting of his grip is making you wet.

"Was it your boyfriend's idea?"

And god damn if that doesn't have you dry again. Nothing like the mention of your boyfriend to turn your pussy into the Sahara. "Fuck no. Connor doesn't even know I'm here."

Eddie doesn't want you to notice it, but that has him relaxing a bit—shoulders falling, his hand dropped from your wrist. "Then . . . why?"

You shrug, pouting. "I wanted to."

You must look like a brat, wrapping you arms in front of your tits as you stare at the collection of mugs and hats lining the walls. Eddie's quiet, drumming his knuckles on his lunch box, fidgeting in away that lets you know he must be thinking pretty hard trying to come to terms with all this.

His fingers still, but he doesn't say a word until you meet his eyes again.

"You hate me.”

It's not a question for him, so it's funny that you find yourself surprised. You didn't hate Eddie—as far as you were aware. Maybe it bothered you that he was so outspoken, so different, so determined to get under everybody's skin.

You hated that it worked on you.

But now's not the time to sort through those feelings. You cross your legs instead, rolling your eyes. "Somebody should tell my pussy that."

"Seriously?"

"God, yes, are you stupid? I want you to fuck me, Eddie. Okay?"

And I need you to be shit at it. That's the part you can't say, obviously, because whether or not Eddie was like the other guys you knew, their egos definitely all bruised the same. There's no way he'd give you anything if he guessed you were just here to convince yourself that your boyfriend is actually better in bed.

And he must not know it, because he seems kind of excited, leaning in, rolling the chain around his wrist. "You're serious about this? It's not, like, a joke?"

"I wish it was," you try to laugh, but it comes out flat.

You're watching him too close, trying to decipher a single thought from the way he chews on the tip of his tongue, slapping his palms against his plaid pajama pants. The wait is already excruciating—and he's guessed as much, because he reaches for a carton of cigarettes off the side table, positioning one carefully between his lips and holding the end over a red BIC lighter until it smolders.

"Okay," he sighs after a few drags, letting the smoke filter out through his nose, "I'll do it."

"Really?"

The word comes out a little too earnest, but you're still locked in on the cigarette, on the gray smoke pouring from his lips. Even if he's just done it to impress you—it's working.

"Yup," he says with a sardonic set to his eyes, "but I've got some conditions."

He doesn't elaborate. You're determined to wait it out, tapping your foot impatiently against the carpet, but Eddie's not budging. The situation between your thighs is reaching critical levels of horny.

"Well?"

He lifts himself from the couch, ready to count his demands off on his fingers as he paces. "Well first, I wanna picture when I'm done with you—"

"As blackmail?" you cut in, like it even matters.

"—as a souvenir," he says, with mock offense, hand over his heart, "I'm not gonna show it to anybody."

You'd have to be stupid to believe him. Unfortunately, you're feeling pretty stupid. "Fine."

"You're gonna keep that little skirt on while we do it—just the skirt—and you don't tell anybody about this."

"Obviously," —you spare him from the words social suicide—"is that it?"

"Almost. Just one more condition."

Eddie moves in close as he takes another drag, his chest towering over you until he's blocked out most of the light in the room, eclipse style. He reaches for the ash tray, tapping a few flakes from the end of his cigarette with his eyes on yours.

"I want you to sit on my face."

You cough on the smoke he expels, cheeks flaming. "Fuck no."

Eddie shrugs, standing straight, arms crossed over his chest, flicking his cigarette to your left. "Then I'm out—door's right there."

Oh shit. That was fast. Maybe you'd overplayed your own charm in your head, but what guy had ever refused pussy when you'd thrown it his way? Especially over something like this?

You feel like a kid with him standing so resolutely over you, like you've been called down to the principal's office, only, you know, hornier.

"Why do you even want it?"

Eddie shrugs. "Saw it in a porno once, wanted to try it."

Oh fucking whatever. You'd roll your eyes if you thought it wouldn't make him kick you out for real. "Can't you just be happy with a blow job?"

"Nope," he pops the p at the end, turning toward the hallway by the kitchen.

Fuck. You've gotten too close just to leave, but the whole idea has got your stomach fluttering with little winged nerves. Connor had never gone down on you. No guy had.

"Eddie, wait," you stand from the couch, following a few steps after him before you lose your resolve, "I'll do it."

He stops at the counter, putting out the cigarette in another ash tray before reaching for the hair tie at the nape of his neck, undoing the ponytail and shaking out his curls. Your knees feel like jelly just watching as his fingers rake through them, catching against a few knots.

"Uh-uh, princess, I'm not the one coercing you into anything; if you don't want to sit on my face then I'm not gonna make you."

You huff, fists tight at your sides. "Fine. I want to sit on your face."

"You gotta say it like you mean it," he tells you, voice sing-song.

God, he's determined to mess with you. It's not like you're against playing games, although you're normally not this unsettled when you do it. With little tremors traveling up from your palms, you reach for him, pressing tight against his soft, lean body until the curve of his back hits the edge of the table and his adam's apple jumps in his throat.

"Eddie," you start, looking up at his surprised face with big eyes, batting your lashes, "please let me sit on your face?"

He's breathing hard, but his lips still curl into a slow, wicked grin. "That's more like it."

He's staring at your mouth, eyes tracing the shape of it. You wonder if he's going to kiss you. You kind of want him to kiss you. And that's scary as fuck.

