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sweet-as-an-angel · 3 months

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Ghost, Simon & You [SMUT]

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, Implied Breeding Kink, Implied Forced Pregnancy, Stomach Bulging, Possessive! Ghost, Kinda Evil! Ghost, Simon and Ghost are Separate People in the Same Body, No Pronouns used for Reader except ‘You’.

Backed up! Simon who uses you as his personal cum dump whenever he returns from deployment. You know you’re in for an absolute pounding when you hear him banging on your front door, only to see him standing there, tall and dark as a shadow, looking down at you with an almost manic gaze.

He hasn't even been home to change first, still clad in his balaclava, eye paint and the under-layers of his tactical attire. He pushes his way in, kicking the door shut behind him with his boot and pressing his lips to yours. It doesn’t matter that you can’t feel his skin, that he’s almost crushing your skull as he grips your cheeks and brings you as close as physically possible, that you can taste gunpowder, dust and death on his mask. That this isn’t Simon at all, but the unholy spirit that possesses him.

Doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter.

It also doesn’t matter that he literally tears your shirt from your body, a rumble reverberating through his chest when he sees you without underwear. You were expecting him. Good.

Simon – Ghost – is never gentle when it comes to the first round. He never strips all the way down, either, always leaving his mask on, too. He just yanks his pants down as far as necessary before pressing the hard, aching, weeping tip of his cock to your entrance, pushing in with neither care, nor restraint.

He sees the way you fist the sheets, face down against the mattress but your cries still managing to reach him. He just doesn’t care. Especially when your familiar warmth encompasses him, pulls him into the here and now.

It’s at this point that Ghost sees why Simon loves being around you so much, loves being with you. In you.

His member protrudes, a bump in your stomach evident like a tombstone. Whenever you try to press it, try to flatten your hand against it to get a feel for just how big it is, he takes your wrists in his hands and presses them against the mattress. The message is clear: you don’t interfere. I’ll cum when I say so, not by your hand.

Ghost doesn’t stop until you’re raw and red and leaking with either his or your juices, a ring of white forming at the base of his shaft where you can’t fit any more of his length inside you. You feel it, pulsating and battering and alive in your middle, feeling as if it’s nudging everything else out the way so it can lie uninhibited inside your warm cavern.

He’s hard and fast, rough yet thorough. He never leaves an inch of you unmarked, unbruised, by the time he’s done. Whether he’s aware or not, you always end up finishing first, your walls tightening and pulsating around Ghost’s cock as he continues to abuse your hole, hitting your most sensitive point over and over again, prolonging your orgasm and leaving you utterly spent yet satisfied.

When Ghost cums, it’s long, hard and hot. So, so hot – as if the all fire of his anger he’s had building up these last few months is now cradled within you, an unspeakable offspring. He never immediately pulls out. No, he waits, hands about your waist, no doubt bruises from where he’s gripped you, where he’s kept you so he can make sure you don’t crawl away.

His load is thick and there’s so much of it – you feel like you’re being filled past full.

If you’re capable and fertile, he often considers not giving you birth control after the fact, rather letting you stay dormant in bed and tying you up so you have no choice but to let his seed take. The idea never fails to send a shiver down his spine, making him hard all over again as the image of you, bedbound and incapacitated by his hand is enough to make him retreat to another room just so he doesn’t act on the fantasy.

The look on Simon’s face, he often wonders, when he finds you’re marked as Ghost’s, carrying a permanent reminder that he got to you first; when he realises that the creature he entrusts his dirty work to, his militant alter ego, has utterly ravaged and claimed you from the inside out.

The horror. The futility of apology. It’s enough to satiate Ghost for now. Enough, enough.

And with that, he pulls out, taking the blazing heat of his body with him. He leaves you on the bed, ass up, face down, with his cum dripping out of you. Leaves you for Simon to clean up, to deal with.

And to your side does Simon come rushing, for once Ghost removes his mask, so does he the haze he casts over his unwilling creator, letting him return to humanity. The vague pulsing of his member, the wetness coating it and the sheen of sweat clinging to Simon’s body is enough to let him know – remind him – what’s happened.

He comes to your aid, scooping you up in his arms and tending to you in every way he knows how - in every way that’s routine. He apologises, over and over, for letting Ghost do this you, for letting him have his way with you, for not being able to protect you–

You shush him. Look at him with kind eyes. You tell him you’re happy to do it, that you’d rather it be you than anyone else, that you wouldn’t be doing it if you didn’t love Simon. Which you do. Monumentally. And Simon loves you, too. He just fears that Ghost may be growing to love you, too – in ways he shouldn’t.

