#that whistle haunts my dreams

[irisintheafterglow]

gojo sends every meme with that josh hutcherson edit he comes across btw

[tsutsujimor1]

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[seonghwaddict]

to taint your soul — choi san

in which apparently even the daughter of an exorcist is not safe from the corruption of an incubus.

incubus!choi san x exorcist’s daughter!fem!reader. genre. smut, angst, southern gothic vibes. warnings. barely any plot, religious themes, religious guilt, swearing, explicit sexual content mdni, corruption, loss of virginity, masturbation (f.), referenced dacryphilia, fingering, referenced oral (f.), manhandling?, multiple orgasms, rough and gentle, big dick!san, creampie, marking, nicknames (angel, pretty girl, sweet girl, sweetheart). wc. 7.3k. rating. mature.

lilo’s notes. i should do more mythological characters!ateez cuz i enjoyed writing this and the lamb and the wolf. the demonology book/text here is partially from The Encylopedia of Demons and Demonology by Rosemary Ellen Guiley, but i made up some parts for the sake of the story. THIS FIC DOES NOT REPRESENT ANY OF MY OPINIONS AND I DO NOT INTEND TO OFFEND ANYONE.

listening to. burning desire, lana del rey // gibson girl, ethel cain // lilies, ethel cain & mercy necromancy // ptolemaea, ethel cain // heaven, taemin

masterlist.

you were cursed from the moment you were born.

the idea of being cursed or haunted by anything isn’t one you think about often, considering yourself protected by your father’s profession. at least one dusty bible on every bookshelf in the colonial monstrosity that is your home and crucifixes hung all around, it seems to be common sense that an exorcist’s home would be the safest place to hide from the dark.

unaware of it all, you used to let yourself be tucked into your lace-trimmed bedsheets as he pulled you to sleep with stories. tales of fallen angels and possessed souls became the lullabies of your childhood. admittedly, you were quite terrified of it all, but as you grew older and wiser, you realised there was no way they could get to you. but really, it was wishful thinking.

you weren’t aware of who your father used to be, nor were you aware of the debt he owed to a particular demon.

the dreams started the night after your twentieth birthday, vivid and unsettling. a man haunted them, equally as terrifying as he was handsome. tall and clad in dark silks, his whispered words and hungry eyes intrigued you. his touch, though a figment of your imagination, sent shivers down your spine, foreign yet infinitely alluring. you’d wake up with a jolt, panting, flushed cheeks and tingling skin as the dream stuck to you like cobwebs. your father passed the repeated dreams off as nightmares and you failed to notice the flash of fear cross his features.

one night, however, you were changing in your room. dimly illuminated by multiple candles you set around since you didn’t like how bright the large chandelier was, you held a dress in each of your hands, standing in front of the mirror as you held the clothing to your body in an attempt to figure out what to wear. you didn’t notice at first, but a figure lurked in the shadows of the bedroom. you didn’t notice the shift in the atmosphere or the flicker of the candles.

but soon, a soft sigh sounded through the room, so soft it could’ve been mistake for a whistling breeze outside your window. goosebumps prickled at your skin as you tensed, refusing to move at the oddly human sound. staring at yourself in the mirror intently, you caught a glimpse of a familiar face in the reflection of your mirror. your breath hitched as you fixed your eyes on him, afraid that if you blinked, he’d disappear.

you watched him. watched him take slow steps towards you as he smirked at the sight of your wide, fearful yet infinitely pure and innocent eyes. you convinced yourself you were hallucinating, the disturbingly realistic sounds of his footsteps as much of a figment of imagination as his being. but as he stood right behind you, a coldness swept over your skin and you flinched as his breath fanned against your bare shoulder. whipping around in surprise, you yelped softly at the sensation. but he was gone, and you were alone. breath erratic and eyes stinging, you scrambled to move a wooden cross stand from the top of your dresser to your bedside table.

after that you grew paranoid, always looking over your shoulder, sleeping with at least two safe and reliable candles lit. each time you walked through the hallways of your own home, you kept your gaze fixed on the ground, refusing to look at the portraits lining the dark walls as you thought they were watching you. the tiniest of sounds made you flinch and break a sweat, squeezing your eyes shut and muttering prayers, only to find out the sound came from either of your parents.

the constant state of fear and anxiety left you tired, deciding if your father wasn’t going to do anything about it, you would. on quiet feet, you crept through the halls at noon (you were too scared to go to that room at night), a rosary wrapped around your hand with a dainty little cross hanging from your clenched palm.

you father really was a well-known exorcist, often to go on trips within and beyond the country to treat what doctors couldn’t; demonic possessions. as a symbol of his successes and a means to prevent others from coming in contact with whatever a demon may have attached itself to, he brought home trophies and locked them in a little storage room in the basement. of course, he took many precautions—crucifixes all over the inside and outside, sprinkles of holy water here and there, he’d have your local priest come over and bless the area himself. despite all this, you never once stepped in, partially because your father advised you not to, mostly because you were completely and utterly terrified.

as you descended the creaking wooden stairs, a chill ran through you, the hairs at your nape standing in alert. maybe you were scaring yourself more than the room scared you. the dust tickled your nostrils, making you force down a sneeze as you cleared your throat. the wooden floorboards extended into a narrow hallway, lined by cobblestone walls. you rarely came down, in fact, you couldn’t remember the last time you were there, the surroundings seeming so foreign. there were only two doors, one leading to a storage closet and the other to a slightly scarier storage closet.

you stared up at the ominous door, standing tall and intimidating, a golden cross embossed right in the centra, doorknob dark and rusted. with shaky hands, you fished a copper from the hidden pocket of your plaid gown. it half-hearted a few sloppy attempts until you got the key in, squeezing your eyes shut as you force yourself to finally turn it.

another chill ran through your body as you push the door open weakly, cracking an eye open to look inside. had you come at night, you wouldn’t have been able to see anything, the only source of light being an elongated shirt window lining the top of the right wall, an inch below the ceiling. three shelves. one on the right, one of the left, and one down the middle of the room. the middle and left one were lined with various objects. you walked between them, looking but not daring to touch. the objects were quite diverse, you realised. dolls, clocks, little statues.

you took your time to get to the shelf you needed. along with these objects, you father also locked away any books he had that were related to demons in any way. most of them were confiscated from cults, some of their were from his personal collection. he claimed they were to protect you, and you didn’t completely disbelieve him. taking a deep breath before letting it out in a sigh, looking at all the titles. your fingertips ran over their leather bound spines, feeling the wrinkles and grooves. you knew there would be a lot, but as you looked upon the entire shelf, you estimated a good hundred-fifty books.

he organised them by categories. summoning, excommunication, identifying. identifying. that’s what you needed. you took a closer look at the section, nervousness fading briefly to be replaced by a faint taste of hope.

the encyclopaedia of demons and demonology.

deciding there had to be something in there, you pulled it out. the book itself was simple, bound in black leather. the cover was nothing special, just the title and author. by the looks of it, you’d be here for a while, seemingly at least three hundred pages long. you looked around the dark room, a small wooden desk was tucked into the corner though not a chair in sight. with a soft sigh, you walked over on weak knees, apprehensive about what you’d find in the book.

despite your father’s profession and all the bedtime stories, you never came in contact with demons or the spirit world. setting the book on the desk, you opened it to the index, having to squint to make out the text. but the next time you lifted your eyes off the page, a brass candle holder was tucked into the corner of the table.

you blinked. there was no way that was there before, but maybe you had just missed it. the pale yellow candle stood half melted, the hardened wax forming veins that ran down the sides and pooled in the brass bowl.

you held your breath momentarily before beginning to read through the a to z list of demons and other dark entities and their descriptions. you only skimmed, lingering on any that mentioned appearing in nightmares only to dismiss them when the rest of their descriptions didn’t match with your experience. surprised by just how much there was to read, you felt just a little curious, occasionally stopping to read extracts that had piqued your interest. it wasn’t until you got all the way to section i where something actually seemed to be helpful.

‘incubus—a lewd male demon who pursues women for sex. the incubus and his female counterpart, the succubus, visit women and men in their sleep, lie and press heavily upon them, and seduce them.’

you nearly missed it, continuing your skimming until the description registered, scrambling to turn back the page and reread it.

“oh.” you breathed at the realisation. that seemed to be the most accurate thus far, your finger tracing over the name as you furrowed your eyebrows and continued reading. the next paragraphs detailed how they’re conjured and where the name came from. you read some more.

‘incubi are especially attracted to women with beautiful hair, young virgins, chaste widows, and all “devout” females. nuns are among the most vulnerable and could be molested in the confessional as well as in bed. while the majority of women are forced into sex by the incubi, some of them submit willingly and even enjoy the act. it once was a common belief that women were more likely than men to be the sexual victims of demons, because women were inferior to men and less able to resist temptation.

incubi have enormous phalluses that—’

slamming the book shut, your eyes widened and a deep blush settled over your features, just staring at the cover for a moment as you collected yourself from the sudden vulgarity of the writing. after a moment, you cleared your throat and reopened the page, strategically skipping over the next paragraphs that detailed accounts of intercourse with such a demon.

‘an incubus may form attachments to those whose minds are occupied with dark and inherently sexual desires, those that are impure. one also can be summoned for coital gratifications, or a deal in which one’s first born is ommonly offered to repay their sevices (see: dealing with the demons, page 218).’

but that couldn’t be right. you always made sure to be a good girl, always helped at home. you volunteered to read to children at a local orphanage, always helped with charities and donations, always assisted people where you knew you could, stayed soft spoken and always began your requests with please and ended them with thank you. you kept to yourself most of the time, would never dare to raise your voice at anyone, never had any romantic interest, let alone sexual ones.

admittedly, the dreams involving the man— the demon had you waking up with an uncomfortable stickiness between your thighs. but before that, you never indulged. after that, you never indulged either, instead jumping from your bed and taking an ice could bath to calm yourself from the strange feeling. the temptations were always there and were always strong, but your want to be immaculate was stronger. to be free of sin.

a deal in which one’s first born is offered.

it seemed impossible, almost. you knew your father was a righteous man and your mother a pure woman. but where your mother happily shared stories of her childhood as heart-warming anecdotes, your father only dropped tidbits of his memories despite considering you two to be extremely close. you always chalked it up to him being a little boring or generally not very open. but maybe there was more to it…

“there you go, sweetheart.”

you nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of his voice, pushing the book away from you as you turned around a little too quickly, your knee knocking against the edge of the table.

there he stood, barely illuminated by the singular window as he took slow steps towards you much like the other day.

“so, you’ve finally figured it out, huh?”

each time he took a step, his muscles visible through the loose black silk, you inched away until the top of your thigh hit the wooden table, your hands bracing themselves on it to keep you from collapsing in fear. the closer he got, the more you realised just how attractive he was. broad-shouldered and radiating confidence, his feline eyes roamed over your figure. depite wearing a white gown that reached all the way down to your ankles, you felt so exposed.

tongue swiping along his bottom lip, drawing your attention to the action. he towered over you, making you feel weak and small as he trapped you against the table. your heart pounded against your ribcage and you feared it would break free and fall into his hands, unsure if the warmth on your cheeks and ump in your throat came from how utterly petrified you were or the way his breath fanned over your face like a whisper.

“your dearest father isn’t who he says he is,” he pouted mockingly, coming to a stop inches in front of you, letting his gaze settle on your quivering lips for a moment, “and me? well, you know what i am. and you also know we can have lots of fun if you allow it.”

your lips parted to speak but no words came out, instead opting to press them into a thin line and squeezing your eyes shut as you shook your head. you weren’t completely sure why you wer shaking your head, but if it would stop the incubus from tainting you, it was worth a try.

“don’t kid yourself, princess. i can smell how wet you are.” as if to emphasise his point, he inhaled deeply, leaning forward to ghost his nose over the slope of your neck without touching you.

it wasn’t until he said it that you notice you had been squeezing your thighs together, feeling warm all over and you stomach twisted in knots at the sound of his deep voice. something ached in your lower regions, but you tried your hardest to resist the thoughts.

but a little voice in the back of your head urged you to tilt your head back, to give him permission, to let his hands explore your untouched body. maybe just this once you could allow yourself to give in, to let your knees go weak and worry about begging for forgiveness later.

“all you have to do is drop the rosary.”

you gripped it tighter at the reminder of the protective object tangled between your fingers, fighting to keep your sanity intact. your breath hitched as you felt one of his fingers run along the beads, not daring to come close to the little silver cross or your skin.

“c’mon, pretty girl. drop it,” you heard the smirk in his voice, “let it go and i’ll take good care of you, i can make you feel things you’ve never thought of… i can make you feel alive, wouldn’t you love that? don’t you want to feel the desire? taste the lust?”

“n-no,” you gasped finally, finding your words, “it’s not right.“

he laughed, a low rumble from his chest, “i promise you’ll love being ruined by me,” he said, withdrawing his hand from yours, “i swear to all your precious little holy symbols, i know i can get you to want me.”

he moved closer and for a maddening moment you thought he was going to kiss you. faintly, you wanted him to. to feel the push of his lips against yours, to let his hands snake around your waist or grip your hips to pull you closer. there’s a ring on his index finger, you noticed, silvery and sharp, a symbol you didn’t recognise yet imagine him pressing it against your throat, branding your neck anew until it’s red and faithful. and maybe you crave for him to undo all the things in you that are holy.

“just drop it, pretty,” his breath teased your lips and you almost leaned forward in curiosity, wanting to see how just one kiss would feel, “i know you’re a good girl.”

those words. they’re almost enough for you to give in. how did he know those would strike a nerve, hit you where he knew it would work? not only did all your efforts ultimately lead to the same goal—purity, goodness—but you couldn’t deny the satisfaction you felt from reassurance. if you were an animal, you’d strive to be the priest’s favourite sacrificial lamb. to hold so very still and to bleed so prettily when the knife final comes down, to be reborn and be chosen all over again.

“don’t you get it?” he whispered, “i live inside you the same way you’re bound to live inside me. we’re a moebius strip, a never ending cycle of a snake eating it’s own tail. maybe it will end in destruction, but that’s your dear father’s doing. mutually assured destruction, maybe; you say yes, i’ll ruin you for everyone else, blacken the wool of your fur coat. you say no to me, i will suffer the consequences of not fulfilling a deal. you wouldn’t want someone to suffer because of you, hm?”

your grip on the rosary loosened and let your eyes finally flutter open. from this proximity, you could see every detail of his face and the image seared into your mind.

something in his eyes darkened as his lips curled, a playful smile, a predatory grin. the way he looked at you made you want to combust into flames, to fall to your knees, you skin rubbed raw on the ground as you beg him to make you feel.

“you don’t look so innocent anymore, you know? you’re docile and sweet, yes, but you’re not as pure as you think you are, there’s a little dirt in your pristine heart, a little lustful stain you can’t erase.”

“y-you’re wrong!” you protested, trying to convince yourself he was lying, “i’m good and i’ve always been good and i always will be good and i will not for the devil’s influence.”

“oh, but i’m not,” he pouted mockingly, moving his head back just an inch, looking down at you, “you’re practically shaking, so close to giving in… you’re the most pious girl here, yet you’re so close to sin, so close to me.”

you opened your mouth to continue your protests but flinched as you heard familiar heavy footsteps, looking up at the little window to see the familiar boots of your father about to enter the house after a long day of work. he was out, casting out malicious spirits and demons, and here you were, about to let one deflower you. the realisation seemingly made you come back to your senses, clenching the roary in your hand once more and looking for a way past him.

but… what would you even do afterwards? confront your father, the town’s devout exorcist, for making deals with the incubus in front of you? would he call you crazy, deny everything and treat you like just another one of his clients?

the footsteps were now above you, you could faintly hear him saying something to your mother though you couldn’t quite make out what it was. you’d never been as afraid of anything as you were of your own father, standing right above you, acting like he hadn’t damned you from the day you were conceived.

as if he could read your thoughts, could sense your panic that was completely unrelated to him, the incubus stepped back. his face was unreadable as his glazed over eyes fixated on you.

“don’t worry, sweet girl, i can wait. the longer you resist, the better it’ll feel when you finally surrender,” he gave you a small smile, different from the previous grins and smirks, as he nodded towards the window, “go.”

you could’ve run away the moment he stepped back, yet you didn’t move until he gave you the permission. you didn’t dwell on that fact as you slipped past him and reached up, shaky hands undoing the latch and opening outwards. you attempted to climb up, your arms burning as you tried lifting yourself, only to give up, panting softly from the effort.

“let me help you.” his voice offered, prompting you to look back at him. the seductive glint in his eyes was no longer there, taking a small step forward. “just… put it down, i promise i’ll help you and leave.”

you stared at him for a long moment. there was something so different in the way he looked at you now, suddenly soft and with good intentions. the voice of your father calling your name snapped you out of your stupor, nodding hurridely as you placed the rosary on the grass outside carefully before turning to look at him.

he gestured for you to turn away, your hands finding your hips as you did. the contact made you breath hitched, despite your layers of clothing between your curves and his hands, your stomach tickled with swarming butterflies as he lifted you up. the heat of his body behind yours distracted you for a moment, taken aback at how real he felt, how human he felt, even as he lifted you with ease.

you braced your forearms on the ground, pulling yourself up the rest of the way as he spoke.

“whisper my name three times, and i’ll be summoned wherever you are, ready to fulfill your needs.”

you stayed quiet for a moment, just sitting on the ground as you looked down at him, now able to see his full face clearning from his proximity to the window. “what’s your name?”