He doesn't though, and maybe that's worse. Eddie slips past your hold, headed to his bedroom, and you figure you should follow. Watching from the doorway, you take everything in from the dim light of the window—the scary posters and band logos covering the walls and boy clutter everywhere else. He ignores you, tossing his pillows around on the thin bed until he’s satisfied, kicking a couple dirty magazines under the frame before flopping down on the sheets.

"Alright," he says, head resting in his hands, "strip."

You roll your eyes, but at least it's harder to be nervous when you're annoyed. "Charming."

"Hey, if you wanted chocolates and roses you could always gone to your boyfriend."

"He doesn't give me chocolate and roses either," you mumble. And he definitely wouldn't have me sit on his face.

You start with your underwear, since you're not quite ready to be naked in front of him, balling the cotton up in your hands and dropping them on his floor before he can see the wet spot you've left.

"Keep going," he commands, voice gravelly as he slides one hand down his torso, just letting it rest over the bulge in his pajama pants.

Yeah, okay. Maybe that doesn't diminish any of your anxiety, but it does get you a little needier, reaching for the zipper at the side of your uniform and slipping it off.

And it doesn't feel strange, standing in the middle of a space that's so distinctly Eddie, half-naked, skin pebbling against the new cold. His heavy gaze doesn't have you flinching to cover yourself, your skin growing warm wherever his eyes land.

You keep your face pointed toward the ground, listening to the rustle of his sheets as he shifts and then grunts. "Christ, you've got pretty tits."

"Really?"

You know your eyes have gone big and soft when you look at him, total heart-eyes for no god damn reason. You just can't help the way his words have you feeling, because Eddie Munson thinks something about you is pretty and—for some reason—that matters to you.

"Don't let it go to your head, princess," he tells you, patting the mattress beside him. "C'mere."

Your feet pad across the worn carpet, stepping around discarded t-shirts and Hostess wrappers before climbing on top of the bed.

His hand wraps your waist, soft fingers and hard ring backs indenting your skin and urging you into his lap. Eddie catches his tongue between his teeth, totally focused on your chest as he cups a tit in each hand, thumbing at your stiff nipples.

His touch is deliberate, the pressure behind his fingers perfect and your head falls back, hips landing against his, shifting greedily when you feel the hard press of his cock.

And maybe you're just high on the feeling of finally getting what you want, but you think Eddie might be fucking hung.

Not for long though, his hands leave your tits and he grips you roughly around the waist of your skirt, pulling you away from the soft flannel and the tent in his pants.

"Easy, now. We had a deal," he whispers, breaths coming out jagged until he gets a hold of himself; you try and fail to do the same.

Big eyes wide and deep enough to get lost in, Eddie shifts between your thighs—more and more of himself disappearing beneath the white hem of your skirt until you're straddling his chest instead of his hips, his hair splayed wildly over the sheets.

The rest of the distance is on you, sliding forward one knee at a time. You can feel him breathing open-mouthed against your core, condensation from his breath collecting in your bush.

"You can put some of your weight on me," he whispers, turning so his lips brush against your thigh, wet mouth slicking your skin.

You already feel yourself sinking, like your body is getting heavier with every moment that passes, like he's increased the pull of gravity. He's got no headboard, so press your palm flat against the wall, trying to resist.

"I won't hurt you, will I?"

His fingers curl around, holding you in place; you can fee the corded muscle of his forearms against the backs of your thighs.

"Would you care if you did?" he asks.

Yes. But you'll let him think what he wants.

You settle slightly, experimenting with the feeling of it, his cheeks pressed to the insides of your thighs, the tip of his nose resting against your mound, nestling into the hair there until your toes start to curl. His mouth stays closed, lips positioned chastely against the split between your thighs. Lower, he urges, with a tap of his hand.

You think fuck. You think okay.

When his tongue parts your sticky skin, you're not thinking at all.

It should have been obvious to you before, but tongues are softer than fingers, and Eddie's is gentle and dexterous as he tastes you, circling your folds and tracing over your slit before he finds your clit, stroking back and forth, slow and measured. He hums, maybe a question, and the feeling of it sends a shiver up your spine.

"Shit."

Eddie's grip tightens, pulling you close enough it's got to be hard for him to breathe, not that he seems to care. Your vision blurs at the edges, palms slick and arms weak, hips shifting involuntarily against his mouth. There's a pinch against your skin as his fingers squeeze you encouragingly, urging you on.

You let your hips grind down on him, the way you'd sometimes grind on Connor's thigh before he got tired of just kissing and pulled his dick out. But that feeling could never compare to this one, Eddie's tongue flat against your clit like he's saying use me, princess. Go on.

"God, Eddie," —you hope he can't hear you from this position, hope you're talking to nobody but the walls— "don't stop."

Maybe he can hear you, because his pace increases, kissing messy and open-mouthed against your core. Lips gliding over your skin, his tongue prodding just past the tight circle of muscle and dipping in and out of your dripping cunt, you feel sparkling, electric, intense.

A whimper breaks through your lips when he tugs at your clit, sucking hard.

"Just- fuck, just like that."

You don't have to tell him twice, or once. It feels like his tongue is everywhere, all at once, massaging your clit and stroking your lips and wiggling deep inside your hole.

A hand shifts under your skirt, and you hardly notice—until you feel his fingers digging into the meat of your ass cheeks, his thumb pressed tight against your puckered asshole.

"Jesus Christ." The feeling has you leaping out of your skin at the pressure, the pleasure that comes along with it. Eddie hums deeply, pressing deeper, the tip of his thumb just breaching your hole, playing you like you're some kind of toy and he wants to see what all the buttons do. Maybe he's making fun of you, but you could not give two shits about that.