He feels him now, watching you bathe, sweeping over the bruises on your wrists, your hips and waist, the pressure in the back of his head mounting as Ghost lusts for the control to do it all again.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

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stemcellstencil · 1 year

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You were jealous of Asher?

Weird.

No you were jealous of other …things. Gross truth. Me too.

Kindergarten show and tell happens and that shit ain’t right. So…

#terrorism is Americas normal to camouflage human trafficking #actors trafficking children #oltl being cancelled #gun laws #solar plexus chakra #fecal matters and stalkers #the world on fire #Sarah Connor #AI and biological advancements #improving genetics to what they should be #third eye overworked #Hindi studies in darkness #my darkness as a small child #some are darker than others yeah #but dark isn’t evil always #the Americans always confuse that #heart chakra disconnect #healing planet earth #copd cures #and no these ships haven’t sailed yet #Ashley’s hunger for me to not have? based on jealousy. fuckin weird #Ashley also got cancelled after one bean season yo #Just remember that when you go making bad jokes ha #fudgetons #colorectal cancer #why the middle class is seeing such an increase in illnesses #flying off of a quad #going fucking awol #where’s my fucking car keys Natalie #no the ky boys don’t get a say haha

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long-live-astronerd-ghost-king · 1 month

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DPXDC: I wanna be like most girls ghosts.

or Danny: What should I do to make my mom happy?

or ~Danny deserves a little teenage rebellion as a treat~

Maddie: I just want this damned Phantom to stop pretending to be a hero! All ghosts are pure evil, who is he trying to deceive? Danny: Oh, really? And Danny took it personally.

It’s not Danny’s fault that he’s a good kid and wants to make his parents happy. But why would he have to be a monster to make them happy? Why must they hate him to be happy?

Danny’s obsession was going crazy.

Well, when your own parents call you a monster in the face, it hurts. Why do they always believe that only their opinion is the absolute truth? They have no idea how much worse things would be if at least some of the ghosts really behaved the way Maddie and Jack think they’re supposed to. If he really is evil by nature, is there any point in fighting his own fate? They want to see him as a villain, he will become one. He will. He just needs a little help and practice. And not bring it to the level when Clockwork has to clean up his mess. Poor guy is without a vacation for how long? Couple of millennia?

Johnny 13: Sup. Danny: F*ck off, Johnny, I’m not in the mood. Busy thinking about world domination. Get out of here or I’ll call Kitty. Johnny 13: What’s wrong? You’re usually so grouchy only towards the end of the week. Danny: Nothing. Just parents. Again. They are wonderful but I can’t help but feel sometimes that they, em… Johnny 13: Suck? Danny: Right…Damn. I’m a terrible son. Maybe something is wrong with me. Johnny 13: What? No, no, dude. You’re just growing up. And you’re a little late, usually teenagers go through that stage before they graduate. Well, you’ve probably been busy with other issues, so just missed it. Danny: I wonder whose fault it is. Aren’t there ghosts who enjoyed to ruin my life in the middle of school day?

Johnny 13: Oh, bother. Anyway, you’re entering a beautiful time of emancipation, where you’re going to shape your own view of life and, along the way, to get drunk on cheap alcohol at parties, maybe to go to jail and to become the greatest disappointment to your family..And then you will be ashamed to remember it for about the next ten years. Danny: Well, it looks like I’ve already done two out of three additional things. Great success. Johnny 13: When did you get drunk? Danny: I didn’t. Johnny 13: Oh. Want to fix that? Danny: What? No. What an idiot wants to add a headache to his problems? Johnny 13: Well, your loss, then I’ll go terrorize the bars of Gotham alone and no one can stop me. Let’s see what your boyfriend will say about it. ~~~~~ Danny: Bartender, another shot of Dead Man’s Fingers, please. Red Hood: Babe, haven’t you had enough? Danny: Have you ever felt that no matter how hard you try, no matter how many sacrifices you make, in their eyes you’ll always be nothing more than a monster? Nothing more than a mistake? Oh, Death doesn’t give people like me a break. Red Hood: …I’ll have what he’s having. *gives the bartender a sign to switch the rum shots to a batburger milkshake for them, and starts talking to Danny so that he doesn’t understand Hood's scams*

~~~~~

Johnny 13: Other people’s kids are growing up so fast. It seems like yesterday he didn’t know how to shoot ectoblast, and now.. Kitty: Stop trying to make me feel bad, we’re leaving. Johnny 13: But the boy needs our support, honey boo!