“san,” he smiled, “choi san.”

you loked away, up at your house as your father’s concerned voice called out your name again. “i should get going, but–,” you looked down to thank him, only to find an empty room and a sealed window. your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, voiced trailing off, “thank you…”

the first time you touched yourself, it was san you were thinking about.

late at night, your parents fast asleep, a storm ragin outside, but all you could do was think about him. you tried, you really did. you tried to go back in the house and pretend everything was fine, that you had just been on a walk and your flushed face was from the excercise. secretely, all you could think about was him. how you wanted him to show up again—wanted him to make your breath hitch and your heart jump. wanted him to soothe whatever it was that ached inside you; the burn in the pit of your stomach, the spot where your waist met your hips, but most of all between your legs, were it had never ached like this before.

you excused yourself from dinner earlier, went to bed, and tried so desperately to fall asleep. whether it was to forget about it all, or to meet him in your dreams again, you couldn’t tell. you really tried, but haunting thoughts of how his hands held onto you rolled into your mind with images of all the things he could do to you. the raspy lilt of his voice, sometimes soft, sometimes commanding in a way that made your limbs feel like jello at the mere thought of it. his sharp eyes and sharp jaw and such tempting lips. he could have a kind face if he wanted to, yet his toned body, visible and obvious despite trying to hide behind his clothing, screamed sex appeal.

flashes from your previous dreams raced through your mind too. fragments of images where you could feel his hands all over you, his dark hair sticking to his sweat forehead, eyes rolled back from the pleasure he gave himself while you were forced to watch. you never quite gave in in the dreams either.

you tossed and turned in your bed, thighs pressed together so tight you worried you’d have long bruises down your inner thighs the next morning. the new feeling felt much too large for your fragile mind, overwhelming you, making your loose clothes feel suffocating. it wouldn’t leave you alone, wouldn’t let you sleep. mostly because you didn’t want to give the feeling a name, you refused to speak its name, even in your mind, even if it could identify this feeling.

pent-up and strained, coiled into yourself in a foetal position, you could only roll onto your back and let your hand trail down your body, hiking up the long skirt of your nightgown before letting your fingers dip between your thighs, spread at the knees. you let out a shaky gasp as you felt the wetness pooled beneath your undergarments, clamping your other hand over your lips. after feeling around experimentally, your fingers found a quick pace, rubbing over your clit, more desperate than they had ever been. your hand muffled your gasped out moans and whimpers, tears pricking at your eyes—partly from the guilt, mostly from the pleasure. you felt your heart beat all over your body, most of all right below your moistened fingertips.

shaky breaths and muffled needy cries were covered by both your hand and the storm outside your window. if hurts a little, your clit swelling as more and more slick coats it and the knot in your stomach grows tighter and tighter. but you don’t mind the pain, you think you deserve it, because after all, it’s forbidden and it’s not supposed to feel good. san is not supposed to make you feel so good. a demon was the one thing that wasn’t supposed to be on your mind, especially not in this way.

the thought of him made your hand move faster and suddenly your breath was stuttering and your core pulse as you finish quickly, biting down on your lip, hard enough to cut through the skin, to muffle your cries. when you came down from your high, you lay there for a few moments longer, heart racing as you glance at the door to make sure it was still closed. and when you realised what you had just done, shame clouded your lungs as you slipped your fingers out of your panties and raised them to your face.

your hands came away sticky. transparents webs of your pleasure linking your index and middle fingers together as you stared in horror before finally collecting yourself and jumping from your bed to scrub the sin from your hands in your bathroom.

you scrubbed until your fingers turned red and your palms raw, losing sensation from the ice cold water, the guilt sinking deeper and deeper the longer you took to cleanse your body. you hadn’t noticed the tears running down your cheeks until you stared at yourself in the mirror, sniffling and glossy-eyed. your body might be clean, but were you? if you wanted to be immaculate, how could you let yourself do such a thing?

it was his fault, really. him and his midnight eyes and electric touches and words that would drive you to madness, damnation.

you changed your panties and nightgown, burying them in your laundry basket as if you were burying the evidence of a crime. once done, you wanted nothing more than to sink into your bed and fall asleep. but as you stared at what you once thought was comforting, you could only think about your soft whimpers and shaking thighs. so you stripped your bed naked to decorate it anew with clean sheets and blankets and pillows, shoving the previous ones under your bed before finally falling into a deep sleep.

shame followed you like a pest for the next days, unable to properly smile because all you could think about was what you had done. and what you wanted to do. a heavy melancholy washed over you in these days, confining yourself to your room when ou didn’t have to come down for meals. if your parents picked up on it, they didn’t say anything. maybe they knew. what if they know?

maybe they didn’t say anything because they knew about san. perhaps they thought it was fate, that you would give in sooner or later. despite cracking a bit, you stood by your conviction that you wouldn’t, no matter what, summon him.

but… was he really so bad? had you not seen a moment of softness when he helped you? demons were, after all, fallen angels. could it really be so impossible he still had a sprinkle of previous angeilc qualities? silently, you were thankful he hadn’t showed up on his own again. if he did, you were afraid you’d throw away all sense of faith and throw yourself into his arms, let him kiss you and lick you and suck you and bite you and everything in between.

despite all this, despite not wanting to summon him, you couldn’t deny the unsettling feeling weighing you down with each step. it had been there before—before whatever happened in the basement—dragging your seemingly heavy limbs through vacant hallways. but when he touched you, when his fingertips brushed against yours as he touched the shiny black beads of your rosary even though he didn’t mean to, when his hands lifted you into the air and helped you escape, the way he talked to you, his words and tone, that unsettling feeling had been lifted off your shoulders.

you noticed, for a brief moment, when you spent that short amount of time with him, you had no desire to think of god or rules or expectations. even if it was for a split second, it happened, and perhaps that what terrified you the most. just wanted to be, something you hadn’t been allowed for so long.

so when your parents said they’d be out late for some dinner you had no interest in attending, you paced around your room, deep in thought as your typical long nightgown tickled your ankles. millions of thoughts raced through your kind but, at the core, they were all the same. san, san, san. you felt like he had attached himself to your very soul, and you’re not quite sure how it happened.

without thinking, you stopped your pacing, glancing at the crucifix on your bedside table, a reminder. you couldn’t take it anymore, reaching out to take the wooden symbol and hide it in your closet. was it really wrong if it was still there, only trapped behind the wooden double doors, nestled between your skirts and shirts and gowns and gowns? out of sight, you felt less bad about what you were going to do.

your eyes squeezed shut and you did as he told you to, lips parting to whisper his name thrice. almost instantly, a gust of wind blew through your room and you knew there was someone else there with you. your eyes remained shut until you heard footsteps stalking towards you, his familiar voice filling the eerie silence of the room.

“hello, angel,” he grinned, borderline menacing, as he backed you up against your dresser. much like before, you were trapped, the back of your thighs pressed against the wood. only this time, you weren’t afraid, “i knew you’d give in sooner rather than later.”

you didn’t reply, didn’t know how to reply, only breathing shallowly, fingers curling into the edge of your dresser as you glanced from his eyes to his lips repeatedly.

“you need to give me permission, you know,” he chuckled, tilting his head to the side, “there are rules for deals such as these.”

“please.” you breathed, somewhere between a whisper and a needy whine as your round eyes looked up at him so desperately.

as soon as the word left you, his lips were on yours. hungry, devouring you, sucking on your bottom lip like it’s a candy as you can’t help but melt and whimper against him. his hand found your cheek, the touch surprisingly soft compared to the madness of his kisses. your heart rattled against your ribcage like a bird wanting to escape its confines. his saccharine saliva seeped into your mouth as his tongue broke past your lips, running over your teeth and the roof of your mouth as you let him do whatever he wanted.

his hands are all over you and yours are all over him, grabbing at each other because there was no way to get any closer like this. your thoughts, unlike before, are completely quiet, head empty and drunk on the sloppy kisses, mouthfuls of teeth clashing against each other. he was supposed to be gentle, he wanted to be gentle, yet now you’re pressed against the dresser and he’s kissing you hard.

it was wrong, but it felt too good. that was clear from the moment your kisses turn open-mouthed, lips clinging and tongues dancing. you shivered as both his hands held you by your hips once more, lifting you to sit on the edge of the oak furniture, caressing your hips bones through the thin fabric of your dress.

your hands rug at his shirt lightly, a silent plea for him to remove it, wanting to see and feel every inch of his divine body. he complies, separating his lips from your to reach over his shoulder and grip the silky shirt from the back, pulling it over his head, tossing it aside. your hands explore his naked torso, fingernails scratching along his skin as he loses himself in the taste of your kisses.

his hands dragged the long skirt of your gown up your legs, fingers ghosting over the supple skin of your calves and thighs before letting the cloth bunch up at your hips, winding your legs around his waist before lifting you off the dresser. you cling to him the way the thought of him cling to you for so long before this as he carries you. he lays you down gently, your head spinning as he kneeled on the edge of your bed and leaned over you, moving his lips from yours to mouth at your neck.

his hot breaths dance along your skin, across your collarbone, neck, pressing wet kisses down to the fabric covering your chest. you gasped softly as he brushed his teeth against your skin, a reminded that he could really break you if he wanted, but the feel of his lips against the curve of your neck, testing out the waters of your shoulder, made the intimidating thought vanish.

he teases the skin just above your neckline with nibbles that have you throwing your head back with soft whimpers, only encouraging him as his left hand kept one of your legs hitched up against his hips and his right undid the ribbons at the back of your dress. the fabric loosens and slips around, one sleeve falling over your shoulder slightly as he sat you up a little and pulled the dress over your head, discarding it and leaving you in your white ruffled bra and panties.

you’re dizzy, delirious with thirst—for his touch, his kisses, for everything his sharp lips could give you, for him to relieve the ache between your legs. you shiver as you’re left bare, nipples peaking through your bra, undergarments barely hiding your most precious parts. you try covering yourself with shaking arms, despite the little fabric still be there, but his hands move them aside, pulling them to rest on his bare chest. his eyelids flutter for a moment at the contact, your hands so much colder than his.

he leans back to look at your, hand at your back winding around to massage a handful of one breast, watching your breath hitch. “such a pretty girl, and all for me.”

“san…” you whimper aimlessly, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“such an angel,” he teases again, thumb circling over your clothed nipple lightly, grinning at how helpless you looked, “supposedly protected by your father, by god, yet here you are, practically begging for a demon to fuck you.”

he presses himself closer and you can feel the thick and heavy weight of his cock smudge against your core, gasping softly as you eyes roll back, his tip prodding against the fabric covering your sensitive clit. his name falls from your lips once again, like a softly uttered prayer as you back arches. he takes the opportunity to undo the clasp of your bra, slipping the item off you before continuing to tease your perked nipples, leaning down to lick and suck at them as his hips grind against yours. you weren’t sure when he took off his pants, but you didn’t quite care, not when his impressive girth covered your core so well. sometimes the tip would dip into your entrance before leaving just as quickly, your toes curling as it stretched you and your panties.

he moans into your neck, grinding against you at just the right pace, his precum smearing all over you already-drenched panties. the feeling of his tip prodding at you clit so continuously makes you come quickly, and much harder than the other night when you touched yourself. you writhe beneath him, shaking and crying out his name as your back arches from the bed.

“hm, you’re so much prettier like this, angel, succumbing and throwing away any desire of virtue,” he mutters against your jaw, having sucked dark marks onto the skin right below it, his deep melodic voice.

angel. the way he calls you that makes you shiver. how could he do that? call you an angel while plucking out the feathers of the wings you’d once had?

when he enters you, it’s slow and deliberate, leaning down to whisper into your ear as he presses your hands into the white mattress—”heaven itself could not make you feel like this.”

“i’ve never… you know…” you had admitted shyly once you came down from the first orgasm he coaxed out of you.

he only chuckled, caressing your cheek. “i know. virgins always smell the sweetest.”

you pleaded for him to be gentle, and how could he say no when you were begging so prettily? now his length is barely halfway inside you and you’re already shaking, drenched and deprived pussy squeezing him tightly as he swallows down your broken moans, holding back him own. you feel abnormally good to him, unable to remember the last time he fucked such a perfect pussy.

as he reaches previously untouched parts of you, his tip brushes against a spongey little area that has you clenching, your breath hitching followed by a gasped moan as you come again. stars flood your vision, feeling like your body was on fire as your hands tightened under his. his tongue licks up every one of your sounds, smothering you as he pulled back a bit to press against the spot some more.

your moans soon turn into soft whines, twitching from overstimulation before he fially continues to enter you. it’s a tight fit, but he bottoms out eventually.

“fuck- you take me so well, you’re so perfect.” he groans, looking down at where he can see his tip bulging through your stomach.

you never imagined just how full you would feel, the stretch burning yet somehow still pleasurable as you squirm beneath him. he doesn’t wait, retracting and fucking into you slowly, letting you feel every curve and vein of his perfect cock.

he loses track, but he thinks he’s made you finish 4 times already. he’s not surprised, virginity leaves most people sensitive, and the fact he’s been teasing you in and out of your dreams for months likely didn’t help. san revels in it though, basks in the sounds you try to hold back so desperately. he isn’t lying when he says you’re pretty, hypnotised by your face contorted in pleasure and your body, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes. they somehow still have an innocent glint in them, even as he manoeuvres you into different positions before finally easing you into your back once more.

you arousal is smeared all over yourself and him and the bedsheets. clear and sticky, glistening in the candlelight. at some point he slipped out of you to lean down and have a taste, groaning as you mewed above him. when his teeth grazed your abuser clit, you finish once again and a moment later he’s back inside you.

eventually, his hips stutter and a newfound pace takes over. “shit, angel, i’m gonna fill you up so good. would you like that?”

you can only nod frantically, brain turned to mush, jaw dropped to let out your lazy whimpers. you’ve lost track of everything but him; his touch, his voice, his influence. if you parents walked in or he disappeared, you’d only be able to lay there, completely helpless.

he never really stops, taking his time to worship your tight hole, knowing he’ll only be able to stop when he comes. though, by the looks of it, it’ll be sooner rather than later.

his groans and moans sound blissful in your ears, holding your name between his teeth with a low whimper. he spills his tick warm cum into you, the new sensation making you shake and squirm as you feel your insides being filled. another orgasm washed over you, though a little weaker, drunk on his scent and his saliva and him him him.

he kisses you, bruisingly, slipping out of yoh and letting you feel his seed seep out of your hole and run down your thighs, pussy coated in milky white. he slumps against you, detaching his lips from yours to gaze down at your barely open eyes.

it’s tiring, you can’t deny that, but it just feels so good. all your disgusting, fucked up thoughts were because of him. and now your most intimate parts will always be tainted by his hands. he calls you ‘good girl,’ yet you know you’ll never be good again.

choi san: voice like silk, touch like satin, incubus, demon. you’d think demons kill people, but your purity was his only homicide. he murdered your virginity. murderer.

but you do wish for him to kiss you again.

networks. @cromernet @wonderlandnet @cultofdionysusnet @pirateeznet @atzhouse

permanent taglist. @ad0rechuu @sankatchu @mlink64 @yeosangsbb @seonghwasbbgirl @likexaxdaydream @dreamingofyeo @yalyallic @yunhoswrldddd @coffee-addict-kitten @thunderous-wolf @chngbnwf

fic taglist. @ta3baee @juyofans @sourkimchi @desirehorizon @revepixy @yungilia @cntlyv @mcendpoet @kimseungminsprincess @cookiechristie @bluesunpurplestar1117 @vnessalau @k1ttym0nkey @kyeomooniee @aarzoo-2 @pinkgirly-18-blog @yourfatherlucifer @puddingjongho @futuresoffantasies @reallywingedland @spenceatiny18 @im-def-not-ok @hwapou @a1sh1teruu @lover-ofallthingspretty @arabelleum @hoshiseon @guggu6gvai @seongsbf @honggatito @deltamoon666 @yunhoszn @1-800-fuccthisshit

[normatural]

Echoes of Souls | A.T

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x f!reader

Summary: In the old, abandoned castle, she found a love letter addressed to her, written by someone who died a century ago.

Word Count: 1.121

A/N: Feedback is always welcome. English isn't my first language so excuse any mistakes but feel free to point them out to help me improve.

Chapter 1: Echoes of a Forgotten Past

The old castle stood quiet and forgotten on the outskirts of King’s Landing, its once-glorious exterior now a ghostly relic of the past. Long vines of ivy climbed its weathered walls, making it appear almost as if nature had attempted to reclaim the abandoned structure. Shutters banged against cracked windows, held only by rusty, old hinges, while the wind whistled mournfully through the broken panes. Even the birds seemed to shun the place, their songs the only absence in an otherwise haunted landscape.

It was this eerie, magnetic pull that had drawn you here—a sense of familiarity combined with an insatiable curiosity for between all the projects the company allowed you to choose, this was the one that stood out for you. As you walked through the creaky front doors into the sprawling foyer, you were struck by the imposing architecture, which still held a sliver of its former grandeur. Your footsteps echoed softly against the hardwood floor as you moved through the house, your fingers lightly grazing the banister of the grand staircase.

A sense of déjà vu washed over you. You paused, trying to pinpoint the origin of this haunting familiarity. Why did every corridor, every room, seem like it held a secret, a memory just out of reach? It was as if you had been here before in another life, another time. But that was impossible—or was it?

As night fell, the castle’s eerie charm only deepened. You made your way back to the trailer with the delivery you had ordered. The moonlight casts silver shadows through the window. Exhaustion soon claimed you after dinner, and you drifted into a deep, dream-filled sleep.

In your dream, the world was different—brighter, more vibrant. Standing on the verdant grounds of the palace, it was no longer an abandoned relic. It was alive, bustling with people, laughter, and the roar of dragons. The skies above were filled with the majestic creatures, their wings casting shadows on the cobblestone pathways below.

You looked down at yourself, your attire reflecting a time long past. Rich fabrics and intricate embroidery adorned your gown, and your hair seemed to be styled in the fashion of nobility. Heart swelled with emotions you couldn’t explain as you walked through the manicured gardens of the castle, the very same one that looked like a dried jungle just moments ago. Everything feels uncannily familiar.

Suddenly, you felt a pang in your heart. A strange vibration in your chest. And then saw him. Your breath caught as you took in the sight of him. His tall, statuesque form was cloaked in regal hues, the fabric of his attire moving subtly with each of his graceful movements. He reached out to touch a blossom, his long fingers brushing the petals with unexpected tenderness, and in that moment, you felt as though she was witnessing a secret part of his soul.

His face, chiseled and strong, held a serene intensity. The angles of his jaw and the line of his nose were softened by the play of light and shadow, creating a portrait that was both striking and ethereal. But it was his eyes that truly made you hold your breath. Piercing violet, it seemed to see right through the world and into the very essence of things. When his gaze shifted and met yours, you felt an electric thrill course through your veins, as if his eyes held the power to unravel your very being.

Slowly, a rare, faint smile touched his lips, transforming his face with a warmth that contrasted beautifully with his otherwise austere demeanor. The sight of that smile, so fleeting yet so profound, made your heart ache with an inexplicable longing.

Something inside you is alarming that the man standing a few meters from you is the very same from the letter whose words haven’t left your mind. Aemond Targaryen.

His silver hair glinted in the sunlight, and his piercing violet eye, filled with a depth of emotion you instantly recognized, locked onto you. He approached with a look of tender resolve, his footsteps confident and deliberate.

“Vaela,” he called you, a name from your past life that felt both foreign and intimate. Familiar. “I was waiting for you. Walk with me.”