You're losing control of your limbs, trying and failing to find something that will keep you tethered to the real world. Without thinking about it, your fingers thread through Eddie's hair and tug.

Eddie likes that. The hum he lets out travels through your core, hits some shining point inside you and makes it ring. There's no stopping it—you feel the building pressure in your gut, the tension in every part of you.

"Gonna cum."

He knows. He knows and he's working towards it, humming and sucking and licking at each singing part of your skin. He knows and he wants it so badly, nose circling your clit and the whole lower half of his face must sticky with his own spit and every drop of cum leaking out of your puffy cunt.

Eddie knows that you're cumming for him and he laughs when you do.

It's like lightning, like a sound wave in your chest breaking you materially apart, like the eye of a storm and Eddie's at the center of it all.

He doesn't let you pull away, doesn't let you come down from it. Arms gripping at you too hard to break, he keeps your pussy against his face and he thrusts his tongue inside your weeping hole until you feel like screaming.

"Eddie. Eddie."

You could be warning him. You should let him know that your legs are going to give out and if he's not careful he'll suffocate, but everything that comes out sounds like worship.

His head shakes beneath you, tongue back on your clit until you’re seizing, fucking possessed.

Maybe Eddie Munson is into devil worship.

You fall over at some point, but he keeps going at it. You're slumped against the wall and his pillows, staring drunkenly at the ceiling while he cleans your cum from your skin with the flat of his tongue and fat tears drip down your cheeks.

Eddie finally pulls back with a satisfied sigh. "Was that good, baby?"

His voice is mocking as he leans down inside your field of vision. The ends of his hair glisten wetly in the yellow glow from the window, and he's smiling as he wipes you off his lips with the back of his arm.

But you're not really here, so you can't really appreciate how pretty he looks, whole body buzzing as it tries to process what's just happened to you. Trying to understand how you could still want more.

His palm is hot against your cheek, brushing some of the tears from your face with his thumb and it's still there when you see the flash of a camera and hear the polariod whir.

You launch into a sitting position, dizzy, steadying yourself with a hand on his thigh. Eddie's sitting on the edge of the bed, shaking the picture out while the edges darken.

"What're you doing?"

Eddie's squinting at the photo, trying to catch the slightest hint of what the developing image might look like before he grows impatient, waving it between two fingers. "You gotta shake 'em if you want them to develop faster."

"No," you stop the movement with a trembling touch, about to sob with how empty your cunt feels, "I thought- you said- aren't you going to fuck me?"

Eddie snorts. "Why would I do that, baby?"

There's a stinging in your eyes; you're actually crying again, weak little sobs on your lips. "But, but you promised."

"Don't be like that,"—he cups your cheek in his hand again, pity in his eyes, "I will fuck you, like I said I would—eventually."

Fuck. You could have guessed that this would happen, if you weren't so stupid. If you weren't so mean. Finally getting what you deserved.

"But . . . my boyfriend . . . "

You don't know what you're going to say about him. It takes you a second to even remember his name.

"Baby," Eddie grins, pressing a sloppy kiss to your cheek, "I think this little pussy is mine now, but he can take a turn if he wants."

find part 2 here!

[octomae]

Goggles and Rider with the prompt: "You can admit you're hurting, you know? It's okay to not be okay."

GORAI <3 as a note, i think the way i write goggles is... different than how people usually write him? mine is more down to earth so uh. lol, be aware of that.

-

He found Rider sitting on the railings outside the Squid Sisters' studio, up on the second floor viewing platform in the plaza.

It was overcast and hazy grey. It was supposed to rain, and most inkfish weren't willing to risk being caught outside. The few who remained outside walked around with umbrellas hooked over their arms. When Goggles stopped to look, Rider didn't have one.

"Hey Rider," Goggles greeted as he drew closer, offering a small smile. Without waiting for a response, he sat down on the platform, letting his legs hang freely off the side of it and resting his arms on the railings Rider was sitting on. "We missed you in turf today."

Rider grunted, but said nothing. He wasn't a talkative person by any means, but he always had at least something to say. The silence now felt wrong.

Goggles looked up at him, taking in the sight of him. Rider wouldn't even look at him, and wasn't even making any efforts to be his usual standoffish self. He just looked upset, in a way that only he could be.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Goggles asked.

Rider huffed out a deep sigh from his nose, and finally, turned his head to look down at Goggles.

"Nothing to talk about," he said, a terse edge in his voice.

Goggles stayed silent at that, looking out over Inkopolis plaza. He wouldn't hesitate to be his usual silly self if Rider wasn't so off. Somehow, he knew acting like everything was fine would serve to tip this delicate situation into something worse.

"That's okay," he said instead. "I can just... stay here with you."

"Do what you want," Rider grumbled, which was about as close to a yes as he was going to get.

Goggles smiled again, scooting a little closer and resting his chin on the fold of his arms. He let his feet swing idle and free over the edge of the platform and gazed down at the plaza. There was hardly an inkfish in sight by now, which probably meant it was going to rain soon. Sliding his phone out of his pocket, he checked the forecast.

"It's about to storm," he said, pocketing his phone and lifting his head. "Specs told me it would before I left home this morning but I forgot so I didn't bring an umbrella."

Rider grunted again, and said nothing.

"Hey," Goggles said, scooting closer again. Gently, he nudged his head against Rider's leg. "If something's hurting you, I won't judge. It's okay to not be okay."

Rider lifted his head to look down at Goggles again. The stoic expression on his face was cracking, but Goggles didn't point it out.