~~~~~

Danny: I'm fine. Really, I am. This isn’t the first time mom’s called me a monster. She often called me that when she was upset with my behavior in my childhood. Huh, it's even funny. Jason: There’s nothing funny about that. Danny: No, you don’t understand. Looking back, I was really a very active child and didn’t know when to stop. Not surprisingly that I often annoyed my parents. They’re very busy people, and Jazz couldn’t always keep an eye on me. And I was often afraid to go to sleep alone because there were shadows in the darkness of my room. Well, I used to think they were. But I pretended everything was okay to not distract parents from work. Jason: Hey, it’s not your fault. You were a child. Obviously, kiddo requires a lot of attention, they must have understood that. You are the second child in the family, right? Danny: Well, Jazz was different. I don’t know. Anyway, I thought if the monsters behind the curtain and under the bed were just like me, well, according to my mom, you know, then they wouldn’t want to hurt me. And since they look after me, they are friends. So I kinda greeted all the suspicious noises and howls. Huh, I was a strange kid. Jason: If you smile at someone in the dark alley right now that someone is more likely to wet themselves or faint. Danny: Rude! I’m not that scary. Admit that I’m adorable. Do it right now. Jason: Stunning, darling. But still carry a gun and a knife, please. My childhood taught me that what's hiding in the dark is worth beating up. Danny: Come on, what should I be afraid of? Death? Anyway, I want to try this shit. Like, the inevitable one. Being a bad boy, you know? Hood *raises eyebrows*. Danny: Oh damn it man, I'm talking about ghostliness. I want to try to be like most of dead ones. I want to unleash my side of the trickster and the villain. But only a little bit. I have to be supervised so that things don't go too far. Would you help me, honey?

~~~~~2 hours later~~~~

~~~~~

Goons used to expect a lot of weirdness from working with the boss.

Sometimes Bruce Wayne would go into their base and yell at the Red Hood like he's one of his kids. Of course Wayne's well-known as 'Gotta adopt them all' but the guy must really suffer from insomnia to count the Red Hood into his brood of chicks several times. Sometimes the boss would fight Robin or Nightwing over differences in morals…or for biscuits. It varied from moment to moment. Sometimes the boss caught the local street children, fed them and taught them to steal correctly. And most of the foundlings stayed with them under their protection.

To make a long story short, Red Hood is not the typical crime lord that some of them had to deal with before. Which is a blessing. Thanks Lord for the health insurance. But still the crime lord. Which means he's still scary, and sometimes deadly.

Anyway, when the boss brought in a guy who looked more civilian than any civilian in the whole Gotham and said he was going to be their intern, they thought it was a joke at first. Despite the fact that Hood was not in the habit of joking while working.