You nodded, heart fluttering with a mixture of excitement and calm, and took his offered arm. Something inside you told you to stop staring but how could you avert your eyes from his figure when it was making your heart beat so fast? You strolled through the garden, the scent of blooming roses enveloping you, the sound of dragon wings beating in sync with your heartbeat.

“I have something important to ask you,” Aemond began, his voice steady yet soft. He led you to a secluded alcove where the garden’s flowers seemed to bloom more brightly. He turned to face you, taking both your hands in his. “I have loved you from the moment we met. In you, I found my heart’s true desire, a soul that mirrors my own. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

Tears welled up in your eyes, the emotions flooding through you from both the past and present. Why was your heart-warming so abruptly at his words? Why did they sound so familiar? How the answer seemed to wish to jump out of your lips so quickly. Aemond was strange after all. Perhaps something is created just in your mind. But it couldn’t be, could it?

“Yes, Aemond,” you whispered, your voice trembling with joy. “I will.”

His smile, rare and sincere, was a sight that imprinted itself deeply into your memory. Wishing you could see it again. He lifted one of your hands to his lips, your knuckles being touched so softly and yet intimately by them as his violet eye seemed to stare deep into yours.

You awoke with a start, the remnants of the dream lingering in your mind like the last notes of a haunting melody. You could still smell the scent of the flowers. Feel the touch of his lips on your skin. You realized in that moment that your journey here was no accident. The castle, the dreams, Aemond—they were pieces of a puzzle you were destined to uncover. Meant to find.

Clutching the blanket tighter around you, you knew the first light of day would bring with it a new resolve. You would unravel the past, discover the hidden secrets of this place, and understand why destiny had led you here. There ought to be answers somewhere in those walls. It was not just an abandoned relic; it was a bridge to your past, a testament to a love that had defied time itself.

+

taglist: @donut-seam @strangersunghoon @teasweeter @darktrashsoulbear

[spacebarbarianweird]

The Dragon Made of Threads

Synopsis: Astarion is making a gift for you.

Tags: fluff

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion’s mind doesn’t let him rest. 

The reverie is supposed to be a blessing, the only way for the True People to remember their long lives. But his long life was nothing but misery until  very recently and he keeps being dragged into the darkness.

Oh, Astarion was so naive to believe it could have been over by killing his master and having the “rebirth” experience on the grave. 

His past haunts him.

“You are tired,” you touch his forehead as if trying to sense fever. “You need some rest.”

“My sweet, elves can survive without trance for a week. And I am undead. I am fine.”

“You don't look fine. You have dark circles and your eyelids are puffy again. You need to rest.”

“No, I don’t!” He tries to sound confident but instead his voice resembles a rebellious teenager.

You are right, of course. The elves can survive without reverie for a week, the same way non-elves can make it through one or two sleepless nights. Then, the body and mind collapse. 

But entering the reverie… Reliving tortures and humiliation… Feeling the same sense of misery and horror and hopelessness… No, he can’t do that. Not now. Not ever.

You are ready to sleep - it’s the first time in a month that you sleep in the room, not in the tent - the thick curtains protect Astarion from the merciless sun. 

“Please,” you yawn. “Meditate.”

“I will.”

“Don’t lie to me, please, I know when you are dishonest.”

Astarion grins. “Oh, my sweet, I am no liar. I am going to reverie once you fall asleep. I just like watching you when the dreams take over you.”

“Astarion, when you say the truth your eyes are wide open. When you smirk, you lie. Listen, maybe I can do something? Something to make you… think about something pleasant? It’s been a year! There are a lot of good memories to relive. Let’s just find a way to point your mind in the right direction!”

A year of good memories. Well, a little bit more. Four months of having a tadpole in his brain, experiencing freedom and sunlight, falling in love, learning how to feel again, and how to be alive. All these memories are precious, even the ones he is embarrassed about. For example, using you in his own favor. It doesn’t matter you’ve forgiven him - it still hurts.

Astarion sighs and lies beside you. Your arms immediately wrap around him. The familiar warmth is so tender that Astarion lets himself slip away into the reverie.

He is indeed tired.

He needs to rest.

But instead of grasping a good memory, a pleasant or at least bearable, his mind collapses into the abyss.

Chained to the wall. Bleeding. Hurting. He can’t scream anymore. It’s an old memory from when he was still hoping. He begs for mercy but no one listens. Hunger. Pain. Blood. Again, again. 

The master is whistling, carving the symbols on Astarion’s back with a silver dagger. The cursed metal feels like melted lava.

Astarion doesn’t need to sleep, neither does the vampire lord. 

This is your life, forever. You are doomed. No one will save you.

No! No! It’s not true! It will end! It will take two centuries, two long and miserable centuries, but it will come to an end! 

Astarion screams in the past until his throat burns.

“Astarion! Astarion!”

He feels the warm hands shaking his shoulders. He returns to reality like a drowned man from the dark waters, numb and restless.

You don’t say anything and he collapses into your arms, crying like a lost child.

“I can’t… I can’t… I need to rest… But I can’t…”

His back… His back is still bleeding, he can feel it, but your fingers caress the scars. It’s all over. It’s been more than a year. He will never return to those dungeons. No one will ever mutilate him again.

You let him go and pick up the travel sack in the corner. 

“I bought something at the potion merchant. I think it might help.”

“Please, I - I can… handle…”

You take out a bottle with a golden liquid. 

Angelic sleep potion.

The only way to make an elf experience regular sleep.

“No.”

“Astarion, what choice do you have? One more day like this and you won’t be able to walk on your own. You need it.”

“No! I am not drinking this! My mind keeps bringing me real nightmares and I have heard  all about the creepy dreams and nightmares the sleeping mind can weave!”

“But it won't be reality! Besides, when a non-elf is exhausted like you, they don’t see dreams.”

“But I won’t be able to escape it. With reverie at least I know it’s a memory!”

You sit beside Astarion and hug him. “Please. If you don’t want to do this for yourself, do this for me. I can’t see you suffering like this.”

Astarion sighs. “You are manipulative, you know?”

“Learned from a professional”.

Astarion adjusts himself back on the  bed and opens the bottle. The potion smells intoxicating. “But I do this only for you.”

“And I am grateful for your sacrifice.”

Astarion drains the bottle and before he manages to acknowledge anything, sleep takes him.

He sees visions and images. Places and people. Some are familiar, and some are not. His mind weaves the dreams out of emotions, memories, and experiences. 

Astarion dreams of a dragon.

It’s an ancient species of dragons, otherworldly. A majestic creature capable of carrying a dragon rider on its back.

Astarion rides this dragon above the Trackless Sea. There is nothing but the water and open blue skies.

And the sun.

It feels like cat fur on his skin, gentle and warm. 

Astarion wakes up still dizzy with the unrealness of what he saw. 

And he feels amazing.

His body is rested, and his mind is clear. The dream was so vivid that Astarion would believe he was once a dragon rider if he didn’t know about the weird fantasies of non-elven dreams.

He looks at you, sound asleep in the bed. His. You are his. And he is yours. What a sheer amount of luck made you meet each other? And how lucky he is you chose him.

It is still afternoon, hours before the sunset and he knows too well you won't wake up till evening.

Astarion needs to occupy himself with something. He gets up, stretches his arms, and then sees your traveling cape on the floor. 

“Such a messy little thing”, he chuckles. Astarion picks up the cape and notices a hole in the fabric.

Astarion takes his sewing kit from the traveling sack. He loves repairing things for you - complaining all the way, of course - but he never lets you sew yourself.

And then the idea comes to his mind.

Instead of black threads, he picks the red ones. It takes him a few attempts to understand how to do that but then the stitches come naturally from his fingers.

A dragon soaring in the skies. A divine creature from other planes. A beast that came to him in his dreams.

Astarion carefully embroiders the body of the dragon, then the wings and a stream of fire from its mouth.

He still has a lot of threads left and he starts embroidering the other dragon on the opposite side of the cape. 

Then he notices something has changed.

The curtain is wide open and the moonlight streams inside the room. You sit beside him, smiling at his work.

“Oh, sorry, my sweet. I’ve been carried away…”

“It’s all right. I like watching you sew. But it’s the first time I see you making something like this.”

“Do you like it?”

“Of course!” you touch the embroidered dragons. “So real! I didn’t know you could do such things!”

“I- I’ve seen them. In a dream.”

The tender fingers touch his curls. “You’ve rested, haven’t you?”

“Yes. I have,” Astarion hands you the cape. “If you want, I can add more. I just need more threads”.

You smile and kiss him. “Of course, I do. Thank you.”

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary @darkarchangel96 @locallegume @brainfullofhotsauce @coffeeanddonutscafe 

[macsimagines]

Can we have some random NSFW headcanons for yandere Mikey(any timeline), kachuko and baji with their childhood crush?

-🐇

TW: YANDERE CONTENT, MINORS DNI, NSFW

Yandere!Manjiro Sano

First time he ever really started thinking about girls and their bodies was about you. He never really pictured other women in any kind of sensual way, but then he thought about you and the way you looked in a skirt or maybe the way a t shirt clinged to your body a little too tight and suddenly he was very bothered.

Brought it up to Ken to see if he knew what it meant and wished he hadn't when he gets the worst sex talk of his life. "And you always wanna check for crabs-" "Please stop talking."

Pretty much is always touching you while you're growing up. "Who else's boobs am I gonna grab? A girlfriends? Don't be dumb, Y/N."

Yandere!Kakucho

Knows exactly what it means when he wakes up from a wet dream about you in swimsuit... Doesn't mean he likes it.

Now you just breath in his direction and he gets hard. Hates it. He knows Izana notices right away and tortures him with that information.

"Did you see that skirt Y/N had on today? Scandalous." "Boss, please-" "And those kitten heels? *Whistles*" "I'm begging you to stop..."

Grows up constantly flustered by your presence.

Yandere!Baji Keisuke

You were his first wet dream. And he tells you when he sees you next. "Y/N, you're not gonna believe this, I think you broke my dick." "Baji, what the fuck?"

Is eternally haunted by the memory of his twelve year old self's ignorance. Now he knows to keep it to himself when you go running around in his dreams acting like a whore... he hates it because it's never gonna be as good as the real thing.

Probably steals your underwear as teenager, now that you're adults he just straight up asks for them. "Gimme something to hold onto, ya?"

[sooniebby]

A dream i had has been haunting me so here i am.

A jock any sport my dream wasnt specific just a popular jock is the reader and he is just so popular and everyone loves him and of course everyone assumes since his this big jock his the dom in the relationship between him and his boyfriend when in fact his the complete opposite.

The boyfriend can be in the band or a part of the cheer team again it depends on the sport and my dreams never clarify, He hears one of these conversations and has a brilliant idea that he was gonna put the reader in his place and everyone is gonna know that place.

Kinks you can go wild with, But praise and a little the reader getting dumb on whoever you choose the nerd to be cock but the rest you can do what you please 🤭🤭

ఌ 𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑

꧁ 𝙊𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙡 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙭 𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 ꧂

Word count › 2.5k

Rating › NSFT

Warnings › none

Kinks › praise, voyeurism, semi-public sex, use of pussy/feminine terms

╭┈─────── ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

╰┈─➤ ＢＥＧＩＮＮＩＮＧ

“Isn’t that (Name)’s boyfriend?”

“Mickey?”

“I thought his name was Mikey?”

“Nah man, it’s Mickey!”

Marcus sighed. He hated having to practice for the marching band when the football team was practicing as well. The players didn’t know how to whisper. He was really wondering if he should give them a look that he could hear them.

He wasn’t sure why the football coach allowed them to practice with them here but he was sure it was because the teacher for band was a sexy man. Marcus could tell the coach, Coach Pattinson, loved to stare at his band teacher’s ass.

But he couldn’t lie. Mister Yang had a nice ass.

More importantly though, Marcus could sometimes see his boyfriend playing. But it was mainly rare. (Name) played soccer so obviously he couldn’t play while the football team occupied the field.

Today was that day the soccer team practiced somewhere else.

He was getting a bit agitated at this point. The heavy drum strapped to his chest and the sun beaming down at him. God, he wanted to just walk home. But he did like his band mates. He didn’t want them to hate him for any reason so he’d put it with it.

But that didn’t mean he’d do it without complaints.

“Marc! Pay attention.” One of his band mates whispered, poking him with a drum stick. Marcus quickly put his focus on Mr. Yang as he continued to drone on and on about timing and making sure to be energetic during performances.

Marcus tried to pay more attention, even though he had already heard this speech once before. Expect the two players whispering (?) about him started up once more.

“I wonder what (Name) sees in him.” Thing 1 said.

“What do you mean? Mickey is a cute ass guy. Especially his ass…” Thing 2 muttered.

“Mikey… And yeah I guess. It’s kinda flat to me. Mr. Yang has a much fatter ass than him.”

“True true… I mean look it at… I wonder what it looks like when he jumps…”

Thing 1 whispered. The only time he ever whispered. “Perv.”

“You started it!” Thing 2 shouted, earning a glare from Coach Pattinson. Thing 1 & 2 quickly quieted down.

“But for real, who do you think tops?” Thing 2 muttered.

“(Name)… obviously. The dude is bigger and taller than Mikey. How could Mikey top him?!”

“(Name) is only 5’10 at the most. He’s not that tall. And he’s hardly that muscular. It’s mainly his legs.”

“Says you, Mister 6’4!” Thing 1 punched Thing 2 on the arm, earning a wince. “(Name) has an ass that could rival Mr. Yang, though.”

“Didn’t he play baseball?”

“He plays both sports. Such a cool guy. I’m not sure how he doesn’t go crazy.” Thing 1 looked as if he had a crush on (Name). Marcus didn’t like that, he could feel himself tighten his grip on his drumsticks.

“Maybe he knows how to manage himself… unlike someone…”

“Say that to my face you beanstalk!”

“Alright boys, break time is over!!” Coach Pattinson yelled. “Back to the field!!” He blew his whistle before glancing over to see Mister Yang’s ass once more.

Yeah, he wasn’t hiding it.

Marcus thought hard about what Thing 1 & 2 talked about. Damn, did he not give off top vibes like the thought? Shit—what could he do to show it off?

Well it wasn’t that he really cared what those little shits said but he didn’t like that his looks somehow determined his sexual position.

Oh. Marcus smirked to himself.

He could always make it known that he is the dom in the relationship… and he knew just the way to do it.

“Dude… the fuck are you smiling about?”

Marcus glanced over to his band mate, Olivia. “Nothing important.”

Olivia didn’t look convinced but she turned her attention back to Mr. Yang. Marcus couldn’t wait to test out his plan.

ꕥ

It was the next day and Marcus didn’t have band practice today. But (Name) was at soccer practice. He hardly joined him because he mainly wanted to go straight home after school. Any minute he stayed longer at this cursed school was a damage to his mental health.

(Name) was sitting down on the bench, drinking water when he spotted his boyfriend. He waved, a large grin on his lips. If he was an animal, many would say he would be a golden retriever. So happy to be with people.

“Marc! Something happened?”

“I can’t just see my boyfriend?” Marcus grinned, his blonde locs pulled into a ponytail. He wore a ridiculously large jacket with a red tee with black pants. (Name) always wondered why Marcus always complained about being hot when he chose to wear such clothing during summer.

(Name) simply hummed and pursed his lips, closing his eyes. He titled his head up earning a laugh from Marcus. Marcus would usually just give him a light kiss. He wasn’t one for PDA.

But this time, he grabbed (Name)’s chin and held him in place as he kissed him. (Name)’s eyes widen as Marcus immediately bit his lip, causing him to automatically part them. The innocent kiss (Name) wanted was quickly turned into a full on make out with tongue.

(Name) whimpered into the kiss, wondering if any of his teammates were looking at him. Marcus pulled away from the kiss—a small trail of saliva connecting their lips—as he glanced back to see if anyone saw that. It seemed at least a few did—with the embarrassed looks on a few of the boys face.

The coach didn’t seem to have saw it though by the fact she was paying attention to another player. Good. He just wanted the other players to see.

“What…?” (Name) muttered. He didn’t hate it. No he loved it but he would’ve loved a warning first.

“Trying something new. Like it?” Marcus said, wiping away a stray line of drool on (Name)’s chin.

“I like whatever you do. But I thought you didn’t like public stuff.”

“I still don’t.” Marcus simply said and sat down on the bench.

(Name) didn’t understand Marcus sometimes.

Marcus fanned at himself, starting to complain about the sun cooking him alive.

“I’m lucky I can’t get any darker ‘cause what the fuck, man…” he complained.

“Take your jacket off.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It’ll mess up my style. I had this whole outfit planned and everything. I mean, look at my shoes—it matches the jacket!”

It did.

(Name) simply laughed. “Alright. Enjoy the sun, Mikey.” He said as he got up to return back to practice.

“Ay! It’s because of you those other jocks are calling me Mikey or Mickey! I’m not a mouse!”

“Sorry! I didn’t think anyone else would call you that!”

Marcus simply huffed. He mainly couldn’t wait until he could enact his plan. The kiss was simply to just get it started for later.

Ah he couldn’t wait.

ꕥ

(Name) knew Marcus liked to try new things. Y’know, only live once and all that jazz. But he didn’t know that he’d be into something so… scandalous?

So risky.

“Isn’t this nice?”

(Name) simply huffed, not able to say anything due to the cock in his mouth. They were behind the bleachers—not too far from door that leads to the locker room. When (Name)’s coach called for a thirty minute break, Marcus saw that as his cue to go ahead with his plan.

He had pulled (Name) to the back of the bleachers were no one could see them and forced him to his knees. But the spot they were in was hardly hidden. Someone could just walk up to the locker room door and get a clear view of them.

(Name) was kneeling down on the balls of his feet, forced to keep his balance this way. It wasn’t a good position to try and suck dick at, especially when Marcus was only 5’7 to his 5’10. (Name) wasn’t immediately at face with his cock.

He had to bend a little. Suffice to say, he was uncomfortable sucking dick right now. But he loved Marcus telling him what to do so who was he to stop him.

“Did I tell you that some guys said that you were topping me?” Marcus laughed.

(Name) hummed, pulling away from his cock. “Is that why you’re doing this?”

“Maybe.” Marcus tapped two fingers on (Name)’s lips. (Name) eagerly took them into his mouth—sucking them to lather it up. His cock twitched in his gym shorts as he thought about someone seeing him in this position.

Kneeling down in front of someone physically weaker than him.