"Just... had a shitty morning," Rider finally said, his voice quiet. "Didn't feel like being around a lot of other people after that."

Goggles nodded, but didn't press for any more details. Instead, he let his head rest against Rider's leg, staring down at the plaza. "I get it. We all have bad days. But, I've always got my friends to get me through it, because I know they care more about me being okay than anything else."

"You suck at being subtle," Rider said, and Goggles shocked himself with a laugh. The yellow-green inkling huffed out a sound that might have been amused, shaking his head. "I'm surprised you even tried."

"Well, I thought you wouldn't like it if I just said stuff the way I normally do," Goggles protested, still giggling despite everything. "I can be blunt if you want."

"I thought being blunt was the only thing you knew how to do," Rider said dryly, and Goggles laughed harder.

"Sorry," the blue inkling wheezed, wiping at his eyes and grinning up at Rider. "I just care about you a lot."

Rider's face twisted up into something funny, and he quickly turned his face away. Goggles had already seen the yellow-green tint in his dark cheeks, though.

"I care about you," Goggles nearly sang, and watched the pointed tips of Rider's ears turn that same yellow-green color too. He nudged the other inkling with a grin and a giggle. "And I'm totally here for you if you're ever feeling not okay."

Rider sighed, lifting a hand to rub at his cheek. He still wasn't looking at Goggles, but Goggles could imagine the flustered expression on his face.

"Thanks," Rider murmured, the tension in his shoulders fading away. He didn't say anything else, but this time, the silence felt right.

Goggles pulled himself up to stand, offering a hand to Rider. "C'mon, we should probably get inside somewhere before it starts raining."

The yellow-green inkling looked at him, a tint of ink lingering in his cheeks. It made the hearts in Goggles' chest flutter.

Rider reached out.

[sam-glade]

A Lesson to Learn

Characters: Anthea Setting: Sunblessed Realm WC: 740 CW: injury (ice burn)

The child is thirty-five.

"You will learn one day," Master Mikkel has told them a few years ago, when they were too preoccupied with everything within them to mind the world without, "that not all inconveniences should be avoided."

The child nods in agreement at the memory of his words and swallows tears, and tells themselves that the first shearing is a formal function and so their appearance must be perfect, and reddened eyes are not perfect. That on this particular day, they mustn't be an inconvenience, since it wouldn't please Father.

They wash their face with cold water that splashes the fine white linen of their tunic. The fabric clings to their chest, and they avert their eyes from its shape reflected in the mirror. They suppose they should change the tunic now, but this is the longest one they've found, brushing their calves as they walk, like a proper skirt would be.

They turn away from the dresser and stroke their hair – it's already combed into waves like the grain on the ebony desk in Grandfather's study. It's long enough to reach the tunic's hem, and it will be a shame to cut it, but that is what the tradition demands, and that is not going to be their biggest regret. The hair will grow back.

They give in and braid it into a fanciful pattern one last time.

It takes her further three months to tell Master Mikkel that he was right, and she was wrong. That she regrets not talking to Father sooner. That she wants Master Mikkel to be there when she does. He has been the only person who hasn't called her by that name even once in that time.

~*~

The Young Prince is fifty-six.

She stares at the grey of the blade against the grey of the stone bench, and at the red and pink on it. The sight doesn't phase her, even though it's her skin she's looking at, skin that has been on the palms of her hands.

Her hands are numb, the pain is dull; that isn't why she clenches her jaw. She tilts her head back against the brick wall of the garden and looks at the sky. Its vastness makes her vision swim. Warm hands that are wrapping white strips of linen over the wounds pause, and Master Mikkel's voice reaches her like through a down pillow:

"Light-of-my-Sun, please stay with me."

She rolls her head against the wall. Her eyes slide over the bench, and the wine-red roses, and the emerald leaves, until they find his face and fixate on the two distant storm clouds that are his eyes.

His eyes flicker back to her hands, while his nimble fingers fasten the bandage. His voice is like velvet when he asks if it's too tight, if there is any pain or discomfort. She shakes her head; the movement makes her queasy.

She recognises the way his eyes narrow and his eyebrows form two straight lines that point to a small vertical crease at the base of his nose. She has to recognise it, since he will not say a word of disapproval to her anymore.

"I have not learnt the lesson yet," she translates. "I should have let my Sword materialise sooner."

He shows her how to carry the Sword on her shoulder and goes with her to Father's study.

~*~

The First Prince is one hundred and ninety-one.

She stands in front of Grandfather's ebony desk and bows lower than the etiquette demands – and he understands the gesture. She glances past him, at the large window and her reflection in it, distorted but recognisable, and at Master Mikkel's next to hers. She looks back to Grandfather before their eyes meet, since she cannot appear dependent on her teacher.

"I wish to marry General Erya, Light-of-my-Sun, acknowledging her status and history."

She holds Grandfather's eyes with her chin raised and her hands relaxed at her sides. She does not ask for permission nor approval – and as predicted, Grandfather offers it anyway, in a shaking voice. He expresses best wishes, and asks about the white flower, and wipes a tear from his wrinkled eyes while she tells him that she expects to receive it on Monday.She uses that moment when he isn't looking at her to meet the reflection of Master Mikkel's eyes. I have learnt the lesson, she wants to tell him. He smiles with pride.

[moa-broke-me]

I know that everyone on this site hates Caleo, and I've already written about it in Te Amo, Ti Amo, but I can't get the thoughts out of my head unless I post them. So here's why I, specifically, hate the ship:

Like there's the obvious 'literal thousands-of-years-old goddess/teenage boy' dynamic, which is very squicky to me, personally. But we're gonna let it slide for now because I don't want this to devolve into accusations and harassment. Absolutely no hate to anyone who DOES ship these two btw, I'm sure you're all fine people with just as well thought out reasons for why you like the ships you like.