The teenager was too well-mannered and sweet to come from Crime Alley. Phil thought the guy was gonna run when he saw the first murder, Jessica didn’t think the domestic boy wouldn’t chicken out at the sight of a fight. But arguing with a boss’s orders in their profession is like asking for a bullet in the head, so these conversations were taking place outside of their boss's sight. God, how can they teach him anything? What do you take from a boy who’s only good to do the coffee run? Fenton will fall if they’ll give him something heavier than 10 pounds. And then boss will yell at them because he treats the new guy like a princess on a pea. Well, at least that’s what they thought until the boss decided to give the new guy his own assignments:

~~~~~

Red Hood: So, what have you learned during your internship, my young Padawan? Danny: Well, it looks like I’m gonna suck at being a criminal mastermind. I think I may have to find myself some other profession. Red Hood: Come on, you just need a little more practice. Danny: Thank you but I don’t think that’s fit my obsession that good. Don't misunderstand me, I wanna be like most ghosts. But I was wrong to go to hit that goal only base on human stereotypes about my nature. Red Hood: What a pity. The newbies just learned not to flinch when you walk in. But, to be honest, I'm not gonna miss the adrenaline-boosting roller coaster of you at work. Danny: Oh, and I guess to hold on to the concept of humanity was really stupid too. I clearly no longer fit in and I’m finally ready to accept that. So, hopefully, if you get into trouble, you can rely on my ghostliness and call for help. I am the spirit of many talents and of my word. I can haunt your enemies or walk through the walls of Arkham Asylum. Whatever you need, I’ll be here. Red Hood: I’ll bear that in mind.

#dpxdc prompt #dpxdc au #dpxdc memes #dpxdc crossover #dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dcxdp #dead on main #dead on main ship #alcohol

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coryosbaby · 5 months

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—1-800-ʙᴀɴɢ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɢᴏᴅꜰᴀᴛʜᴇʀ !

(Dark! Dbf! Anakin Skywalker x fem! Reader)

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: your parents leave you home alone to tend to the christian faith. It’s a good thing that your daddy’s friend is there to help you atone !

୨୧ Content warning . Dubious consent (reader is naive, but consents), blasphemy & strong religious themes, manipulation, baby trapping? age gap (reader is of in her 20s), weird incest names but they aren’t actually related // innocence kink, god complex, loss of virginity, size kink, oral, pnv, missionary + full nelson position

Disclaimer: I am not religious, though I do know there are people that are. pls block if it bothers you! This is solely fiction and not meant to offend anyone, and I don’t condone using religion as a way to manipulate or hurt others. Thanks! ⋆｡˚ ⋆

Your parents leaving you alone is honestly a scary experience.

Although it’s fun (having the house to yourself means having the large flat screen tv in the living room), you’ve come to find that at night you’re quite afraid of the dark. And of course, your family has left on an adult-only Christian retreat and has left you home alone.

Sure, you’re more than old enough. But you haven’t been exactly… exposed to the world around you. So the idea of monsters and demons filling the dark corners of your home, it becomes even more prominent.

You try to concentrate on your bible, try to read through the verses where God tells you to fear no evil, but the paranoia is creeping in on your cold spine like a winter’s chill. You try to listen to music, too, to drown out the whispers you hear in the night.

But to no avail.

You decide that you have no choice but to call the only contact that’s available to you.

Anakin is your godfather, in the sense that he’s your father’s best friend. He’s always been around, and he’s always helped you with your studies. Anakin— uncle Ani, as you sometimes call him, lives less than a few blocks away. He always tells you that if you need him, he’ll be there. So it wouldn’t hurt to ring him up, right?

Pressing the dial on your phone, you type in his number with ease. Biting your thumb nail you wait for him to answer. He picks up on the third ring.

“Y/N? Is everything okay?”

You smile at his voice, the one that always gives you that tingly feeling in your stomach. You suspect that it’s because he’s your favorite person.

“Everything’s fine, Ani. Are you at work?”

“It’s a Saturday, isn’t it?”

“Well… yeah.”

“Then I’m off work, sweetheart,” he replies softly, and then you get that tingly feeling again. “Why did you decide to call?”

It’s not in the sense that he’s annoyed— he’s genuinely curious. You nervously rock back and forth on the balls of your feet.

“Well—“ you start, embarrassed. “Mom and dad are out, ‘n— it’s dark.”

“Dark?”

“It’s—“ you can feel tears beginning to form in your eyes as the wind creaks outside. “I don’t like it, Ani. I don’t wanna be alone in here... Please come.”

Anakin’s cock presses against his zipper at the sound of your whiny, desperate voice. He palms his bulge through his slacks.