“So I thought… maybe I should prove them wrong, y’know? But then it hit me… if they think like that—than everyone else must think like that.”

(Name) wasn’t sure if he believed that. No one could be that weird to care about his sex life.

Marcus hummed as he forced his fingers down deeper (Name)’s throat, enjoying the panicked choke he got from his boyfriend. He dragged them out of (Name)’s mouth. (Name) took a few shuttered breaths as Marcus motioned for him to lay down.

“Pants off.”

(Name) slipped off his pants and boxers as he moved to lay down on the grass. It felt dirty to do so but he didn’t care at the moment. Marcus hummed, deep in thought before he tapped (Name)’s waist.

“Doggy.”

(Name) flushed. He always felt embarrassed during doggy. Marcus always got full view of his ass at this position. It also didn’t help that doggy was the quickest way for Marcus’ cock to reach his prostate.

With a little hesitation, (Name) moved into the doggy position. Just as he was about to try and not think about the fact someone could see him in such position, Marcus slapped his ass.

“Hey, you forgot your move.”

(Name) blushed in full embarrassment as he leaned down more so his ass was in the air and shyly shook his ass. He hated doing it. The first time he ever did it was by accident. He didn’t think Marcus would’ve wanted him to do it everything for doggy.

Marcus had said it reminded him of a cat getting ready to pounce. It was the only time (Name) was ever said to resemble a cat.

“Good boy.” Marcus shoved in his two fingers, gaining a scream from (Name). “Hey, do you want them to hear you?”

(Name) shook his head.

“Your pussy says otherwise. It tightened as soon as I mentioned it.” Marcus laughed, dragging his fingers against (Name)’s wet walls before grazing his prostate.

Marcus loved to call (Name)’s features with feminine terms. Boobs, tits, pussy, cunt. You name it. He didn’t use it all the time. Sometimes he was nice to called them pecs or asshole.

(Name) liked both. But there was something different about his ass being called a pussy. He wasn’t sure what it was.

“I’m surprised they haven’t wondered where you are…. Do you often use these breaks to jerk off? Play with your clit?” He grinned, enjoying the whimper he earned.

(Name) shook his head, gripping at the dirt beneath him. His hole clenched down on Marcus’ fingers. He had never done that but he did usually use the break time to sit in the locker room with the air conditioner.

Marcus pressed against his prostate, teasing it as (Name)’s ass twitched upwards. He loved it whenever (Name) tried to chase the relief. His ass was a sight to see as it bounced at every sudden movement he made.

Maybe Thing 1 was right about his ass… it could rival Mr. Yang’s…

“You think you’re ready?” Marcus asked, continuing his grazes against (Name)’s prostate.

(Name) simply whined, too dumbed out to say anything. He honestly didn’t trust himself to open his mouth without moaning anyway.

Marcus took that as a yes as he slipped out his fingers and grabbed his cock. It was a good size, six inches. But the best part about it was how thick it was. Imagine a soda can.

He slowly pushed inside, moving one hand to grip (Name)’s waist. It took everything in (Name)’s body to not cry out. He bit his lip harshly—digging his fingers into the dirt.

Marcus was antagonistically slow. Dragging his cock in and out of (Name)’s hole. He wouldn’t go fully in—set to just tease his prostate before pulling out. (Name) was going to die if he continued this way.

“You always take me so well. But that’s just cuz you were made for me.” Marcus muttered, pushing down (Name)’s shirt to press soft kisses on his back. His back is sweating, from playing or sex? Marcus hoped it was sex.

(Name) huffed as he began to thrust backwards, hoping that Marcus’ cock will reach in deeper. Marcus simply laughed to himself as he stopped his thrusting—allowing (Name) to continue his lackluster performance.

“Mikey…”

“Yes, baby?”

“C’mon… we don’t have all day… please…”

(Name) was right. They had thirty minutes. It could’ve been thirty minutes already for all they knew. If he didn’t want to play soccer with a raging boner—he needed to cum now.

Marcus frowned. He hoped he could drag this out longer but knew it wasn’t fair to (Name).

“I’ll get you off. We’ll worry about me when your practice is finished,” Marcus said, grasping (Name)’s waist and holding him still as he began to thrust harshly inside of him.

He purposefully aimed for his prostate, enjoying the panicked hiccups (Name) accidentally slipped out. (Name) was struggling to keep his voice down. He could hear his coach saying they had a minute left.

Could he really cum in under a minute?!

Marcus was going to make sure he did though. He didn’t let up with his constant thrusts, reaching down to jerk (Name)’s leaking clock as well.

It doesn’t take too long for (Name) to cum. Before he could scream, Marcus quickly shoved (Name)’s own shirt into his mouth. It muffled it a little but he could still hear someone ask if they heard something.

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

Marcus pulls out despite his cock twitching for his own release and pulled his boxers and pants on. (Name) stayed on the ground, trying to catch his breathe before slowly moving to put on his pants.

(Name) looked numbed. He certainly looked as if he could fall asleep any minute. Marcus helped him to his feet (with a little struggle but he would never admit that).

“Go back to practice. I’ll be waiting for you,” Marcus said, patting (Name)’s ass. (Name) glared at him before limping away to his teammates.

If anyone asked why he was limping, he’d just say he hurt his leg while playing earlier. Though he was sure a few of his teammates didn’t believe that.

And unlucky for him, it was the few who loved to tell everyone what they knew. At least Marcus plan worked. Everyone was going to know who was truly the top in the relationship.

After practice, when almost everyone had already left, (Name) was changing into his clothes after taking a shower when Marcus walked into the locker room.

A small smirk on his lips.

“It’s time to worry about me.”

A limp walk wasn’t going to be the only thing (Name) went home with. A nice creampie would accompany it~

╭┈─────── ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

╰┈─➤ ＥＮＤ

My comeback! Marcus is so fun to write, I hope you guys like him!! If you guys want, I can do a little fic of how he started dating you 🤭 lemme know!

Tag list: @mello-life69 @the-ultimate-librarian @nakedtoasterr @chill-guy-but-cooler @kiiyoooo

Number 1 fan: @elegantcecile

[belle--ofthebrawl]

I wish you would write a fic where someone of your choice tries to goad Mountain into hunting them down through the woods by triggering his rut 👀👀👀

💙💙

He dreams of soft hands and laughter that turn to moans when he pushes in. Of a waist held firm between his hands as he fucks, of the shape his cock makes behind the smooth skin of her stomach and the way he's going to make her scream.

His bed is empty when he wakes up. Aurora is gone, but the sheets are still warm with her scent and wet with her slick from where she cruelly made herself cum while he was still deep in slumber next to her. He presses his face to the dark spot and breathes in to really catch her trail. If he licks it clean, chubby cock giving a lazy throb there's no one around to judge.

She went to his bathroom. Washed her hands. Left her shorts behind but it's a short distance and he hasn't lost the trail yet. Follows her scent-ghost down the hallway to the kitchen, where Swiss is enjoying a cup of tea with the sunrise.

“Ah, you're finally awake.” He says, voice raspy from overnight disuse. “Got something for you.”

His mouth tastes like tea, bergamot and the lingering saltiness of sex. He can see it clearly in his mind; she lifts her (his) shirt up, showing herself off and he couldn't resist. Which of them could, really. Swiss gives him a nice groping through his own shorts and he groans like a beast, setting his teeth in the skin of the multi ghoul’s throat. If he were any farther along, the game would be up and he’d be shoving Swiss over the table and having them both cumming in minutes.

But the thrill of the hunt eventually persuades him to let go, give Swiss one more deep kiss to clean his tongue of her slick and they part. Swiss' head thinks against the back of the chair, hand cupping his crotch and Mountain stumbles off, focusing on Aurora and what he's going to do to the little minx when he catches her.

Out the side door, down the little trail. Her (his) shirt is on a picnic table by the trail that leads to the woods, along with a patch of grass damp with more than just morning dew. He rubs his hand through the glistening droplets, inspects the way the light hits it and thinks about the way she looked when she made herself squirt. There's a faded little footprint on the wood of the bench, evaporating even as he watches. Aurora, naked as her summoning day with her leg propped up to bare herself to the world, head tilted back and one hand cupping a breast as she shudders and rubs until she lets go with a breathless little whimper.

His cock aches.

Eyes closed now. Taste her on the breeze. Her laughter calling to him from the woods. All four on the ground as he looks into the treeline, instinct guiding him off the safety of the path and into the bracken. She's always just a heartbeat ahead of him, flitting from boulder to log to branch. His hand touches bark he knows she just stopped against. His footsteps fill and cover hers completely. She's close. He can almost…almost.

He puts his hands out and claws into the wood of the fallen tree. Not warm, welcoming flesh like he expected. No, pinned between his fingers is his last clue, the last tease, the last thing she had on; a pair of soft green panties.

Birds take the sky in a cacophony of anxiety at his roar. He clutches the panties to his cock, ruts against his own hand for as long as he can stand it before throwing them away with a snarl.

“Aurora…” He growls, knowing she can hear him. “When I get my hands on you…”

His ears prick as a haunting whistle floats in the distance. From some old, old cartoon they’d watched the other night.

Who's afraid of the big bad wolf The tune goes.

If she isn't by the time he catches her, he hasn't done his job right.

Down on all fours. Instinct takes over.

He chases the laughter that mocks him.

[deanbrainrotwritings]

— MY LOVE WILL NEVER DIE

SUMMARY : part II of heartbreak feels so good. dean hasn’t seen her in two years, but there she is on Halloween this time, and she fulfils one of his most questionable fantasy.

PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS :  charlie bradbury, daphne castillo (aka. sexy elf girl)

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), p in v, unprotected sex (jail), slapping, angst, fellatio, dirty talk

WORD COUNT : 5.2k

A/N : from Dean’s POV. I’m such a liar! here’s part two after I said there would only be one part, @smellingofpoetry :] XXXXXXX

“Come on, Dean,” Charlie laughed, taking Dean’s hand to tug him into the unnecessarily big house. Dean planted his feet firmly on the icy grass, stopping his best friend from pulling him inside. “You’ve sulked over… it long enough. Try to find someone else here,” she suggested, letting go of Dean’s warmer hand. 

Dean stared at her, her fiery red hair, her somehow soft, blueish eyes, dressed similarly as him in a knight costume. He bit his lip, she knew that he hadn’t seen anyone in the past two years. He was getting grumpier, and grumpier, and as much as she wanted to help him, he didn’t have it in him to find someone else after the mess that was his last breakup. Not after losing the one girl who made him feel like no one else ever did, the one he never saw again after that Christmas night. 

Charlie sighed, but grinned dorkily at Dean anyway. “I’m going in… you, come in when you’re ready… if you’re ready.” She moved forward and hugged him tightly, her comforting hug made him smile. Dean held the back of her head and kissed her temple, letting her go so she could go inside. 

Dean exhaled loudly, a puff of his warm breath escaping visibly into the cold air. Dean shook his arms and body, trying to hype himself up.

“Come on, Dean,” he murmured, “you’ve been doing this for a long time.” He patted his face, now turning hot and pink when a group of girls wolf-whistled at him as they passed by, giggling to each other when he smirked at them. “See? You’ve still got it,” he told himself when they were far away enough to not hear him. “I know what I’m doing, I know what I’m doing.” 

Surely, there’s more than one person who will make him feel the way he felt that night. Someone else who causes explosions when their lips meet. Someone who makes him laugh and makes him feel comfortable about expressing deep inhibitions. 

He couldn’t get her out of his mind. The taste of her. The softness of her skin beneath his hands. Her lips against his. The scent of her skin and her hair. Her words, her voice, and her eyes. The feeling of being inside her, hot, soaked all around him, squeezing as she came. 

It was the best sex he had. In a closet, of all places. In the darkness. God, that woman. She’s haunted every one of his dreams and every fantasy. 

He didn’t dare call her, though, after she gave him her number. He felt bad about it all. He knew women like her, women that didn’t like to be put in situations like those. He didn’t want to put all that on her, even if his intentions were pure… It’s his biggest regret.

Why couldn’t he have met her some other time? Any other day after his breakup? Any other place besides that stupid party?

There’s no point in staying in a cage when the door is wide open for him to escape. He’s been in there waiting for her for long enough… not that she actually made any promises to him. Before he went crazy, he had to fly out, and stop making himself miserable. 

Dean stepped inside the house with Halloween music playing loudly. He could feel it in his stomach, the bass, making his nerves even worse. No alcohol tonight, he’d only feel sick. Besides, he needed to be sober for this to work properly. 

He walked around the antique-like rooms, looking for a girl that reignited that spark in his dimming heart. He talked to a few women, got their names, asked about what they did, what they liked. 

No spark. 

No flutter. 

Not even a little ember. 

Dean groaned loudly when he got to the kitchen, burying his face in his hands, the heel of his palms digging into his eyes. When Dean sighed heavily, fingers sliding down his face, some guy dressed as Jack Sparrow shoved a bottle of scotch into his hand.

“I feel ya, man,” he told Dean sympathetically, patting his shoulder as he pushed past people making out, and humping each other against the kitchen’s counters—shamelessly. 

Things were not going well for him. But they clearly were for Charlie. 

He could hear her distinctly shy laugh nearby. He poured himself some scotch in a glass and drank some of it. He looked around for her, clicking his tongue against his teeth at the burn of alcohol streaming down his throat. 

“Dean!” Charlie shouted, causing him to turn around. She dragged a woman dressed as an angel with her. “No gold?” She asked breathlessly, her cheeks bright red like her lips, and her hair a mess. 

“Nope,” Dean replied, looking at the angel next to her. A sheer, white lingerie dress fell over her curves, white heart stickers on her nipples, white panties, a garter, and high heels. She wore a white halo on her head, her long hair placed in a high ponytail, her skin tan and her lips just as swollen as Charlie’s.

“Hi,” she breathed out, watching him drink the rest of the content in the glass he stole from the cupboards.

“This is Namora,” Charlie informed Dean to break the silence. Dean nodded at Charlie and smiled at her… friend. 

“Dean,” he told Namora casually, who was about to say something else. “I’m… I need to use the restroom,” he told Charlie, placing his cup in her hand. Her smile fell slightly and she let go of Namora when Dean turned around so he could find somewhere to catch his breath. 

Charlie tugged Dean’s shirt, making him stop halfway. He turned to face her, a reassuring smile on both their faces. “Try to have fun anyway, yeah?” She let go of him and Dean nodded, chewing on his lip. She watched him closely, but Namora came up behind her and wrapped her arms around Charlie’s waist, allowing Dean to escape.

Dean found himself walking up the stairs, avoiding couples and girls that hit on him. Groping, tugging him into them, trying and failing to cast spells of desire. He declined bashfully and continued into the hallway, peeking inside rooms for an empty one to rest in.

People were having sex, of course, in the first few, but he found one where there was one girl taking pictures of herself. She puckered her lips and pushed out her chest, her hand resting on her ribcage beneath her breast. 

He was going to shut the door, but he opened it again. Her familiarity made him do a double-take. He stared at her, trying to place a name or a situation to her face. She lowered the phone, turning to face him with a judgemental expression. Look away, was written over the sassy shake of her head. 

It was sexy-elf-girl, but dressed as a sexy Wednesday Addams. 

“Hey,” Dean called out, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. 

She sighed, checking him out after she set her phone down on the bed. She seemed to be reconsidering the attitude she’d given him the closer he got to the light of the lamp. 

“Yes, we can have sex,” she said bluntly. 

Dean’s brows furrowed, and then he laughed shyly, shaking his head. “Sorry,” he declined, but she took it like a champ, and raised a brow at him. “You’re friend, Y/n, is she here? I’m Dean.” Realisation made her smile fade and her eyes became wide. She looked to the side, there was a closed door where the bathroom was—presumably, and Dean instantly knew she was in there. 

His heart jumped at the thought of seeing her again and his breath got caught in his throat. He hoped he was right.  

“Oh,” she said, awkward and short. “Uh,” she hesitated, looking back at Dean who was staring at the door, too. She realised her mistake and cleared her throat so Dean would look at her. 

She didn’t have to say anything for Dean to understand the thoughts running through her head. She was a good friend, Dean gave her that. He sighed and smiled at her halfheartedly. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologised, “I’ll leave.” Dean turned away from her with the remains of his dignity. 

“Wait!” She called out quietly, groaning out with irritation. He heard the bed squeak, and he looked back at her, and the conflict written over her face as she walked towards him. “it’s embarrassing how… much she’s not into anyone, but you…” She confessed breathily, as if she understood why her friend was so into him. It made him smile, a heated blush blossoming on his face, and his stomach clenched at her words. “Call her,” she advised. 

Dean stared at her to confirm her words and pulled his phone out. She watched him while he tore his gaze from hers, scrolling to where her abandoned, unused contact was. He looked at her through his lashes and she nodded encouragingly. He pressed the call button, and watched it ring a few times. He heard her phone vibrating inside the bathroom, then loud fluttering, and then she opened the door. 

“Daphne, I-” her voice was panicked, but she stopped when she saw Dean, her mouth shutting instantly. 

There she was, wearing that same Zoro costume as before. Is it fate, a sign that he’ll get closure? Or is it a sign that the night will end up the same as the last time? 

“Okay,” Daphne said awkwardly, and laughed nervously. She walked towards Y/n, fixed her hair, and kissed her cheek while mumbling something against her skin. Daphne quickly made her escape, locking the door before she shut it. 

“Dean, I-” 

“Hear me out,” Dean interrupted her, angst in his voice, “please.” He stepped closer, just slightly, testing how comfortable she is with him. When she didn’t move away, instead tilting her head up at him, he stepped even closer. 

“What?” She whispered, shivering at the static shock of his fingertips running down her arm. 

“I… I didn’t call because…” he whispered, staring into her eyes. They were soft, wide as they trailed over his face. Her lips were downturned, her bottom lip jutting out slightly in a pout. “Truth is… I thought you were… her. You made me feel things that I hadn’t felt with her, so I almost changed my mind when we were having sex… I kept going, chasing that high, but turned out you were never her, I felt all that for you. I thought I finally found what I spent so long searching for. 

“After finding out I didn’t want to die. I thought to myself, what did I even have? I only had my brother. Which… I’m not saying he’s not enough, but… I wanted what I watched others have. I want more. I want… Something just for me,” Dean confessed, staring earnestly into her confused eyes.

She tilted her head at him, but her eyes were empathetic. Dean realised she had no idea what he was talking about. He’d tell her everything in a heartbeat. Maybe in time less than a heartbeat. About the monsters, the life he lives, and the family business. And he’d bring proof, too, lots of proof, so it didn’t end up being a repeat of what went down between him and Cassie. 