What I will NOT let slide, however, is that, in my opinion, their specific backstories and personalities have the potential to react with each other in the worst way.

Let's start with Leo:

Leo basically hasn't had a stable person or thing in his life ever since his mom died. So not only is he 'insecure' in the sense that he has low self-esteem, but is also LITERALLY in a constant mindset of insecurity, instability, scarcity and risk. He has MAJOR abandonment issues, is convinced that nobody really cares about him all that much and that they're all eventually gonna leave him, and as such, develops a goofy, overly confident, overly flirtatious persona in order to cope with all his inner strife and his constant feelings of 'not being good enough'. He has a bit of a jealous streak as showcased with how he treated Frank in the beginning. He's also probably not one to walk away from a relationship of any kind (be it romantic or platonic), even if he's being treated badly, because at least that way, he won't be alone.

Now, let's go over to Calypso, who we admittedly don't have a lot of background for, and who a lot of people really dislike. I can see where you're coming from, but she's spent thousands of years in isolation, imprisoned on a desert island, trapped by the same curse that also makes her fall in love and get her heart broken, over and over again. So I think a LITTLE sympathy is in order. And it's only when he comes into the picture, for the second time, that she's able to be free. But... What happens when she gets off that island? When the curse is lifted? My speculation is that she would hate, absolutely loathe, feeling like she's being forced into something. Well, nobody likes it, but for her, it would be an especially horrible feeling. And what of her feelings for Leo? Were those, too, a trick of the light?

So what if she looks over at him, and she realizes she doesn't feel the way she thought she did? Well, she'd think, I can't leave him now. It would break his heart. I owe my freedom to him, the least I can do is play along.

But her disinterest seeps through anyway, and Leo takes notice. He starts to exaggerate his persona, become louder, sillier, more aloof. Trying to drown out the voice in his head telling him she's about to leave, and that if he'd been better, she wouldn't, that once again, he's not good enough for anyone.

She doesn't understand why he's acting this way, and gets increasingly irritated by him because she feels stifled. She feels... Trapped.

And one night, the resentment boils over and she tells him she wants to break up.

He's devastated. He breaks down pleading with her not to go, not to abandon him, but she sticks to her guns. Nobody is ever gonna trap Calypso ever again. Not with magic, not with debt, not with guilt. She storms out, and never looks back.

But Leo looks back. He can't stop looking back.

He still loves her.

[kyugens]

Being inside his brother's apartment and preparing dinner is as normal as breathing. It should feel as normal as breathing, he's done this for years, but it doesn't.

The reason he's here isn't like the many times before. His brother confided in him on his new relationship status several weeks ago. His reaction can't be labeled as anything other than angry and slightly volatile. Yeah yeah, he's trying to work on that...

Now he's trying to mend the distance he created, apologize without having to say it's an apology. Though he's prepared in case he'll have to say the words. He's beat down his pride in the last few days for the possibility.

"I can't take this anymore," he announces, breaking the mundane silence. He sets down his knife and stares down his brother. "So why Kakashi," he voices, "out all of people." Fuck it, he'll just be straight with it.

unprompted – always accepting!

Patience is a virtue – one Itachi does not possess and, quite frankly, has refused to work on for most of his life. The prospect of waiting for things to work themselves out is absurd to him, or even to let blatant disrespect slide? He's done it before, it sat heavily on his stomach, and his tongue bled with the sharp words he had to keep behind the teeth he couldn't bare. He hates it, and the world he grew up in hated it too – that's why they'd teach their children how to hone their skills from a young age. So they could shape the perfect moment to strike with their two hands. Waiting meant getting killed more times than not. This time, waiting meant the feeling of a dull knife ripping through his heart lasted longer, and the bitter taste in his mouth wouldn't ease no matter how much honey he added to his tea. He couldn't rush his brother, he couldn't rush this – his acceptance of his relationship with Kakashi. In fact, after so many years of watching Sasuke grow into his own person, he learned there was hardly anything he could push the younger Uchiha into doing. So for the last month, Itachi was forced to sit on this and wait. The image of Sasuke storming out of his apartment replayed on a loop in his mind, as did his own voice asking Kakashi to leave right after that. Now, though, he was at the kitchen table with a warm cup of tea in his hands, watching the tiny particles of herbs floating around in a beautiful and hypnotizing dance as he, once again, waited. The question caught him off guard, and dark-brown irises rose in search of Sasuke's face and any confirmation that he hadn't heard him wrong. “  Why, you ask...  ”  The realization that he never spared a moment to think about why or how he had feelings for his partner... It hit him like a train. He pondered, trying to think back to the moment he realized he loved Kakashi, but his head was empty, and it felt like thoughts were purposefully escaping his grasp. Itachi continued to look at Sasuke for a while longer. A thick silence hung over their heads before his eyes roamed the room until they stopped at the sink, where he found Kakashi's mug – a smile pulling his lips.  “  Would you believe me if I told you it snuck up on us?  ”  Us – because he was fairly certain Kakashi hadn't planned this either. Them – because he understood Kakashi's struggles with loss and resentment. Because Kakashi wasn't big enough to fill the holes in Itachi's soul, but when they were together, he didn't feel like he was missing anything. And he knew it was the same for Kakashi. “  Kakashi... He sees me for what I am. No matter how hard I try to bury my ugliest parts, to paint them with a pretty color, he recognizes brokenness, and he's not put off by it. He accepts it, but furthermore, he helps me embrace my flaws wholeheartedly as well.  ”  He knew this could be a difficult concept for Sasuke to understand. Itachi had been his role model for most of their lives, after all, but it wasn't blind bias anymore, he hoped.  “  We are very similar people, Sasuke, and yet... We couldn't be more different. Every day I learn something new about him, and while discovering who that man is, I also learn more and more about myself. Things I never thought I could be or feel.  ” With a sigh and a faint feeling of warmth spreading across his face, Itachi looks at Sasuke again. There was nothing he wouldn't do for Sasuke – nothing.  “  If this is going to be a problem between us, Sasuke... I will stop seeing him. I will. You are my brother, and you are my most precious thing. I don't need any of that at the expanse of having you in my life. All I ask is that you consider it carefully.  ”