“Yeah, baby. ‘Course I’ll come,” he pauses. “Just gotta do something first, okay? Then I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

You sniffle, the tears beginning to fall now.

“Okay. ‘M sorry.”

“For what? Don’t apologize to me sweetheart. Just wait there.”

—

A good forty minutes later Anakin is there, and when you open the door for him you latch onto him like a leech— your hands wrap around his waist, your bury your face into his fit chest, and you whimper against him as he coos gentle reassurances to you.

“It’s okay, baby. Uncle Ani’s here.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

He brings you over to the couch, sitting you on the cushion beside him as he looks down at your pink bible. He notes that you use the wooden cross necklace he had bought you for your nineteenth birthday as a bookmark.

“Been readin’?” He notes, looking down at the opened pages. You’ve been highlighting some verses, and next to this book there’s another: Christianity for Girls.

“Mhm.”

Anakin picks it up with idle hands. He flips to the first chapter.

“C’mere. Want me to read to you?”

“Yes, sir.” You reply, and with a gentle flick to your hair you begin to climb into his lap. It’s not uncommon for you to do this— he’s so comfy and warm. Even though sometimes the things in his pocket tend to poke against your bottom, you don’t mind. It’s worth it if Ani has his big arms wrapped around you.

He grunts as you settle down on him— his cock twitches as he feels your panties hit his lap. Your skirt is covered just enough to not expose you, but it still rides up as you sit down. His hand grips your thigh, and with the other he settles the book in his palm.

“Chapter 1,” he clears his throat. “Rules.”

Well, okay. If you say so.

“Girls should always follow their faith in God.”

Fair enough.

You nod along, as he reads the next.

“Girls should go to church every Sunday.” He smirks, turning to you. “Do you go to church every Sunday?”

“Of course! I love church.”

Anakin chuckles, flipping to the next page and adjusting himself from underneath you.

“Rule number three,” he says. His voice hesitates as he reads the next line, then he awkwardly clears his throat. “No premarital sex.”

Your brows furrow, bottom lip pulling between your teeth. “What’s that?”

He sucks in a breath, his cock beginning to become hard for a second time today.

“Sex? It’s—“

“No, no,” you giggle, your hand coming up to cover your mouth. “I meant— I know what sex is, Ani. Sort of. But.. what is premarital sex?”

“It’s sex before marriage. Doing it with someone you aren’t going to devote yourself to.”

“Oh.” You twiddle your fingers, eyes averting down to look at the ink splattered pages. “But— if you do it with someone you’re going to devote yourself to, without being married anyway, isn’t that still non premarital? I mean, in a way, you are married…sort of.”

Anakin shrugs, resting his head on your shoulder. You try to ignore how the closeness of his breath makes you tingle.

“Dunno, honey. I guess so. Never thought of it that way.”

You nod, wiggling around on his lap to get more comfortable. Anakin’s fingers grab your hips with a firm hand.

“Have you ever done it?” You ask. “Premarital sex, I mean.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle. Something in him is breaking apart, all these years of pent up sexual frustration for you beginning to come to a head as his resolve crumbles.

“Yes. Many times,” he coincides. “With a lot of people I didn’t care about. I shouldn’t of done that. It’s bad.”

Your face fills to the brim with heat, as the tension in the room grows incredibly thick. Your eyes widen when you feel him hump against your clothed cunt.

“What about you, baby?” He whispers against the shell of your ear. “Have you done it?”

You stutter, hesitating, and that’s when Anakin gets his answer.

“Right. ‘Course you haven’t,” and then, quietly, as if to himself, “Too precious for those little boys…”

You let out a small sound in the back of your throat, that tingly feeling growing evermore prominent. You don’t know why you’re feeling this way. Maybe it’s the heat in the room, maybe it’s your claustrophobia.

Or maybe, you think, it’s the devil.

White hot heat coils in your private parts, and you try to get off of Anakin to get rid of feeling. He tsks, grabbing your hips and shoving you back into his lap. You whine, hands gripping is in an attempt to get away.

“Ani.. c’mon—“

“Do you touch yourself?” He asks darkly. You let out a little gasp. “Do you touch your princess parts, sweetheart?”

You shake your head, almost too quickly, and can’t help but press your thighs together. Anakin is having none of it.

“Liar,” he hisses. “You have. Don’t lie to me, little girl. I know when you’re lying to me.”

“I’m sorry!” You whimper against his harsh grip. “I-I stopped! I did, I really did, and I’ve been meaning to repent and atone for my sins but I haven’t yet…please, uncle Ani.”

Tears of shame begin to fall from your eyes, wet and salty. You let out a little cry. Anakin softens a bit, his grip on you loosening. He wraps his arms around your tummy and quietly shushes you.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, angel, I know you didn’t mean to,” he coos, as your hands move around to rest in the locks of his hair. “Sensitive baby. I know it’s hard not to touch yourself down there. ‘S okay.”