“I mean… I’ve watched stuff on television, I’ve read books… it’s so fucking sappy, but I wanted all of that. You know? The stuff, like… a house, a normal job, pets, hobbies, just having stupid things, even. And then there-there’s the people… the people I meet when I pretend to be normal. They made me realise that I wanted more… more than one night, more than… more than just sex and the ‘adios’ every morning or after the sex…

“I want more than friendships that never last because… everyone dies. I want to escape this life I live. The cycle I’m trapped in… the maze that threatens to kill me. When I’m free, I know I can have it all. I want to have friendships that aren’t compromised by complicated things going on in my life… the betrayals, the death, the sacrifice, and the other shit… I just… want something real. Something that lasts.

“Like the feelings… the feelings I know I can feel… the emotions all of this can make me feel. If I have it, I know they’ll feel differently. I… I want to experience them differently than before… some of them… some of them I might even be feeling for the first time. I know I can find it, too. I know, I knew someone was out there, just for me. And I thought that was Jeralynne, but then… I met you.” His voice trembled, but he didn’t care, he was putting his heart out there for the first time. And there it was, vulnerability, raw emotions he never felt before, it made his stomach clench. 

This was dangerous. 

“And then… then you left and-and I knew how this made you feel. And I couldn’t possibly do that to you, I couldn’t make you feel like a bad person. I never heard from you again and these were one of the worst two years of my life. Knowing you were out there. And I really wanted to call. I wanted to be selfish and just… It was… awful for me to do that. I didn’t mean to ghost you, I-I-I was just trying to spare you from feeling guilty or from thinking that you’re with some-some cheater.” 

She blinked up at him. He didn’t know what she was thinking. She was quiet and he noticed her jaw tick, and then she looked away from him. She looked thoughtful, at least she looked like she was attempting to absorb his words. Maybe it just confused her. Maybe it was too much. 

She turned around and walked away from him. His stomach sank. He watched her with his mouth open in disbelief, hurt. He felt a strange sensation against his fingertips, despair, and an ache in his chest different from the pain he’s felt before. 

She stopped at the door with her hand around the doorknob, then she sighed. Her shoulder fell, her hand dropped to her side. Surrender. She turned to face him again with her back pressed against the door. 

“I know you’re not a cheater, Dean,” she finally spoke, her voice soft. She pushed herself off the door, and made her way to him, way too slowly for his liking. But when she got to him, she wasted no time in pressing the whole front of her soft body against his, one of her hands slipping into his hair, pulling him down. 

So, so close to her lips, he leaned in, but she pulled back. It felt like someone dumped kerosene on his entire body, threw a match on him, lighting him on fire. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, squeezing her waist in his hands, keeping her tightly against his body. His lips tingled, longing to feel hers—all soft, red, and a little dry—against his. 

“Me too,” she murmured. When she kissed him, he felt like the air had been knocked out of him, like all those times monsters had thrown him through walls. Except, this feeling was a thousand times better. 

He’d never been kissed this way. Seriously. Her hands were everywhere, buried in his hair tugging harder and harder until he moaned. And when he opened his mouth to release the sound into her mouth, her tongue found its way to his, tasting and licking until his lungs burned for oxygen. 

She pulled away for a few seconds, lips brushing against his, her breath warm against his wet lips. And then she pushed up on her toes and her hands started to wander, slowly moving down his chest, vaguely copping a feel of his body above the thick layers of his knight costume. Trying to find her way past all the tight clothes, the chains, the belt, the leather, and thick cotton. 

He did the same, groaning when she bit down hard on his lip before trailing wet kisses down his neck. He squeezed her breasts over the leather of her tiny dress, and kneaded her ass, grinding his growing erection against her stomach. He panted loudly, achingly hard, and slipped his fingers into her hair. He held her against his neck as she nibbled and sucked on his pulse. 

His loud moans filled the room and she pulled away once more, shoving him backwards. He stumbled, dazed with lust. He reached for her elbow in confusion, attempting to stabilise himself, but she gave one last push, until he fell back on the bed. 

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you, Dean,” she whispered. 

Dean lifted himself up on his elbows, staring dumbly as she unlaced the dress at the top. He inhaled sharply and reached down to tug the lace holding the leather of his trousers around his hips. 

“Neither could I,” he assured her, ridding himself of the belt around his waist. She moaned softly, pulling the leather dress down her body, revealing her bare breasts, the black lace of her panties, a black garter belt holding her stockings around her thighs. 

Dean breathed in sharply, slowly lifting his eyes up her body when she stepped out of the dress and began to walk towards him in those sexy heels of hers. His cock throbbed, twitching under brown leather and nothing else. But instead of touching himself, he succumbed to her dominance, and fisted the sheets at his sides. 

“Yeah?” She teased, the bed dipping on each side of his legs while she slowly moved up his body on her knees.

“Yeah,” Dean responded breathily, nodding vehemently. Dean moved up on the bed, staring into her eyes, and then he dropped his head into impossibly soft pillows. She smiled at him, sexy eyes glued to his face as she slid her hands up his sides. “Please, I need you so bad,” he begged, feeling her fingertips brush against the skin above his hips. 

She curled her fingers into the waistband and pulled down. Dean lifted his hips, breathing as heavily as she was the lower she pulled them down. Inch by inch of his freckled skin was exposed and her lips followed, biting and sucking possessively at his hip bones, the v-line guiding her to his cock.  

His cock bobbed, hitting his stomach and the thick cloth of his tied shirt. He pursed his lips and held back a moan, throwing his head back into the fat pillow as she pulled his boots, and the leather trousers off his legs. 

“You said you had a fantasy you wanted fulfilled,” she stated, moving up his body. She put her fingers around the bar of his cock, and he gasped, her warm breath blowing over the wet tip. “What was it?” She asked, swirling her tongue around the head of his cock, collecting his warm precum with a satisfied hum. 

Dean laughed breathlessly, “no, anything but that.” He lifted himself up to admire her, making his shirt slip down his body, and she pouted. She removed her mouth to spit on his cock, she stroked him slowly, twisting her hand up the hard and hot length of his penis. 

“Tell me,” she begged playfully, and then went right back to sucking him off. Her warm, wet mouth smoothly slid up and down his cock, and her hand followed her pretty lips. She hummed softly at the taste of him, teasingly sending delightful vibrations along his dick, and then the head of his cock touched the back of her throat, and she swallowed each time it did. It drove him crazy.

He stared at her lustily, the black mask around her head showing only her eyes, and that black Stetson, the cape thrown over one side of her body. God, she was hot as fuck, but a moan replaced any and all of his dirty words.

She started to go faster, sucking on her way up, tonguing the veins along his cock on the way down. Her hand squeezed tightly the whole time, getting tighter after three sets, and his hips bucked upwards into her skillful mouth. The last straw was when she gently tugged and squeezed his balls. 

He wanted to stop her, but the fantasy of her swallowing his load overpowered his will. His stomach clenched and his balls tightened, but she pulled away before he could climax: no hands, no mouth, just the cold air against his wet cock. Dean whined, squirming at the loss of her warm mouth. 

“Yup, just as I thought, your dick tastes as good as it looks,” she panted, wiping tears from her eyes beneath the mask and from her red cheeks. 

“Please, please,” Dean whispered, sitting up. “Fuck me,” be pleaded, bringing his hand to the back of her neck, gently pulling her forward. She crawled up his body to sit on his thighs, ghosting her lips above his, and his eyes fluttered shut, waiting for her kiss, but he felt her finger instead. 

Dean opened his eyes and frowned. A haze of lust prevented him from thinking straight.

“No,” she smirked, those red lips of hers plump and slick. 

“I have to tell you first?” He asked quietly, settling his hands on her hips, moving his fingers to toy with the hem of her lace panties. She nodded, nuzzling her nose against his flushed cheek.

She brought her hands to his shirt, pulling at the tan laces that kept his shirt closed in the front, slowly she made her way up, undoing the messy knots, giving him time to gain some confidence and courage to confide in her what he had in mind when he said that to her. 

Had he been in his right mind, he’d swoon over the fact that she remembered what he told her. 

She pushed him gently onto his back, pulling the shirt open across his chest. She pouted at the white shirt beneath, and teasingly knotted the lace at the neck of his shirt so it wouldn’t choke him, the fake chainmail resting along his throat. 

Dean’s stomach fluttered and his heart skipped a few beats when she slid her hand from his stomach, up to his chest. The long-sleeved shirt skirted around her wrist, rising higher and higher, so slowly as she patiently waited for him to focus on her request. 

She leaned forward, blew air against his lips with a smile and skipped down to his chest to attach her mouth to his nipple. Dean’s eyes were widened and he gasped, tightening his grip on her hips, her cool finger brushing over his other nipple. Her freehand scratched down his chest, then her soft palm sailed upwards, fingertips dipping into the planes of his muscles. 

She brushed her hand against Dean’s cock occasionally, but he had a feeling it was on purpose. It drove him crazy, his dick bobbed, aching for attention while she worked her hands around, and far away from his pulsing erection. 

“Fuck!” Dean shouted in irritation, giving up. She looked up at him like he was being way too dramatic and moved her mouth to his other nipple. “Fine, fine. Just please fuck me,” he begged, grabbing her underwear and ripping them off her. The black lace fell apart easily. It’s been a while since he’s done that. 

She cursed softly and laughed, reaching down to dispose of her underwear. She planted her hands firmly on his chest, her pussy hovering above his cock. Dean trailed his hands up her sides, taking in the sight of her breasts and then back down, calloused palms moving over the black lace of her garter belt. 

“Tell me,” she sang mischievously. She moved one hand off his chest to place it around his wrist, bringing it away from her hip to the warmth between her legs. “I’m ready for you, Dean. You can feel all this wet… on your cock if you tell me,” she purred, gazing into his eyes as he brushed his fingers through her soaked pussy. 

“Fuck,” Dean muttered. She moaned softly, flattening his palm to grind her pussy against his hand. “Slap me,” he requested, his voice just above a whisper, “that’s what I wanted. Ride my cock and slap me, baby.” 

She froze above him. And he felt so embarrassed for saying that, but he couldn’t take it back. She let go of his hand, blinking curiously at him, and he placed both hands on the bed instead of on her body. 

A surprised gasp slipped past his lips when she slapped him suddenly—no warning. He only felt the sting against his cheek and his face was turned to the side. Then, she lowered her pussy over his cock, sliding up and down apologetically. 

Dean blinked as a blush burned at his face and he looked back at her. She looked at him closely as he rubbed his face with one hand, the other grasped her hip guiding her movements. “That felt real,” Dean chuckled, a soft moan slipping through his throat when she pressed herself down harder against him. 

“Softer?” She asked softly, her hips still rolling back and forth so seductively. Dean looked between them shamelessly, his fingers digging into her hips. 

“No.” 

“Dean, I-” 

“Please,” he whined, bucking up into her slick. His stomach fluttered with excitement, impatiently awaiting her reaction. 

She nodded after a few moments of quiet thinking and lifted herself up slightly, guiding his cock to her entrance. She sank down on him slowly, and his eyes flickered down between her legs as she took every inch of him, and then back up to her face to capture the pleasure that she felt in having him inside her. 

“Fuck, I missed you,” he groaned, reaching down to part her folds and find her already-slick clit with his thumb. She leaned back to give him more access, moaning once she was full with his cock inside her.

“Me too,” she agreed, short of breath. Slowly, she started to lift herself up and down on his length, panting with effort, her pace steadily increasing. Dean could feel her slick dripping down and her walls getting tight around him. “You feel so good,” she praised with a moan.

“You feel even better.” That’s when she looked at him and she hesitated when she saw the look in his eyes, the mischief and his arousal. He felt her walls squeeze him again and then she smacked him across the face on the opposite side. 

He grunted and squirmed, his eyes tearing up at the pain, but she laughed breathlessly. It was a nervous laugh not a sadistic one. He pressed his hand to his hot cheek and screwed his eyes shut, swearing under his breath. Why did he like this?

“Your face is too pretty to slap,” she whispered. She took his hand away from his face as she bounced on his cock faster and slipped her fingers between his instead. She bit her lip, and she leaned forward, attempting to keep her eyes open as her cunt pulsed around him. 

“You’re so wet… I want to put my mouth all over your beautiful body.” Dean removed his hand from between their bodies to cup her breast before he squeezed the flesh. He silently asked her to lean down by opening his mouth slightly. When she did, his tongue swiped up and down her nipple, she responded with a low moan, and a tight grip of his cock. 

“I need you to cum,” Dean pleaded, bending his knees to thrust up into her. She nodded fervently, releasing his hand to plant both of hers on the pillow beneath his head. He could hear the scratch of her nails against the silk and he removed his warm mouth from her breasts and slowly canvassed her body with warm, calloused palms. Kneading, squeezing, digging his blunt nails into her delicate skin.

“That’s right, cum on my cock, sweetheart,” Dean moaned. The bed squeaked with each movement, and the wooden headboard hit the wall loudly, shaking photographs nailed at the top. Dean moaned with her, his cock plunging into her wet cunt filled the room, her skin audibly slapping against his—like an obscene porno. 

She came on his cock with a cry of his name, her velvety heat gushing around him, squeezing to the point of insanity. Dean barely gave her time to recover before pulling her down against his chest, and flipping her onto her back. 

Her Stetson easily fell off her head, and he tugged the mask away from her eyes, staring finally at her breathtaking face. She gasped softly, her body trembling beneath his as he slammed his hand against the wall. “Fill me up, Dean, I need to feel you inside me,” she whispered, gently holding his jaw in her hands.

Dean kissed her deeply, hips pistoning into her wet, pulsing cunt. He lifted her leg, bending her knee, opening her up by holding her thigh to the side. She held her other thigh in a similar position, a loud cry filling the room when he pushed deeper, his cock head pressing into her cervix as his hips stuttered, and finally, he came inside her with a shout of her name. 

A second orgasm rolled through her, whimpering out his name like a praise against his sinful mouth. Shaking from her orgasm, her face twisted in pleasure, Dean pulled away from her sweet lips, wishing he could always remember her face. 

Dean collapsed on top of her, releasing her leg to roll her back on top of him once more, his lips moving all over her face. She laughed, short of breath, her pussy leaking the mixture of their release around him. Dean gripped her hips tightly to keep himself inside her, her stockings brushing against his skin feeling like electricity. 

“That was a pretty bad idea, Dean,” she murmured, lifting her lips to his. “Slapping was,” she cleared up, licking across his teeth before he spoke. 

“I agree,” he chuckled hoarsely, kissing her passionately. She pulled away from his mouth for a breather, lifted herself off him with a moan, her cunt clenching around nothing as more cum dripped out of her. 

“I’m gonna be so sore,” she whined, laying on her back beside him. Dean smiled and turned over on his side to gaze at her. 

She was flushed and enchanting, her eyes sparkling brightly when she looked back at him. Dean played with the little clips from her garter belt, his fingers sailing slowly up her stomach, over her hardened nipple. She shivered and took his hand, placing it flat over her breast. 

“Get used to it,” Dean murmured, leaning forward to kiss her shoulder, “I’ll never get tired of your body.” She smiled brightly at him, turning to face him the same way he was laying on his side. 

“I’ll never tire of your body,” she promised softly, scooting closer to him. “I’ll always love… every… glorious… inch of you,” she said emphatically, kissing his lips as she did. 

taglist

@rominaszh @livingdeadmak @lanassmarty @murdockscumsock @zepskies @candy-coated-misery0731 @stxrgazer03 @epsilonsagittarii @lyarr24 @spnfamily-j2 @globetrotter28 @deansbbyx @lickmybawls @jackles010378 @winchstrdean @deanwinchestersgirl87 @the-achievementhunter @deanfreakingwinchester @k-slla @madzzz0797 @laylaackles @fanfic-n-tabulous @kristophalis @mrlonelycat @taylortots-world @evznackles @ohnosy @juicyballsworld @angelbabyyy99 @girls-alias

main masterlist

dean winchester masterlist

dean’s 45th birthday celebration masterlist

© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO DEANBRAINROTWRITINGS 

do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or republish my work on another platform

[storyshark2005]

Carraville Rec List !

See below, self-explanatory!! I'm sure I missed some bangers, so feel free to reblog and add more, or comment. I pulled all these straight off my AO3 bookmarks list. They are ALL COMPLETE, so I didn't add any WIPSs! Please note I separated "older/classic" recs from the amazing fountain of NEW works we've been blessed with in the past 3-4 months or so. Note: IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER!

Enjoy you little dancers!!

⚽️❤️ MY CLASSIC CARRAVILLE PICKS ❤️⚽️

Lockjaw by anonymous - Workplace blowjob fic that grows into a much deeper story. Sexy-with-feels MNF era Carraville. Amazing ‘show don’t tell’ characterization, top top dialogue.  Gary hiding past trauma and Jamie finding out. A crime this is anonymous, I want to read more from this author!! 

the ghosts of you and me by @blindbatalex - ahhhmazingly written, MNF-era Carraville. Uses ‘snowed in’ trope to delve greater depths of a break up; old wounds, things unspoken, beautiful writing and a really pulled-back tone that aches. 

the ocean and the coast by @carraville - Valencia!Gary. Jamie POV. Jamie pining. Lovely poetic style. “I have a separate plate for you.” <3 <3 <3 

In Your Boots by @thesecretdetectivecollection- funny, sweet, MNF-era. SO CUTE Gary jumping to conclusions and panicking over Jamie leaving. Lots of Jamie-scenery descriptions of pretty eyes and "absurd cheekbones" and "Jamie's reliable heart" <3 

keep your silver, give me that gold by @thesecretdetectivecollection - MNF-era Carraville. Jamie decides to box Rio Ferdinand. Gary has SERIOUS RESERVATIONS about his beefy colleague (just colleague, no feelings, cough cough) putting himself in harms way for a stupid charity wager. Thing come to a head in a good way. Lots of verbal eye candy Carra. <3 

Loss / loss / win by milleseptcent guuuuh the SCALE! The FEELS! Soulmates Carraville. Takes place from playing days to MNF-era. Gary and Carra, both without soul marks, fuck around in a casual relationship... for about twenty years. The ending is SO SWEET!

Anything That Isn’t This by @kloppend the sleeping death apocalypse fic, read if you want to ruin yourself for two or three days but ALSO the beauty of the writing is 100% worth the devastation, one of the finest written pieces in the fandom imho. HAUNTING, gorgeous, aching, amazing. 