@tempestflames

[therealrpalmas]

The Cleverest Lies

Time did its weird trick again, became once again a meaningless concept. The pain was bad, the press of minds near hers, in various stages of pain, agony, despair were worse. Only Marelynah's mind was a beacon of quiet, a still pool amidst the chaos, the eye of the storm. Mercutio fought the urge not to latch onto her mind and dive in to escape the flood of sensations around her, but stars, it was hard.

She became aware that Marelynah was talking to her, just loud enough to be heard over the din. "It just occurred to me that we know practically nothing about each other. Well, I know your name and you like larping. And you know mine and that I like airsoft. Don't worry," she added with a quick look around. "People in here don't really care. We all know how things can get, out here." She paused and took a bottle out of one of the pockets of her voluminous coat, unscrewed the top and took a swig. "Which reminds me, we found your backpack. It's here with me. Pretty mangled, but then, so are you."

Mercutio stared at the bottle. Her thirst, forgotten until now, returned with a vengeance. She made a faint, croaking sound.

"Oh!" Marelynah exclaimed. "You want something to drink as well? I'm not really sure… wait, let me go and ask. I'll be right back." She jumped up before Mercutio could say or do anything and was gone, lost in the crowd moments later. No, Mercutio wanted to protest, stay here! She tried to keep track of Marelynah's mind, but she couldn't concentrate, and it was too crowded. She closed her eyes, and even though she was parched there was still enough water in her for one tear to slide down from under her eyelid and roll down.

Come back, come back… She had no idea to whom this thought was really directed. Marelynah, Ciadan, Nightstar… All gone. And she was left in the worst place where she could possibly be: the emergency room of a hospital.

"Shh, shh, don't cry, I'm here, I'm here now, I'm back. I told you I'd come back. I wouldn't leave you here before, I won't leave you now."

She forced her eyes open again, blinked a few times, focused on Marelynah's round face. She had a cup in one hand. A thin rubber tube apparently served as a straw, for Marelynah stuck it gently in Mercutio's mouth. She sucked with an effort and was rewarded with a few drops of water. Then a few more. She swallowed them eagerly.

"Your turn next." A sharp voice which cut effortlessly through the din. Mercutio could just move her head far enough to one side to make out a tall person clad in thick, protective gear which even covered the face who had appeared in the room and pointed at Mercutio, Marelynah or both. "Get her in here."

"Alright, here we go." Marelynah set the cup down and vanished from view, though Mercutio could still sense that her mind remained reassuringly close. A jolt, the room began to move – no, stupid, she was moving, rolling. Each tiny bump made her moan.

Through the door, through what appeared to be a corridor, also packed with people. Another door. A thick-walled room, no windows. The tall person stepped in view again, now flanked by two others wearing similar outfits. Mercutio couldn't see her faces, but from their minds radiated clinical detachment with a touch of contempt.

"Let's see what we have here," the sharp voice said. The one on her left stepped forward and quickly cut through Mercutio's clothes. The tall one stepped forward. Cold fingers in touch-sensitive gloves probed her body quickly, leaving jabs of pain in their wake. The tone of the tall one's mind changed abruptly and she backed away, then moved forward again even quicker. "You… what kind of abomination are you?"

"Abomination?" Marelynah sounded shocked. Almost offended. She moved back into Mercutio's vision, but further away, almost hugging the wall. "Are you contaminated?"

The tall one laughed harshly. "You don't have to worry about that. No contamination ever produced something like this." Her mind still held that detachment, but now it was mingled with fascination.

"What do you mean?"

"Tell me the truth now." The sharp voice sounded cold. "Where did you find her? Lie to me and I'll walk away and leave her to die."

Marelynah twitched. It wouldn't have surpried Mercutio if she left instead. She half turned towards the door, reached out… and withdrew her hand. "We were in the cordoned zone. Trying to get out. One of the tremors.. there was a landslide. She got in it."

"I have the feeling you're leaving out a lot. Did you know her before you entered the cordoned zone?"

"No…"

The tall woman grunted. Then she abruptly focused on Mercutio again. "Can you talk?"

She focused what strength she still had left. "Yes…" A faint whisper was all she could produce. But in this room it was enough.

"Where did you-" the tall woman began.

Behind her, Marelynah's eyes suddenly opened wide. "She said she was an alien!"

"What?" The woman turned back with such ferocity that Marelynah took another step back, pressed herself against the wall. But she continued, tremulously.

"We thought she was joking. Play-acting. She was wearing a fancy suit and all. Like from a movie. Fornication."

The tall woman gave that grunt again. "Those are the cleverest lies, when they are disguised as the truth."

(To be continued.)