“Promise?” You sniffle, turning your head to look into his eyes. He smiles.

“I promise.”

Your eyes innocently move down to his lips, that feeling growing inside even more.

“Ani..” you whisper. “It’s.. I want to.. to touch myself again. I don’t know how to control it…”

He strokes your hair out of your face with his fingers, cooing again.

“It’s okay,” and then, after a moment, with his cock pressed flush against your cunt, “I can help. Do you want me to?”

“But.. isn’t that premarital sex?”

He presses a kiss against your earlobe.

“You love me, don’t you? And I know I love you. So isn’t that marital sex?”

Your brain has turned into a puddle. Softly, you whisper out, “yes.”

He smiles against your skin, his hands sliding up past the expanse of your thighs.

“There’s something they don’t tell you about sex,” he murmurs. “When you let the man you love inside you, it’s a way to celebrate god. You become one with god.” He quirks a brow, watching you listen closely to him. “And you atone. Don’t you want to atone, baby?”

Your doe eyes look up at him, and you nod. He grins, knowing he’s got you exactly where he wants you. His thumb pulls the flesh of your bottom lip down and he watches it bounce back against your teeth.

“Why don’t you give me a kiss? Hm, pretty?”

And just like that, he’s got you. Your lips, ever so softly, come up to peck his. He smiles.

“Again.”

And you do kiss him again. Only this time, he presses hard into your mouth and it’s not long before his hands are tangling in your hair and he’s rubbing his tongue against your bottom lip. It’s all surreal, this man below you, his cock hard. You don’t know that, of course. Pulling away from him, you have a confused look on your face.

“What’s always in your pocket? ‘S poking me.”

Anakin doesn’t say anything. He just laughs at you, and leans in for more of your kisses. You get too lost in the feeing of his hands massaging your inner thighs to press him for an answer. But you find out soon enough when you feel him push your hand down into the front of his pants. Letting out a small squeak you feel the warm skin of his cock, and something tugs at your lower tummy again.

“Oh.” you say softly, understanding. It was never something in his pocket— it was him.

“Feel what you did to me?” Anakin huffs out, as he guides your hand up and down on his length. “That’s my cock, baby. It’s what happens when I get really excited to see you.”

A small smile grazes your features at the thought of Anakin liking your presence. A whole lot, it seems, because his body is physically reacting. He grunts when you squeeze his length out of curiosity.

“Does it hurt?” You murmur, watching him.

“Not at all,” he coincides, adjusting you on his lap. “Feels good.“

And okay, that’s even better. Now you’re making Anakin feel good. Pride floods your chest. Watching him, you feel his precum drip down your fist.

“Can I see it?”

Your voice surprises him, and he’s nodding so quickly that it seems like he might break his neck.

“‘Course, pretty girl, can watch it all day if you want to…” looking at you hungrily, he mutters in a soft tone, “C’mere, get on your knees.”

Confusion muddles your brain, but not as much as the ache to please him. You crawl off of his lap, and he takes one of the couch pillows and places it on the floor.

“Sit.” He commands, and you rest your knees on the pillow and your small hands on his big thighs.

He unbuttons his fly, then his zipper. His bulge is straining against his briefs, a wet patch on the front from his arousal. Gulping, you watch as he pulls his pants and underwear all the way down and slips them off.

His length springs free, dripping with pre and insanely long. Your eyes widen as you watch it, wondering: where does it go?

Okay. So, you have a vague idea of where it’s supposed to go— somewhere in you, but you don’t know where. But either way, you know for for a fact that wherever that is isn’t adjustable enough for such a big thing. Your face floods with embarrassment.

“Where do I…” you start, quiet. Anakin furrows a brow, grabbing his cock into his palm.

“Where do you what?”

You avoid his gaze.

“Where do I.. put it?”

A smile quirks on the man’s lips, stroking himself to the sight of your pretty face peering at his cock.

“Your mouth, sometimes. But especially where you touch yourself, angel. Your cunt.” He tilts his head, not shaming you but trying to explain. “Do you know what your cunt is?”

You shyly nod, knowing that that’s what some of the boys around town called that spot where you touch yourself. And now, feeling this odd tingle inside you, it all makes perfect sense. It wants Ani inside.

But you frown at him.

“It won’t fit,” you say sadly. “‘S too big”

“It’ll fit, honey. Just have to stretch you first.”

Stretch you? That sounds painful! Fear courses through you.

“Stretch me?” You say worriedly.

Anakin seems amused by your reaction.

“It’ll only hurt a little, then it’ll feel really good,” he explains. “I promise. Don’t you trust me?”