Play the Whistle by @zevons - Referee!AU Carraville!! What more do you need to know?! Gary and Jamie’s football dreams never came true, so they do the next best thing. Lovely Jamie&Stevie friendship. Enemies to lovers. So much snippy banter before they realize they are actually besties who want to smootch. FEEL GOOD but with tons of depth as well. 

amunt by @carraville short, punchy, poetic = classic redandgold! Valencia!Gary, pining!Jamie. Also incredible that this was written only two weeks into Gary’s appointment, BEFORE the Barcelona loss, before things unravelled, so it’s an amazing time-capsule into the fandom in late 2015 (when they didn’t know if Gary would ever come back!) 

Through fresh eyes by @aramblingjay - Jamie comes to MNF. Gary deals. Truly top-notch writing, amazing language, deft characterization. It never overindulges while remaining poignant throughout. Can be read as pre-Carraville or platonic-soulmates type friendship. It’s tagged as incomplete but it is finished. Essential reading, a classic!

Advantages of Playing Away by @zevons MNF-era testimonial blowjob in Old Trafford dressing room Carraville!! Sooo sweet, soooo hot, dialogue is sharp and funny. Just perfect <3 

Remedial Exercises in Teamwork by @zevons - more saltstreets!!! HOGWARTS AU, both of them are Gryffindor beaters (so in character for them), both obsessed with quidditch. Background!gerlonso. Implied Professor Pep/Mou !!! Detention!flirting!! I mean!!! Sir Alex the owl!!! Checks all the boxes, nostalgic, sweet, enemies to boyfriends. <3 

⚽️❤️RECENT AMAZING 2023/2024 CARRAVILLE WE ARE BLESSED WITH ❤️⚽️

Tasting Syrup on My Tongue by @heyyjulien - PLAYERS ERA!!! Jamie and Gary have a casual relationship that gets put to the test after Jamie’s injured in a derby game. Great banter-to-feels ratio, you will want to put Julien’s sweet Jamie in your pocket and give their Gary a big hug. Great romantic closing scene where they negotiate the implications of Jamie’s injury scare. Also SCHOLESY!! <3

It’s just not what’s done by @player1064 truly a Carraville writer that ‘burst onto the scene’ as fast and furious as Micah Richards! My fave of theirs. A truly hysterical premise on the surface that they plumb deep to turn up real emotion. I love the time-jump style. Wonderful David&Gary friendship, as well as all of the Co92 rallying around Gary. Covers all eras up until today, with a January 2024 Carraville in Courcheval scene!! <3 

Package Deal (It’s Valentine’s Day, ye dimwit) by @kloppinthekop My fave of their “Holiday Husbands” series. So cute and sweet and the love scene is sooooo (SOOO) hot and poignant !! Jamie taking care of Gary in every way on Valentine’s Day. Domestic feels. 

Love You More by @effervescentdragon outstanding emotional excavation, Jamie POV Carraville. Uses a slightly disorienting (in a good way) jump around style that isn’t time stamped, but if you know your Carraville, you get your footing in a sentence or two. It’s a bookended journey between ‘fuck you too’ (visceral hatred) to ‘fuck you too’ (affectionate). 

Gary Neville is Still a Red, Just a Different Shade by @fanficburner - your ultimate ABO Carraville! This isn’t for the faint-of-heart, angst abounds, I would not call this a romance! But a great character piece. Gary gets unwillingly bonded with Jamie, while still in love with Beckham. The standout part of this fic is the world-building and social implications of what an ABO society might actually look like; separate Omega changing rooms, registration offices for Omega registration, the harsh realities of an owned class of people.

[creative-clawmarks]

two nights ago i had a dream where vampire alex was hunting me through a house and tried to trick me into being eaten by doing some whistling stuff and trick me outside. my parents were also there and were incredibly unconcerned with the possibility of my demise, like they knew i might die but seemed more concerned with getting me to bed. so i had to make a mad dash out of the house in order to escape alex.

then i ran him over twice

Would you be surprised to know you aren't the first person to have told me my Alex haunted their nightmares? Something something two nickels.

[minimickzy]

Literally Just Us || Lottie Matthews

dialog prompts: "Spin the bottle" "It's literally just us

Characters: Lottie x Reader, Van, Natalie, Jackie, and Shauna

Word count: 1529

“Lottie Matthew’s you are the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.” You smirked as you took the joint from her lips and brought it to your own.

“Mm, you flatter me too much.” Her cheeks pushed up and caused the outside of her eyes to crinkle as she smiled, blowing smoke out.

“Not possible”

She laughed, the rosiness of her cheeks intensifing.

“Okay stop hogging it and pass it already.” Natalie deadpanned next to you- making a grabby hand in front of your face.

Lottie, Natalie, Van and you stood outside Lottie’s back door. The inside was buzzing with teens- most already drunk or high as it was rounding midnight.

Your gaze slid across her house, the big windows and golden light peeking out of them. Music seeming to make the stutters shake with the beat.

You must be pretty high already- or maybe just tried because you zoned out thinking about something you wouldn’t remember in 10 minutes when Van blew smoke right in your face, causing you to cough and stumble back in shock as the other three laughed at you.

“Yeah yeah- very funny.” You croaked out between coughs.

The girls calmed down. Lottie finished the joint and stomped it into the dirt next to the deck.

“We should head back in before Jeff and Jackie get into a screaming match again.” Natalie groans.

“Jeff! It was just Shauna it doesn’t count as sex!” Van mocked Jackie’s voice, earning laughs from the others.

“God when is she gonna have her come to Jesus moment.” You asked as you shook your head towards the ground.

“Hopefully soon- I can’t take much more of Shauna's puppy dog eyes- they're like haunting my dreams.” Lottie laughed as she swung the door open.

The party was still in full swing, people milling around with red solo cups and beer bottles. All of Wiskayok’s teens crowded in one house- a house that was amazingly able to fit them all.

Technically this party was for the football team but Lottie's house was the party house because of its size and the fact her parents were always gone and didn’t give a shit what she did.

You could tell it hurt her. You didn’t know the complexity of their relationship and it wasn’t really your place but you could see that they all loved each other- something just stopped them from knowing how to show it.

Jackie and Shauna stood against the counter, bickering about something. Shauna rolled her eyes before meeting yours. “Please tell me you have more beer in the basement Lottie.” She huffed out as she left Jackie with her mouth flapping like a fish.

“Sorry Shauna- we used up the reserves after the game last week.”

“Shit- I guess that’s my cue then.”

Natalie gave her a solute as Shauna gave all of you a little wave, ignoring Jackie on the way out.

You let out a low whistle. Van copied your sound and then joked, “is right. That was hard to watch.”

People were starting to leave in a steady stream. You and Van started to pick up stray bottles and cups as Lottie and Natalie kicked the few people left out.

The four of you stuck together at almost every party, when tai would be willing to put down homework and join, she’d fit in like another puzzle piece.

Because you all were a group and Lottie was the party house owner- it also meant that you’d tend to have a mini sleepover after each party.

Lucky you all had a system and it only took a little less 40 minutes to clean up the mess.

After the cleaning was done the four of you set up camp in the living room. You grabbed the mattress from one of the storage rooms and dragged them in front of the big tv.

Can face planted onto the mattress as soon as it was in place. “This bed is softer than mine at home I swear to god.” The mattress muffled her voice.

“Did you guys wanna play a game?” Lottie asked giving the mattress a tiny kick.

Van flopped her arm up, “To tried.”

“Yeah count me out too, I’m ready to pass out,” Natalie said joining her on the

“Boo. You guys are lame” Lottie laughed in a sing-song voice. She bumped your arm and gave you the big round eyes and little smile she knew would win you over every time. “What about you?”

“Sure lot.” You smiled back at her and she led you to the kitchen with your hand in hers.

She bent over and opened one of the lower cabinets, reaching back at a weird angle with a look of concentration.

“What are you doing?” You chuckled.

“You’ll see.” She continued to rummage for a few more seconds before the look of victory lit up her face. “Gotcha!”

Out she pulled a huge plastic bag of Skittles. “Did you hide that?” You laughed as she looked at the bag in her hands like it was her firstborn.

“Yeah- if my parents from candy they’d throw it out- a bottle of vodka, sure that’s fine but god forbid I eat a snack with sugar in it.”

You rolled your eyes, “I don’t get your parents.”

“Yeah, I don’t either.” You could hear the shift in her voice. A tone that said more than her words ever could.

You desperately wanted to bring her back to earth with you, in the big kitchen with soft yellow lights and a big ass bag of Skittles. “So!” You clapped your hands together. “What game are you thinking?”

The shift happened again, this time back to the after-party giddiness. “Hmmm, I don’t know…. How about truth or dare?”

You rolled your eyes, “Okay- a throwback to 7th grade. I like it.”

You moved to the parlor (wow you forgot how rich Lottie was sometimes) and kneeled on one side of a coffee table, gesturing for Lottie to take the seat opposite of you.

“Alrighty, your idea so you go first, truth or dare?”

“Truth”

“Do you actually like Jackie or do you only talk to her for the team?”

Lottie made an affronted noise and leaned across the small table to hit you on the shoulder. You made a weak attempt to dodge her attack and laughed, “What?! You have to tell me! Honestly.”

She looked at you seriously but couldn’t hold the façade and laughed. “I can’t stand her”

“I knew it!”

“God don’t tell anyone! I just see how much she hurts Shauna and she doesn’t even realize it! Okay, your turn- truth or dare?”

“Okay- truth.”

“You’re so boring-“

“You literally picked the same thing!”

“Hmmmmm…” she bummed over you. And then squinted her eyes, sizing you up. “Did you actually fuck Randy after homecoming?”

“Oh my fucking god Lottie! No, Jesus, no!”

She laughed and put her hands up in surrender, “Hey I was just checking, that rumor was going around the school for weeks.”

You shuddered, “Lottie no- Randy? First of all- not my type. Second of all never even kissed anyone.”

She gave you a slightly shocked confused look, “I’m sorry what?”

“Yup. Kiss virgin over here.” You have a little laugh trying to lighten the mood.

“Okay, new game- spin the bottle.”

“It’s literally just us.”

“So?”

Your smile faded, the conversation taking a turn you were expecting, and we’re entirely ready for.

“Uh… here..” Lottie stood up and wandered from the room. Leaving you to gawk at where she had just been. You heard some shuffling from the other room, and then water running, before she reappeared- an empty beer bottle in hand. “I got it out of the trash- Don’t worry- I cleaned it.”

You let out a nervous laugh. “Are you being serious?��

Sometimes it was hard to tell when it came to Lottie, whether or not she was serious or just making a slightly off-kilter joke.

“Yeah- a throwback to 7th grade right?”

You took a deep breath as she sat back down across you and set the bottle on its side in front of you. “Right.”

“Go ahead.”

You quriked your eyebrow up

“Spin the bottle.”

“Oh yeah, duh.”

You grabbed the bottle and gave it a steady spin. You knew in your mind it really didn’t matter where it landed, after all there was literally only the two of you.

You must of spun it harder than you thought as the bottle spun and spun for what felt that minutes before lottie spoke up, “I can’t wait any longer.”

She basically lunched herself across the table, cupping your cheeks with both hands and giving you a long, hard kiss.

She pulled back, just a hair, and met your eyes. You could see the determination and sometime akin to passion. “Lot-” She cut you off with her lips, captured yours in a practiced dance.

You only pulled back when you thought you’d pass out from lack of air. “Jesus.”

“No, Just me.” She gave you a cheeky smile as she whipped her chin. “We should play that again sometime.”

“Okay but only when it’s just us.”

[multi-fan-dom-madness]

Midnight Masquerade - Crosshair

Summary: The bottle chooses your partner, and it lands on Crosshair.

Chapter Warnings: minors DNI; vampire!Crosshair x f!reader. kinks: mind control + marking/biting. spitting, feeding, blood, consent is gained though it's a little fuzzy, praise, oral (m receiving), PiV sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it); if I missed anything, please let me know!

Word Count: 2.6k

Read the intro here! | Suggested listening

...Crosshair.

A round of wolf-whistles rises from the rest of the table (quite literally, in Hunter’s case). Your gaze snaps to Crosshair. His eyes, shining blood red in the strobing lights of the party, meet yours without hesitation. A slow, smug smirk tugs his lips over his teeth. Pointed canines gleam. Core clenching in a mix of anxiety and excitement, you swallow involuntarily. For a moment, you forget where you are, entranced by the ruby color of his eyes, vision tunneling so that all you can see is him. 

The moment passes. Tech appraises both you and Crosshair. “Please do take note of any physiological differences or changes during this proce—hmph—” 

Crosshair shoves his slim hand in his brother’s face, effectively shutting him up and providing leverage to climb out of the confines of the table. You rise on shaky legs. Crosshair moves to your side; he’s not as broad as his batchmates, but you still feel dwarfed by his presence, the pallid tint his skin has taken on, the sunken circles around his eyes, the faint scars on his neck that remind you what he’s transformed into. Even his clothing, a plain, high-collared black cape and simple button-down, sets your blood into a frenzy. When his hand comes to rest on the small of your back, you shudder. 

Peering at you with hooded eyes, Crosshair quirks one eyebrow. “Well, doll?”

“Let’s find somewhere more...private,” you say. Your heart is in your throat, choking your words, but you’re not scared so much as you are exhilarated. 

Crosshair’s grip curves around your waist and tugs you firmly against his side. The appreciative look he gives you reassures you; from the few times you’ve interacted, there’s always been an unspoken magnetism that draws you to him. His silent, stoic facade and piercing gaze haunt your dreams on occasion. 

The crowd of troopers and nat-born partiers alike parts before the two of you as Crosshair guides you, towards a doorway at the back you hadn’t noticed before. In your periphery, you catch the looks some of the troopers share, the dubious expressions on their faces, but the pulse and thrum of the music drowns out any comments they mutter. All that matters is the way that Cross’s fingers dig into your side, the angry glare he levels at anyone who gets too close to you.

It makes you feel wanted. Desired. You walk with your back a little straighter. 

At the back of the large building, the single doorway leads to a hallway that itself branches into tributary halls and connected rooms. Straight ahead, a set of stairs leads up to another level.

“You got a safe word?” Cross asks, voice silky and low, as the door shuts behind the two of you.

Nodding, you meet his gaze again with a daring smile, lifting your chin to expose your neck more than you normally would. His eyes flicker down from yours to trace the column of your throat, before returning to your face. In the low light, his red eyes gleam. Your breath grows shallower.

“Meiloorun,” you finally say. 

“Good,” he hums. Tugging you forward once more, he leads you down a series of twisting hallways that leave you disoriented and confused. The longer you walk, the more you yearn for him to slide his hand down to your ass, or to push you against the wall and take you there, or even to just sink his fangs into you and—

“You have loud thoughts, dollface. Patience.” 

Startled, you peer up at him with wide eyes. “Can you read my mind?”

Drawing you to a halt, he glances into the nearest chamber and seems to come to a decision. Pushing you gently, he guides you into the room. A light, dim and soft yellow, blooms to life from a lamp in the corner, revealing—a bed? In the center of the room, a massive bed with plush pillows awaits, and hanging along one wall are a myriad of tools, toys, and implements. Your body flushes with heat at the sight.

Crosshair slips his arm from around you. “I can hear vague impressions of what you’re thinking,” he finally answers.

“Oh.” You hesitate in the midst of the room as he shuts the door behind you. “So, uh, are you good with this?” 

“I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

“Right,” you say, “yeah. Just asking.”

He hums, wrapping his arms around you from behind, caging you in place, as he dips his head to breathe in your scent. Nose skimming over your skin, he inhales deeply. The groan he lets out rumbles against your back. Goosebumps skitter down your skin.

“You think too much,” he grumbles, then presses a chaste, close-mouthed kiss to the spot where your neck and shoulder meet. “Let me help with that.” 

“H-How?” you breathe out, nerves coming alive in reaction to him. Kriff, he’s barely touched you, and you’re already so sensitive, so open, so curious.

His hands guide you to turn around in his embrace. Snaking your arms up around his shoulders, you fiddle with the short, silvery locks at the nape of his neck. Slowly, you raise your gaze from his chest, where silver hair peeks through the unbuttoned top of his shirt, to the strong column of his throat, to his pouting mouth, to his crimson eyes. Again, peering into him, you lose awareness, just for a moment, of the room around you.

He runs his tongue over his fangs and grins, predatory and feral. “Just let go, doll. I’ll take care of the rest.”

You glance at his mouth, biting at your own lips, heart stuttering. “Kiss me first.” 

Grip tightening around your body, he captures your lips in a bruising kiss. You moan, unashamed and loud, against him. His mouth is rough, demanding; his sharp teeth catch at your bottom lip, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to remind you of why you’re here. Heat pulses through you. 

When he pulls back, his eyes darken, lips parted and swollen. Your chest heaves. Fingers tightening in his hair, you chase his mouth, but he just chuckles and steps out of your embrace.

“Undress,” he says, peering into your eyes. “Then wait by the bed.” 

A warm tingling sensation spills down your spine as his eyes seem to glow crimson. The weight of your thoughts seems to lift, ever so slightly. With a shiver, all you can do is nod, filled with the urge to comply. 

Stepping out of your shoes, you tug off your clothing as quickly as you can, discarding the offending garments haphazardly, uncaring where they go. In the chilled air of the room, your nipples pebble. The thought occurs to you to touch them, let Crosshair see you play with yourself—a thought that is immediately dashed. That hadn’t been part of the orders.

You wrench your attention back to the current moment as you position yourself by the side of the bed as told. Against the far wall, Crosshair leans, fingers absentmindedly caressing the worn grip of a flogger, an amused smile playing across his face as he watches you.

“Good,” he says, and a flush of pride skitters through you. “Kneel.”

Even across the room, the weight of his chromatic gaze presses on you, and you again succumb to the warm, floating feeling as you drop to your knees. You rest your palms on your thighs. Crosshair approaches, toys left behind on the wall, and you crane your head back to maintain eye contact. One hand, long and cool and tender, caresses your face, thumb swiping over your bottom lip. 

You lick his thumb, enticing him to touch you more, feel you deeper. 

“Behave.” 

The command washes over you and settles into your bones. The longer you stare into his eyes, the lighter you become, until all you’re aware of is the cold press of duracrete against your knees, the feel of his skin against yours, and those red, red eyes.

“That’s it,” he praises. “Open your mouth.” 