[casspurrjoybell-27]

Claimed by the Beast - Chapter 2b

*Warning Adult Content*

Kitten - Part 2

- Knox -

The Fallen Angels' Clubhouse sits on a fifty-acre property owned by Gavin Barnes, President of The Fallen Angels.

He's outside to meet them when the van rolls to a stop.

Knox opens the double doors, dragging Everett along with him as he exits.

"Who wants to tell me what the fuck happened tonight at Club Inferno?" Gavin's dark eyes travel from person to person.

He's a big and intimidating bastard, ninety percent muscle and covered in tattoos.

His most impressive feature is his beard.

It's thick and hangs several inches past his collarbone.

He secretly obsesses over it almost as much as he does his wife.

"You," Gavin says, pointing at Finn. "What the hell did you get us into this time?"

"Pres, I..." Finn starts.

"He wouldn't be here if it weren't for me, so I take full responsibility for what happened," Knox interrupts. "We should discuss this further inside."

Gavin nods, then points at Everett.

"Who's the kid?"

"He got caught in the middle of the shootout. He was close to the Jackal who died," Knox answers. "I'm going to get him cleaned up and then question him some more. In the meantime, give this to Mason and find out what's on it. I don't know if it's encrypted, but he can hack his way into anything."

Knox tosses the USB to a confused Gavin.

"The Jackal tried to get rid of it right before he died. Might have some important shit on there that we can use," Knox clarifies.

"Good work. Meet us at church when you're done with the kid."

Gavin grips Finn by the back of the neck and then drags him inside the clubhouse.

Knox follows but he walks a different path with Everett.

"I told you everything I know," Everett cries. "P-please don't kill me. Please just let me go."

"No one is going to kill you, kid. Stop your damn whining, okay? It's giving me a fucking headache."

Knox tightens his grip on Everett's arm, pulling him upstairs and into his minimalist-styled bedroom.

Shutting the door behind them, he pushes Everett into the bathroom after collecting a washcloth, a towel and a t-shirt that could fit two Everett's inside of it.

After passing them over to the boy, Knox crosses his arms and leans against the door frame.

He can't remember the last time he had someone in his bedroom.

This situation would be way less intense if he made Everett use the bathroom at the end of the hall.

But then that runs the risk of someone walking in on him mid-shower.

Wait.

No.

That isn't Knox's problem.

The fuck does he care?

"You'll feel better once you get all that blood off you," Knox says, his tone a lot softer than before.

Everett scoffs.

"I'll feel better once you drop me off at my house."

"That ain't happening tonight, so your options are to sleep with a dead man's blood on you, or strip and get washed up properly."

"Well, I'm obviously doing the latter but not with you standing right here."

Knox laughs, scratching at his beard.

"I don't know you, therefore I don't trust you enough to leave you alone. So, yeah. I'm going to stand right here and fucking watch your every move. Now get to it."

"This is so messed up," Everett mutters.

He drops everything on the closed toilet seat before stripping down to his skimpy red thong.

Knox whistles in appreciation.

"Go to hell, pervert."

"Were you planning on getting lucky with that dead Jackal tonight?"

Knox doesn't shy away from checking Everett out.

The boy is attractive and slender with a little bit of muscle and not nearly enough fat on his body.

A hell of a lot smaller than what Knox typically goes after.

"Tiny as you are, I'm sure he would've ended up breaking you in bed."

"Guess I'll never find that out due to your psychopathic friend gunning him down."

"His name is Finn."

"I don't care what his stupid name is. I hate him and I hate you."

Everett storms into the shower and slams the sliding glass door shut.

He removes his underwear and tosses it over the top at Knox.

They land at his feet instead of on top of his head.

Knox chuckles.

"Smartass."

[jinxthequeergirl]

For Those You Lost

Simon Kalivoda x reader

Summary: you are forced to mourn for your friends and loved ones, and when you are given the chance to exact revenge, you don't hesitate.

Warning: SPOILERS FOR FEAR STREET 1666 basic horror violence, death, swearing, Implied that Heather was the Readers Older sister.

Consider this a short sequel to "As The World Caves in" in which i change the narritive so the reader is the one exacting revenge on Nick Goode

~~~~~~

You Wish you would have just died that night, even wishing you would have died in the hospital. Instead you where walking around while not only your sister but best friend person you loved where all dead.

Now you where expected to give a speech in front of the whole student body.

It was all fake, the Sunnyvaleiers didn't give a rats ass about your family and friends, they didn't care that you lost the first person you said "I love you too."

No. They where just there because they had to be.

Walking up to the podium seemed to move in slow motion, as everyones eyes followed you, some bored, some annoyed, others not even paying attention. Not a single one shared a mournful look with you.

"Hello fellow ShadySide students and Staff, and hello Sunnyvale." You started having to clear your throat to get rid of the tears that theatened to spill after catching a glimps of Simons Photo in the back.

"We are here today to mourn the loss of three people, Some of you knew them...most...didn't their names where Heather, My...sister,Kate and...And Simon...My bestfriends..." You looked up feom your crumpled note book paper and out intonthe sea of bored highschoolers.

Why hadn't you died that night?

Why hadn't you died in that hospital bed?

Why where you the one standing at that potium?

Why did you have to find the right things to say about your dead friends and family, When no one there would ever really know the truth?

Why?

Why?

Why!?

You froze the thought of Simons face right before he sacrificed himself for you flashing through your mind.

"I can't do this..." You muttered.

"FUCK YOU! FUCK ALL OF YOU! YOU DIDN'T EVEN KNOW THEM! YOU DON'T EVEN CARE!" everyone seemed to be intrested now that you where screaming. "FUCK THE NEWS TOO, SIMON AMD KATE WHERE MORE THEN DRUGGIES YOU ASS HOLES!"

You crumpled up the paper throwing it somewhere and storming off, brushing officer Goodes hands off of you as you did so.

That night seemed so far away, now your blood boiled more as you stepped on the gas of The stolen cop car after hearing what Deena had just discovered. "Y/n! Slow Down!" Josh warned.

"Y/n..." Deena said softly putting her hand on your shoulder. "We're gonna stop him." She said in a soft confident voice. "Damn right." You said slowing down just enough to not get the three of you killed, but kept going fast enough to reach Ziggy and Devise a plan.

In the mall the five of you worked hastily to set up the trap for Goode, Ziggy glanced up at you ever now and then before finally coming up beside you.

"I'm assuming you two where close?"

You glanced up at her before quickly looking back down to tie the knot you'd been working on. "Yea...you know...mom was...well it was complicated...Heather...Heather took care of everything for me....I...being alone with our mom now..." Ziggy placed a hand on your shoulder. "I get that..Listen If we make it out of this...and you ever need someone...I Wouldn't mind the company."

"Seriously?"

She nodded, before you could say anything Josh called out too you. "They're here!" Everyone turned to the doors seeinv the nightwing killer come in hastily. You caught sight of the axe in his hand and stared for a moment.

Ziggy grabbed your hand and pulled you behind her to hide. "Ready?" She asked.

You nodded and ran to your battle station.

Everything was going fine, the plan was working you felt confident This would work You Felt like Fred Jones or some shit.

Then he grabbed Ziggy, staining her Sweater With Deenas Blood making her a Target. "Fuck..." You looked over to Josh who shook his head no at you knowing what you where about to do.

You ignored him and took off sprinting across the mall floor to the two of them tackling them to the ground. "Run Ziggy! Run!" You Yelled As Goode now wrestled you.

You gabbed your elbow into his stab wound, causing him to cry out and let you go. You got up running to Ziggy and Josh waving you to them. you barely dodged the skull mask killer ripping the sleeve of your neon stained shirt as you slid under the store gate.

He crashed against it wiggling it attempting to get to you.

"Here have it!" You yelled pulling the hoodie off and sliding it under the gate.

"You ok?"

"Yea..." You panted watching Nick Goode run to an Exit door, Deena Not to far behind. "That shit, I'm going after them." You said.

"Hang on." Ziggy said. "You can't just go out there...they might try to stop you." She said gesturing to the swarm of killers.

"I'm not just letting her go alone!"

Everyone went quiet. "I have an Idea." Martin spoke up eyeing the water guns you carried.

"Hey!" Josh yelled catching the killers attention.

He pumped the water gun before shooting them, ziggy and martin joined him, with in seconds they turned to eachother and started attacking. "That should buy everyone some time." Josh said to you.

"Stay Alive!' You yelled before Taking off in the direction Deena went stopping to stoop down and yank the Night wing killers Axe from the ground.

You followed a trail off blood down the hall and around the corner. "Deena?" She jumped turning to you, ready to stab you. "What are you doing!? Go back!" She said taking your newly obtained weapon.

"No! No way!" You said.

"Listen Ever since the other night I can't help but feel like...like I should be dead too...I Wish I had Died On that Floor with Simon." You choked rubbing away tears. "But... Simon...Simon Sacrificed himself to make sure I was Still Alive And Goode? He killed my Fucking sister...he killed simon." You took the Axe back from Deena.

"So I'm coming with, And I'm going to make sure he gets what he Fucking deserves. " You bit out.

She stared at you for a moment before nodding.

"Then Lets Kill this Asshole." She said with a affirming look. You gripped the axe tightly in your hands as you followed behind her through the tunnled.

"Goode!" She yelled hoping to scare him out from whatever hole he was hiding in.

You stopped nudging her to show her the bloody hand print on the walls

"Where the hell are you coward?"

Something jumped out from the dark taking deena down. "Sam!" She cried as sam attempted to stangle her. You tried to pull the girl off but failed, something caught the corner of your eye. "Y/n...Goode...Go!"

You grabbed the axe and took off after him you got close enough to swing at his legs knocking him down. "Wait wait please..."

"Begging? You think I'm gonna show you mercy?" You asked pinning him down with your foot. "Did you show mercy to my sister? To my friend?" The man babbled hoping to find a way out of this.

"Thats what i thought." You raised the axe and brought it down on his chest.

"This is for Heather you fucking Dick!" "Cindy Berman, Sam and kate!" You cried chopping at him with each name.

You gripped it even tighter before bringing it down on him one more time "For Simon."

You stood above him panting making sure he was gone before you heard coughing. "Sam...Deena..." You ran back to where you left them and found them hugging. "It worked?"

Deena looked up at you with teary eyes. "It worked."

"Good...good lets get the fuck outta here." You said pulling both of them up.

That night seemed like a blur really, it still hurt not having the comfort of your sister or simon around.

But Ziggy was there for you like she promised.

"Hey, I have something for you." Ziggy said as you entered the door of her house.

"What is it?" You asked dropping your bag.

"Deena dropped it off, she wanted to give it to you but she had to get going."

She held out a red hoodie to you. "Where...how did..."

You took it from her holding it up. "She wanted me to tell you it was of course washed, like a lot." She laughed. You pulled it on wrapping it around yourself, it didn't smell like him anymore but that was ok.