You anticipate the words before they leave his lips and your jaw is open halfway through his statement, tongue sticking over your bottom teeth. It’s like you can feel what he desires of you before he expresses it aloud; the pleased expression that curls over his face makes you happy. You’re doing so well for him.

Crosshair leans over you, still fully clothed, and while normally you’d be concerned with freeing his cock from his pants, right now all you’re worried about is making sure you follow orders. Keeping your mouth open, your eyes never leave his. 

He spits in your waiting mouth. “Swallow that.”

You do as told, thighs clenching together as you become aware of another thing: the slick coating of arousal dripping down your legs. 

“Crosshair,” you whine, breathless. 

“Patience,” he chides again. His hands move to undo his pants; you blink and his cock is fully free, swollen and flushed and drooping in front of your face. “Remember your safe word, pretty thing?” 

It takes you a moment, sifting through hazy thoughts and muddled memories, but it comes back to you. “Meiloorun.” 

“Good girl.”

This time, he doesn’t even have to voice what he wants from you. Once you drop your mouth open again, he slips the flushed tip of his cock past your lips. You hollow your cheeks, sucking on his leaking head, humming in contentment at his taste. Cross watches you with hooded lids, a flush blotching his neck and face. Stars, he looks good like this. You bob your head, fighting off your gag when he touches the back of your throat. 

“Kriff,” he grits out. 

You repeat the motion. The only sound you’re aware of is the wet suck of your lips wrapped tight around his length, and it only makes the wetness between your thighs grow worse. Whining, you sense the order Crosshair wants to give: stay still and let me fuck your face. 

So you do. Cross’s hands come to rest on your jaw, cradling your head gently, and you breathe deep and even through your nose as he pushes his hips forward. Gagging, your vision blurs with tears as he holds you on his cock—and when he releases, you sputter, coughing. 

“Filthy little thing,” he says, but the undertone of his voice is laced with praise. You flutter your eyelashes up at him, thick with tears. 

For a moment, the two of you remain like that, a string of spit connecting you to his dick. His chest heaves, straining against the buttons of his shirt. Your eyes flicker away from his ruby gaze long enough to soak in the sight of his bulging muscles; his fingers on your jaw angle your face back up. 

“On the bed,” he murmurs.

You rise to your feet and perch your ass on the side of the bed, your slick and aching cunt at the perfect level for him to sink into without any angling. Eyes on his, you sense what he wants—what he needs. You trail two fingers through your sopping folds to gather some of your juices. Spreading your arousal over his hard length, you whimper at the velvety feel of him in your hand.

“Such a good pet,” he croons.

He grips at your hips, yanking you forward so you’re supporting yourself by your elbows, entire body hanging off the bed. His jaw tightens as he rubs his cockhead through your folds, rutting into you, the tip catching at your entrance. You both moan. 

And then he’s pushing into you, or maybe he’s pulling you onto him, but either way all you can feel is his thick length spearing you, deeper than you’ve ever had another partner before. His balls rest heavy against your ass as he holds you still, his fingers likely leaving bruises where he holds your hips. Your cunt flutters around him. 

Another of his thoughts begins to form, and you sense it over your connection to him. Immediately you convulse, desire and pleasure rocketing through you. 

“Yes, please, Crosshair, mark me,” you beg. “Show everyone who I belong to. Fucking bite me.”

Face contorting into a snarl, he snaps his hips against yours. His cock sliding nearly all the way out of you before he impales you once again, you let your head fall back, moans clawing out of your throat with every thrust. Stars, he’s so deep, reaching parts of you that you only ever dreamed of, and it makes your entire body light up with pleasure.

He continues to fuck you as his arms slip around your body, pulling you flush to him, supporting your entire body weight.

And then his mouth is on your skin. He sucks a trail of hickeys across your chest, lavishes your nipples with licks and love bites, skims his fangs over your hot, sensitive buds. You pant. Snagging his hair in one hand, you gently guide his head up to your neck, your actions an extension of the burning desire coursing through you both. 

“Please,” you whimper, “please please please feed on me.”

“Kriff, girl,” he groans into you. 

There’s a split second of overwhelming pain when his fangs sink into you—but it is immediately dispersed by a rush of pleasure so blinding that you think you cum. You can’t tell. Your mind is too far gone to fully process anything but the fact that his cock is driving into that one devastating spot inside you and that his lips are latched around the double-puncture wound in your neck as he suckles from your life-force. His thumb finds your clit and rubs it in precise, tight circles. Sobbing from pleasure and overstimulation, you cum again around him, body locked up as he fucks you through it.

“That’s it, just like that,” he praises, sounding absolutely wrecked, tongue smoothing over the bite mark on your neck. “K-Kark, gonna—”

“Please!” It’s the only word you’re capable of. “Please, please.”

He lifts his head, eyes finding yours once more, as he thrusts once, twice, thrice more before stilling, cock buried as deep in your cunt as he can get. As his length throbs in your soaked pussy, you can’t help the ragged whimper that tears from your chest at the sensation, nearly tipping you over the edge yet again.

Slowly you become aware of your surroundings again. Against your back is a plush, soft surface: the bed. Crosshair’s voice, still silky and raspy, but lacking the previous hard edge, caresses your ears. “Did so good, doll. Come back down to me.”

Blinking, you loll your head to the side. Lying next to you, Crosshair gives you the barest hint of a smile, expression softer than you’ve ever seen him. His eyes have returned to their usual amber smolder, his skin devoid of the pallid, waxy hue. His fingers brush your cheek. 

“I hurt you.” 

He doesn’t phrase it as a question. You reach with weak fingers to poke the sore wound at the base of your neck, wincing slightly but chuckling nonetheless. “I wanted it. It felt amazing.”

Settling his hand in the center of your chest, the two of you bask in the pleasant silence, studying one another. Faintly, music reaches your ears—the party is still going, and you can return when you’re ready. Crosshair slowly recomposes his expression into the neutral scowl you’re so familiar with.

“What happened, fully?” you finally ask. 

“Mind control,” he says. “Sent you into a trance. Tried to, at least. Got carried away.” 

His eyes drop to your bare body and you follow his gaze. A gasp escapes you. Oh, that’s so many more hickeys and marks than you expected. You’d been lost in the heady pleasure, the cloudlike feeling of drifting and only being tethered to the real world by his cock.

The thought makes you giggle; once you start laughing, you find it hard to stop. After a moment, Crosshair joins, his low rumbling laugh echoing with yours. You’ll get back to the party eventually. For now, you just enjoy the comfy bed and good company.

Ragu list: Ragu list: @the-hexfiles @thorsterstrudle @dystopicjumpsuit @clonemedickixx @freesia-writes @littlemissmanga @wolffegirlsunite @anxiouspineapple99 @wings-and-beskar @sinfulsalutations @523rdrebel @sunshinesdaydream @moonlightwarriorqueen @sev-on-kamino @starrylothcat @deejadabbles @starqueensthings @mandos-mind-trick @idontgetanysleep @eyeluvmusic21 @wizardofrozz @mythical-illustrator @sleepycreativewriter @dreamie411 (if you'd like to be added or removed, click here!)

[chelseypprimrose]

My Little Hatefuck / Negan x Rhee!Reader / 18+

Summary: You hate the man who killed your brother in cold blood, but that doesn’t mean you don’t want to fuck him.

Warnings: fight scene between reader and Negan (they love each other really kinda.) usual rough/hate sex themes, talk of death/murder, choking, minimal foreplay (there’s walkers right outside the door wtf do you expect lol), use of belt and rope, denial of feelings, not proof read.

A/N: i’ve left the ending open to a part two as the request was for the reader to have feelings for negan as well so this could potentially be explored in the next part if people want it. 🤍 i just hit 1,000 on one of my previous stories so i just want to say a massive thank you to you all! i only started writing again a couple months ago and i’ve been welcomed back in with sm love, i love the twd community 🤍 enjoy x

that whistle, that goddamn whistle.

like a lamb to the slaughterhouse, you had been in attendance enough to know what happens after that high pitched sound. it taunted you, haunted your dreams, the visual of your brothers eye popped out of the socket, crimson blood dripping from his dented skull down his face as tears rolled down his cheeks. that last whimper of a sentence, a lasting promise to his pregnant wife of once finding her again.

your own tears running free as well, his body finally slumping to the ground as Negan gave his final swift hit to your brothers skull, bits of his smushed flesh flying off the end of the barb wired bat. you’d grimaced, not being able to look at it, not wanting to face the reality that your only remaining blood relative was now gone, after all the shit you’d had to get through to survive this cursed world, for it to be for nothing, to be taken out by a evil and egotistical creature trying to prove a point.

he’d never be able to see his baby grow, never be around to hear their first giggle, see their first steps, it pained your heart just to think of it. you weren’t just thinking of it now though, it had become your reality.

you’d pushed yourself up off your knees, screaming bloody murder, getting fingertips away from grasping his now blooded up leather jacket before his sidekick lackey had grabbed you around your waist, pulling you away from him with a swiftness, your legs reaching out to try and kick Negan in the chest.

“someday, you monster! someday i’ll fucking kill you! you’ll be begging me to slit your throat when i’m fucking done with you.”

he’d just laughed at your anger, staring you down with a certain glint in his eye that you couldn’t understand.

a couple months down the line, you were still hurting. becoming the saviours personal bitches hadn’t sat right with you. you were secretly seething with Rick for allowing them to use you all as a personal doormat, Negan had well and truly broken him down to a shadow of what he once was. this man had ripped out someone’s throat with only his teeth before, but now all he did when they visited was back down and cower away from them. you’d tried to remind yourself that he was just trying to keep you all safe, including his own family. it was hard for you to stomach, Rick still had his family, still had his son, you had no one. with Maggie being sent to hilltop, you had no one that knew what you were going through, everyone hurt after Glenn’s passing but nowhere near how you felt.

he kept coming around, that stupid fucking bat sat on his shoulder, even making Rick hold it, having to bite your tongue to keep you from saying something that would get either yourself or someone else killed. always looking at him with fire in your eyes, unrestrained anger and hatred. he never looked at you the same way though, that unknown glint still shining through.

you wanted to scream at him again, wanted to wrap your hands around his throat and watch him squirm, watch his eyes flicker at the realisation he was going to die at the hands of you. it was one of the thoughts that kept you going, gave you a reason to see this through, you had nothing tying you to Alexandria anymore other than your relationships with those you’d travelled this journey with, they’d told you time and time again that you were family, while you knew what they said was true, it just wasn’t the same as having your brother fighting by your side. they’d supported you as best they could given the situation, you hadn’t had to cook in weeks, Rick always allowing you to deny going on supply runs, you would outright refuse. you needed something to keep you busy and taking out your anger on the undead was therapeutic.

you missed the stupid jokes he’d tell you when he could tell you were sad, not leaving your side until you were laughing along with him. the way his eyes had lit up when he told you he was expecting a child, engulfing him into a massive hug at the news.

you’d been looking over maggie’s false grave around the back of the compound, it being the closest thing you could get to being at your own brother’s grave at hilltop. even knowing she was alive, it still pained you to see a grave dedicated to her, made you realise that’s how you’d all end up eventually, if Negan was to be victorious.

you had felt his eyes over you for the past couple minutes, it taking everything in you to try and ignore his presence. you let out a sarcastic, angry sigh while crossing your arms over your chest. “can i help you at all? or are you just gonna keep staring at me?” you piped up, shuffling some of the dirt underneath your foot. he lowly chuckles, his heavy footsteps getting closer to you before you felt the leather of his jacket swipe against your arm, making you flinch slightly away from him. your skin burnt with anger, taking a deep breath in through your mouth and out of your nose as you fought your natural reaction to pounce on him, you’d thought of this scenario time and time again.

how you’d slit his throat, watch him bleed out like a stuffed pig, laughing as the tears would slowly roll down his cheeks. how he’d beg you for his life, how he’d apologise for what he had done, falling to the ground in desperation, his breathing getting shallow the more he bled out. his deep voice pulled you out of your comforting thoughts.

“damn tragedy. that’s what this is.” he tutted, leaning down on his knees, examining maggie’s tombstone. you scoffed, how dare he! even if he didn’t know that she wasn’t really dead, if she would have died, it would have been a direct consequence of the pain he’d put her through to begin with.

“don’t act like you give a shit about her. you sure as hell didn’t give a shit when you were bashing her husbands skull in.” he tilted his head up to look at you, you holding his gaze, the last thing you were going to do was cower to him like the rest of Alexandria had become accustomed to doing.

“you are such a damn spitfire doll, you know that! you ain’t like the rest of them are you sweetheart?” he rose to his feet, now towering over you again. “talking back to me like that! knowing damn well i could take lucille to that pretty little head of yours. don’t think i haven’t forgotten about that night, you threatened to kill me! right in front of my saviours, now that… that took balls. so tell me doll, are you brave or just fucking stupid?”

now it was your turn to laugh.

“i suppose you’ll find out Negan… when i finally see it through.”

you were sick of it, having to watch as those vultures loaded up their vans with supplies you had scavenged for, risked life and limb to keep yourselves afloat. as the male saviours look at you, eyes taking over your body, you didn’t even want to think about what filthy fantasies they were having in their minds. it made you feel sick to your stomach, the end of the world had only allowed for people to act upon those depraved thoughts and desires with no fear of police enforcement or consequences of their behaviour, practically a free for all.

you could see Negan in the distance, using his bat as a pointer stick, directing his band of merry fuckwads towards what he wanted to take back with him, he’d already cleared out your homes, mattresses, food, weapons. you name it, he’d got his dirty paws on it.

after your little tête-à-tête with the man himself earlier, you felt accomplished. you weren’t going to hide the truth, how when the time was right you’d have no problem killing him where he stood. you wanted the thought to run around in his subconscious, that threat always lingering in the back of his mind.

you imagined that running such a ‘successful’ group had probably given him the inflated ego akin to a military captain, meaning he was lured into a sense of false security. who would dare question his authority? knowing what he could do to them.

you watched as he exchanged words with rick before getting into the front leading grey truck, his eyes scanned the crowd that had gathered around the trucks before landing on you, leaning back into the seat relaxed, a grin on his face as he tipped his head towards you like he was wearing a cowboy hat, slapping the side of the truck commanding the driver to start driving away.

you turned back towards your house, preparing yourself to assess the damage of what those brutes had done to your personal property. you’d expected to see all your possessions destroyed, your picture frames on the floor, glass everywhere. your favourite blanket you’d carried with you since the start taken with no care to the sentimental value it held for you. the bookshelves to be pulled over and broken, your collection of books you’d accumulated over the years to be stripped away from you, one of the only activities that made you feel somewhat like you were back in the world before the apocalypse.

as you walked through the threshold, you were shocked to find that it was like nothing had been touched? no damages to anything, your belongings were just as you had left them. the pictures of you and your brother were still on top of the non working fireplace you had in the lounge, your blanket left neatly folded as you had folded it this morning after you woke up. making your way upstairs, you checked your bedroom, you almost couldn’t believe that your bed was still there, mattress and all, the only difference being a small crumpled bit of paper that had been poorly smoothed out, the deep crinkles still very much there. you picked it up, seeing scribbled handwriting in black ink.

“i’m not always a bad guy.

- N”

you allowed a small smile to creep on your face, before it left just as quickly, the guilt eating you alive. was this an apology? a peace offering? he must have known this was your place from the various pictures of you and glenn darted around the rooms.

you were on your back, large hunting knife still strapped to your front, the wind causing the dust to create a fog of dirty air. it had all gone to shit so quickly, from the kingdom and hilltop storming Alexandria at the last minute to save Carl from being killed at the hands of Negan, running up on Negan at the Sanctuary, Gregory turning on the hilltop, obviously scared of Negan and the Saviours.

you had no clue where anyone was, the walkers now taking over the lower bay of the Sanctuary, you’d been diverted every which way, just trying to find salvation before you accidentally tripped over your own feet, trying to scramble away to safety.

picking yourself up you saw a outhouse like building a couple minutes run away, weighing your options you hauled towards it, pushing walkers away from you before grasping the handle, flinging the door open and running inside. as you turned and slammed the door behind you, the light dwindling leaving you with barely any vision. you bent forward, hands on your knees trying to desperately catch your breath back.

slumping towards the wall, you allowed your body to rest, the smell of dirty walkers invading your nostrils accompanied by the moans and groans of them as well. you hoped everyone had managed to get away okay, the feeling of anxiety overwhelmed your body at the unknown fate of your peers.

you’d finally managed to get your breathing back to normal, feeling slightly more relaxed than you did, getting up off the dirty floor to survey your surroundings and start planning how in the hell you were going to get out of this fucking mess. you’d noticed some basic supplies scattered around, a bit of rope, a small half filled bottle of water and a rusty crowbar. you pocketed the rope and took a sip of the lukewarm water before throwing the bottle back onto the ground.

formulating your plan of action was abruptly cut short when the door you’d entered from burst open without warning, you’d grabbed for your knife again, pointing it towards the figure who’d just entered. the light coming through the door again blinded you for a few moments before shutting again, your eyes trying to adjust to the darkness. the heavy panting of the shadowy figure sounded all too familiar.

you could have thanked god in that moment, that he had delivered you just the person you’d hoped would have run out of luck, all packaged up with a pretty bow on top. it was only Negan, looking absolutely distressed and out of breath, obviously having had to fight off walkers, just the same as you. you carefully stepped further into the corner, trying to keep out of sight, formulating your next movements. you could finally do it, finally get him back, remove him off the face of the earth so ‘Negan and the Saviours’ were no longer anything more than a minor blip in history.

“god-fucking-damn it!” he growled, his tone angry, slamming his bat into the metal wall, making it wobble under the force of the smack. you could see his thoughts running at a mile a minute, the same look of ‘how the fuck do i get out of this one?’ that you’d had on your face only a couple minutes prior.

as his back turned towards you, you decided to go for it, leaping from your hiding spot, your heart beating out of your chest, you shoved him down onto his knees, a gruff sound of his breath hitching at the force, his precious weapon falling to the side of him.

you laid your entire weight on his back, your hands digging into his shoulders, your knife clattering on the metal floor just at the side of you, forcing him onto his stomach, your knee pressed deep into his lower back to deny him getting up. the element of surprise had made this all too easy.

“who the fuck are you?” he grunted out, trying to throw you off his back, your knee now shaking at how forcefully you were digging it into him.

“i told you i’d fucking kill you.” you spat at him, his body tensing up as your voice hit his ears. he gave a breathless, sarcastic chuckle.

“well…well…well, fancy bumpin’ into you doll! tell me, how’s ricks big master-fucking-plan working out for you?”

“brilliantly, considering you are now a second away from me slitting your throat.”

Negan pushed up with almighty force, putting you off balance, capitalising on your shock, he whipped around, coming down on top of you, your legs forced open as he parted them with his large frame, now holding you down, your arms above your head pushed into the ground.

“when i imagined us in this position doll, it wasn’t in a goddamned metal tin can, i can tell you that much.”

you growled at the idea - that he’d imagined you in such a compromising position. hearing this, you manoeuvred your legs to having your feet on his chest, pushing him over with all your force. he landed on his back with a thud, slightly yelping out at the pain.

you planted yourself on top of him, straddling his lower body, grabbing your knife and holding it just under his chin.

“you know, i’ve been thinking of this for months. why’d you have to do it, Negan? why?! my only family still breathing, butchered down by the likes of you! he was going to be a father! you tore me apart and laughed in the process. you think leaving me my stuff means i forgive what you did to me?!” you sneered at him, your rage now taking over, hot tears starting to pool in your eyes as the pain of what he’d done to you got too much to hide.

you expected him to laugh at you, just as he had before, planning to go out the way he had always been, cold hearted and evil. you were met with the exact opposite, he looked defeated, like the mask he used to hide had been ripped off.

“if i could take it back i would.” your eyes went wide, that wasn’t what you were expecting him to say. you pressed the knife a little harder into his chin, a small gash created under the pressure.

“i mean it doll, if i’d known he was your brother… i never would have touched him.” you almost dropped the knife, his confession hitting you.

“why? why am i any different to the other sisters?! the other family members of the people you’ve butchered, killed, fucking murdered? all for some pathetic little crusade? we’ve got enough fucking problems with the dead coming back to eat our asses!”

he sighed, putting his gloved hand on the blade, raising his eyebrows to indicate he wanted you to move it so he could sit up properly. you moved slow, with caution, ready to pounce again if this was some sort of false pretence. you allowed him to sit forward, his arms now coming out to balance himself, palms sat flat on the ground.

your chest now pressed up against his, as he looked you directly in your eyes, the hint of fear gone from his face. you should have killed him when you could, the guilt now entering your heart as he looked at you with such intensity.

“because, i see a headstrong, independent and straight up badass woman who doesn’t take shit from any fucker. i’d just beat the shit out of rick, cracked the holy hell out of two of your people and you still had the guts to threaten to slit my fucking throat.” you clasped his leather jacket under your hands, while still holding your knife at a downward angle, the blade sat on his thigh.

“and it also helps that you.. sweetheart - are one of the sexiest women i’ve ever seen this side of the apocalypse.”

your heart swooned, fuck you shouldn’t have been thinking like this.

he was the enemy, the man who had tormented you and your people for months on end, he’d killed your relative, for god sake! but in this moment, when all the theatrics, the violence, the destruction was taken away and it was the two of you staring into each other’s eyes, you didn’t care about that. you knew he was going easy on you, he could have grabbed Lucille with little to no effort and bashed your skull in, leaving you for dead but he didn’t. he was sat here with you, allowing you to be on top, in the power position.

you let your intrusive thoughts get the better of you, allowing the knife to slip from your grasp, one of your hands coming to cup his cheek, planting a long kiss on his lips. the attraction was there, you knew it, you’d known it since you laid eyes on him but everything in your soul told you it was wrong, it was borderline sinful to be so attracted to a man who had done such horrible things to people you cared the most about. you’d be banished if your people could see you now… but you didn’t fucking care.

when your lips separated, you felt his fingertips brush against your thighs, his hands gripping at your ass. Negan kissed your jawline, moving to the base of your neck, finally pressing his lips into the hollow of your throat, sending chills through to your spine. gently nibbling on your earlobe, you heard yourself softly moan, almost trying to repress your pleasure. you involuntarily started squirming your hips slightly in response to his actions.

“you are a real bastard - but you are going to give me this. i deserve this, Negan.”

he removed his hand from your ass, reaching around shrugging your thin jacket off your shoulders, followed by pulling your white top over your head, exposing your bra to him. you hastily reached around yourself, unhooking your bra, letting it fall into your lap before Negan moved it to the side of you. his hands then explored your chest, leaving harsh bites in a trail from your neck down to your breasts.

his tongue began tantalising your nipples one at a time, circling them, flicking back and forth across them - then kissing and sucking on them. his hand slipped to your jeans, unbuttoning them, pulling the zip down, caressing your pussy, slipping in-between your lips, finding your clit and harshly pressing down on it. he kissed his way back up your upper body, going over your neck, jawline and then back to your lips. he was still circling your clit, you tugged at his belt, slipping it open and pulling it out of its loops.

lifting yourself up you pulled his jeans down just enough to expose his erect, strong, and fucking big cock.

“i guess you are allowed to have such a annoyingly big ego.” you stated, Negan being brought out of his trance to grin at your statement.

looking at it sent a chill through you, the words you gave out were starting to get drowned out by the noises of the walkers outside the four walls, reminding you they could burst through at anytime. you momentarily rolled back off him, the loss of pressure on your clit making you whine out, pulling your jeans fully off.

you looked back at Negan, his glove glistening with your wetness as he put his hand into his mouth, tasting you.

“you taste fucking delicious doll.” he leaped forward, causing you to now be on your back, the same position he had you in earlier, running his hands over your breasts again, towering over you to kiss you, tasting yourself on his tongue.

slipping a hand between your bodies, you began stroking his cock, the pre cum dripping down onto your hand. supporting himself on one elbow, he took over your hands position on his cock, moving to line himself up. you felt the head of his cock probing your pussy, teasing your entrance. he moved his hips forward pushing his cock into into you, a loud moan escaping your lips.

once he’d positioned himself just right, Negan slid his arms under your back, supporting himself on his elbows while holding you in position. he began taking long but hard thrusts, almost ripping you apart. you raised your legs behind his back, crossing your ankles behind him. you twisted your hips, joining him to meet his thrusts, a grinding motion of your own. he took one hand off your back, causing your body to slump a bit as you propped yourself up on your elbow replacing yourself in the position. his hand he’d moved grasped your throat, just as hard as he was thrusting his hips into you.

“i might be a bastard doll, but you can’t deny those pretty slut noises you are making right now. you feel so good wrapped around my cock.”

you whimpered at his dirty mouth, you weren’t even in a good enough headspace to rebuke what he had claimed.

he continued to drill into you, you felt yourself shiver as the feeling built up inside your core. that pleasurable feeling you hadn’t felt in a good long while, never bothering to find love in such a fucked up world, no matter how many urges you had. you used your free hand to start circling your clit, trying to race to finish first, you knew the danger of staying here for too long. the pressure of his hand on your throat, the force of him continuing to rutt into you, your walls grasping him in a death grip.

“come on doll, i can feel it, cum for me. come on!”

he gave three sudden hard drives through you, joined with the pulsating of his cock you could feel deep inside you. your legs tightened around his torso out of reflex as your head threw back, the ecstasy laced sensation finishing you off as a few profanities slipped out of your mouth.

he followed behind you, as you felt him pull out, coating your inner thigh with his spend. he kept a hold of you as you both tried to catch your breath, the realisation of what you’d done hitting you just as hard as your orgasm had. you felt disgusted with yourself, not that you’d had sex but who’d you’d had sex with. you had let yourself get swept away with the pleasure, the carnal need to get yourself off and now you’d done something you could never take back.

you grabbed your jeans, pulling them back up your legs and re-buttoning them up. grabbing your bra, you readjusted it back on your body along with your top and jacket as well.

“why the rush doll?” fuck, you’d almost forgot he was even there.

“well, it might be something to do with the impending walkers at the fucking door, Negan… or the fact i just had sex with probably the worst choice of person i could have ever had sex with?”

his face dropped at that, “come on doll, did the pouring of my heart out earlier not change your mind about me? i’m not a fucking asshole, i’m just someone trying to protect the people who look to me to protect them.”

that caught the attention from your actions, you looked at him, still sat on the ground, his now flaccid cock laying on his lower stomach.

you scoffed, putting your hands in your pockets, feeling the rope still place there, you had to move fast.

you made your way over to him, cupping his face lovingly, making it seem like you were going to kiss him, before shoving the rope in his mouth, tying it tightly around the back of his head, his eyes widening at your actions.

shoving him around with all your force onto his stomach, you grabbed his discarded belt, looping it at his elbows, pulling the belt through the buckle and popping it onto the tightest hole there was. Negan struggled against you, trying his best to fight out of the belt you’d caged him with, his post orgasm energy wasn’t enough coupled with the pain now shooting through his manhood at the force you’d pushed him down at.

you pulled him up, he was resting on his knees, the same position he’d had you all on the night at the RV all those months ago. you couldn’t deny the full circle moment left a sweet taste on your tongue.

you grabbed your knife, sheathing it back in place, before turning back to look at him once more.

“plea-se don’t, i want you to be with me!” he said, at least that’s what you think he’d said, the words coming out all muffled from the rope being in his mouth.

you laughed.

“oh i’m sorry? did you think that just because i let you into my panties, i was going to spare your life? oh no honey, i’ll let the walkers have at you.” you bent down to his face, giving him a patronising kiss on the cheek, he was still rutting around trying to get out of the restraints as he looked at you murderously. “let’s hope they tear that big cock of yours off your body first.” you moved to the exit, winking at him.

“although, if by some miracle you escape this? come find me, you know where i’ll be. this? this has been fun.”

you pulled your knife out, hand on the door, ready to fight your way through however many remained outside, leaving some for dear old negan though.

[mazerunnersimp1727]

A Dream Worth Dreaming Of.

masterlist

A/n if you guys want to be tagged let me know.:)

WARNING! Smut. MDNI!

Colby's P.O.V.

Tossing and turning in his sleep, he can't help but feel haunted by her. Him having constant dreams about her. The moonlight hid her face and dreams of him kissing her soft skin, leaving his marks all over her, whispering praises in her ear, hearing her soft beautiful whimpers and moans. You get on top of him and whisper in his ears all that you would do. Kissing him all over, making him feel good. Doing anything to get him wrapped around your finger, and have him begging for more. Colby looks up at her in awe, seeing her body in the moonlight, and seeing sweat rolling down her forehead, driving him wild. She leans down and kisses him passionately, tasting the whiskey on his soft lips. Colby lets out a big groan loving the way you rock your hips back and forth, moving slowly just enough to tease him. Colby let his hands roam free. exploring your body. As she came close to her orgasm, you started chanting Colby's name like a prayer, "Colby, Colby, Colby,"

"Colby, Colby, Colby. Dude wake the hell up" Sam said shaking him awake, "We gotta go. Get up and get dressed," "Wait where are we going?" Sam rolled his eyes, "Were going to our investigation. Now hurry and get dressed." Sam says walking out of the room. Colby sits up and puts his hands on his head trying to shake out the pounding headache. He gets up from his bed stumbles over to the bathroom and gets dressed. 

Walking outside, and getting into the car, still with a pounding headache, Sam tells him all about what happened last night. "Yeah man, you were talking about some dead girl, you were just rambling on. You were drunk as hell," Colby shakes his head not remembering anything. "I think you were talking about the dead girl from our last investigation, uhh, what was her name again," Sam continues "Y/n," Colby blurted, "Yeah her, you wouldn't stop talking about it," "Just drive Sam, my head hurts like hell I just wanna get this over with," Still holding his head in his hands. "Here", Sam reached in his backpack for a water bottle and a painkiller and handed it to him, "Take a nap, it's gonna be a while till we get there," After Colby took the pills, he was out like a light.

This is perfect. The dark sky with the bright stars and the moonlight shining on the little pond made the water glisten, the moonlight kissing her skin, the warm spring night breeze blowing through the trees, making a soft whistle in the air, lying on the blanket he had put on the grass. Her head is lying on his chest, as she listens to his heartbeat, she whispers, "I love you," sending chills down his spine, and making him shiver. Her cold touch makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, hypnotized by her sweet cherry kiss, he replies "I love you too," "Colby?" 

"Colby, Colby, Dude wake up we're here," "Oh okay," "You were out like a light man, you were snoring loudly too," "I was having the best dream ever she asked me a question and I never answered," "Who Colby," "That dead girl, Y/n, it's like she's attached to me or something, she's just been in my dreams for a while now, and I have to know idea why," "Thats strange but we can talk about this later because we have some spooky shit to film. Let's go," 

Hours into the investigation about the man who was killed by his son, Sam, and Colby decide to split up and explore the place. Colby walked down the cold dark hallway, as he walked past one room, someone standing by the window, Colby backed up and peeked his head just enough so he could see what looked like a girl looking out of the window. "Hello? Hey, I don't think you support to be in here," He said walking into the room. The girl turned around and started whispering his name. He couldn't see her face, but something felt familiar, like the way her voice sounded, it sent shivers down his spine. Colby got a bit scared as she started walking towards him. Colby, now realizing it was a spirit, started backing up, but he stumbled on a couple of old boxes and hit his head on something behind him, causing him to pass out.

Colby jumped up, gasping for air. He looked around and realized he was in his room, in his bed. He looked down and saw his girlfriend sleeping peacefully. He checked his phone for the time. "4:27" He sighed. He got up and went to the bathroom, Splashing his face with water. He grabbed a towel and dried his face, "Baby what time is it?" Y/n spoke. Colby jumped holding his chest, "Hey, you okay?" "No, I had a dream that you were dead and you were haunting me. But god you were beautiful." "Aww, well now you know I'll be with you even when I die, but I'm here with you right now, I'm okay." She winks at him, and Colby hugs her tight, kissing her head, "You wanna make the most of it while I'm still here?" She says looking up at him. Colby smirks at her shaking his head and leaning down to kiss her.

Colby picks her up. She wraps her legs around his waist. Not breaking the make-out session, Colby walks over to the bed and lays her down. She tugs on the bottom of his shirt. He takes it off and continues kissing her body, from her neck to her chest, and takes off her shirt. "Oh no bra huh?" Colby says with a raised eyebrow, she chuckles in reply. Colby continues to kiss her body traveling down to where she needs him the most. "Tell me what you want," He says pulling her pants down, "You Colby," she whines. Colby smiles and goes down and kisses her inner thigh getting close to her sweet spot. Colby takes his thumbs and makes circles on her clit and licks her folds. Y/n grabs a fist full of his hair pulling him closer to her. Colby's tongue goes in further making her moan and whine. "I'm so close," Colby smirks and pulls away making her whine at the loss of pleasure. "Colbyyy," She says bucking her hips in the air. "What do you want baby tell me," "You please I need you," In an instant, Colby takes his sweatpants and boxers off. Y/n bit her lip still surprised by his size even though she had him before. Colby slides in and starts to trust slowly, "C-cColby faster please" Colby listens and goes faster letting out a big groan. "God your perfect," Y/n whines at the praises. He speeds up his thrust making the bed rock back and forth and causing Y/n to moan louder and dig her nails into his back. "God I'm so close, damn it Y/n you feel so good," He groans. "Colbyy" She whines, now Colby gets the hint she's close, "Come for me baby, let go," He huffs. Y/n, let go right after he says to. With a couple more thrusts Colby comes and flops down on the bed out of breath, he looks over at y/n who is fast asleep, Colby leans over and kisses her head bringing her close to him, pulling the blanket over their bodies, and falls asleep.

"Colby, Colby dude we gotta go get up," Sam says shaking him awake. Colby jolts up, "Shh dude you're gonna wake her up," "Who?" Colby looks over to see the other side of the bed empty. "What the hell? But it felt so real,"

Tags: @binnieonabike

[super-ion]

Aug-UST Day 17 - From rival factions

Some original fiction of character ideas that have been rattling around in my brain for a while now, based on a prompt from @thepromptfoundry

---

I heave against the barn door and in a horrible cacophony, it grinds closed. It's still cold as hell, but at least we're out of the wind and snow.

I should probably place wards on the doors... and windows... and...

I glance up at the roof of the barn where wind whistles through more than a few holes that need patching. Yeah, no amount of warding is going to make this place defensible. Honestly, it's probably better not to use any magic at all, lest we give away our position.

That and I'm completely exhausted, I very much doubt I have any effort to spare for a half decent ward.

Getting eaten by zombies on the wrong side of the Iron Curtain was not how I imagined myself going out.

A hiss of a match brings my attention back to the here and now. Katerina is stooped over a glass lantern that shortly casts a sickly yellow light over the room. For a moment, I get that same brief impression of too many shadows around her. Spending a week with her has done little at temper the strangeness of her magic to my senses, that blend of traditional Eastern European craft and whatever the hell the Soviets have been dreaming up.

She straightens, bearing the lantern aloft and peering around the room as she carelessly brushes the curtain of her dark hair behind her ear. The flickering lamplight casts her bony features in sharp relief, and it really isn't that hard to imagine her as some witch living in a hut in the woods that walks around on chicken legs. There's something hard yet beautiful about her. She's...

"Elizabeth, you are bleeding," she says cutting through my thoughts.

I raise a hand to the wet spot on my temple.

"It's just a scratch," I reply. "It looks worse than it is."

She frowns and strides towards me.

"Let me see," she demands.

"It's nothing," I insist, probably sounding petulant, which is not at all my intent.

"It is not nothing if those beasts hunt by smell."

Damn, she's got me there.

She sets the lantern on the ground and takes my head in her hands. Her touch is surprisingly gentle as she makes her examination.

My heart speeds up at the touch.

Get it together Liz, I tell myself. She's the enemy.

Is she though?

Only a few months ago, our two nations were bearing down on one another in the waters between Cuba and Florida. Even the mundane world understood how close everything had come to all going to hell.

Right now though? Here in this barn in the East German countryside? We are just two witches, just two women united against a common enemy.

She murmurs something in a language I don't recognize and a blessed warmth flows through me, centering on the cut on my scalp.

Her eyes meet mine, those dark pools of intensity captivating me. The gaze lingers. The gentle touch of her fingers against my cheek linger. Her eyes flicker to my lips briefly, erasing any doubt that she hasn't felt the exact same feelings that had been haunting me.

Unbidden, my breath hitches. We are so close, it would be the easiest thing in the world to close that distance between us.

This is...

This is a terrible idea. At the end of the day, common enemy or no, we are still agents of rival governments.

I watch as the exact same thought plays out in her head. Something in her expression closes off and she jerks her hands away.

"We should get some rest," she mutters. "We will both need all our strength in the morning."

"Yeah..." I agree reluctantly.