Your head moves up and down, and you know that it’s true. He smiles softly, and then he’s tapping your lip with his finger.

“Open,” he says.

Your parted mouth falls completely open, pink tongue lolling out as he places the tip of his cock on it. It takes you by surprise, and your lashes flutter as his taste evades your senses. It’s an odd flavor— not too bad, but not too good either. Though, the thought of it being from Ani makes it all worth while. He slaps himself against your tongue a few times, the wet muscle making a plopping sound as his stringy precum creates a small puddle in your mouth. He watches, proud, and he praises you in the most gentle tone he can muster.

“Good girl. Such a pretty mouth, can’t wait to cum inside it…”

And that makes your eyes shut tight as you let out a loud whine, knowing that his cum is another delicious fluid that you will happily drink up soon. His cock guides itself even more into your mouth, the cockhead disappearing in between your plush lips. You use your mouth gently, treating his cock with care, not wanting to hurt your uncle Ani. He grunts when you swirl your tongue around him.

“Mmm,” he breathes. “Lick it, baby. Like an ice cream cone… yeahhh. Just like that, sweet girl.”

You hollow your cheeks around his mushroomed head, your brain becoming fuzzy at the feeling of his length moving in and out of your mouth. Suckling him, he’s soft and warm on your tongue.

You do this for quite some time. Anakin’s thrusts speed up, and he makes you take more and more and more. When you choke on him for the first time he tells you that it’s okay— “just get through it, baby, don’t you wanna be good for me?” And of course you do, because it’s Ani, and he’s really handsome and he smells really nice and his hands are so big as they card themselves through your hair. You can’t get enough and you’re almost angry he hadn’t shown you this sooner. Your vision is dizzy as he uses your mouth.

On a particularly harsh thrust that makes your throat spasm around him, Anakin begins to make some very pretty noises. Drool leaks down your chin and chest, your mascara running, his balls slapping against your chin. He groans loudly.

“Gonna cum,” he mutters out. “Gonna fill up your throat. Do you want that, sweet girl?”

You can’t say anything, but you try your hardest to nod around his cock. He gets the message. And with stuttering hips, salty fluid shoots into the wet canal of your mouth. It fills you up until you’re choking, and as Anakin rides out his high his cock practically coats itself in cum as he moves in and out, in and out. He pulls you off of him after a moment, and with a mouth full of spend you gasp out for air. Anakin’s got this possessive stare in his eyes as he looks at you.

“Swallow it.”

You do. You gulp it down excitedly, and with a small “aaaaa” you stick out your tongue so he can see that you’ve consumed it all. Anakin looks down at you with a grin on his face.

“That’s my girl.”

—

“I want you to… to put it in me.”

Your voice speaks softly in the darkness of your room, rain pattering against your window as Anakin sits on your bed across from you. It’s been a week since your last… encounter. Your parents are out once again— and as requested, Anakin had shown up on your doorstep to keep you company. After a mug of hot chocolate, your favorite, you had invited the man into your room. A cross is around his neck, shiny with a silver chain. His hair is messy, his fingers clad in silver metal rings. You want to bite them.

Anakin smiles, pretty teeth shining.

“Do you know the story of the Virgin Mary?” He asks, out of context. Your eyes light up. Mary is your favorite biblical figure.

“Yes!” You reply to him. “She got pregnant by God.”

“And how did she do that?”

“By magic!” You say. “She gave birth to Jesus.”

Anakin chuckles, kissing your forehead softly.

“Such a smart girl. But sweetheart, magic didn’t give her a baby.” At the sight of your confused face, he continues. “Sex did. That’s how all babies are made.”

Heat creeps up your neck, your face puzzled. “So you’ll give me a baby?”

Anakin should be frightened at the thought of getting his best friend’s daughter pregnant, but he isn’t. In fact, he smiles, his touch leaving tingles against your skin.

“If that’s what you want. Just imagine, angel..” his lips brush against your ear, smoothing back a strand of your hair. “A beautiful baby. My nose, my lips.. those pretty eyes of yours.”

You bite your lip, your heart fluttering. Having Anakin’s baby would be your dream! Having a house with him, children running around, Anakin coming home from work everyday…

Oh, but daddy would be so mad.

He would never look at you the same again. He would be ashamed, he would damn you to the deepest pit of hell.

You think these things so incredibly, but once Anakin’s lips press against yours all of those things go away. He kisses you slow, sweet, gentle. His stomach presses against your tummy.

“I can’t wait to see it. Your little belly, all swollen with my baby..”

And daddy is out of your thoughts and replaced with a new, different daddy: Anakin.

It’s not long before he’s got you laid down on your ruffled pink sheets, your baby blue nightgown gone (“cmon, let me see that pretty body”), with Anakin’s lips trailing down your neck. He’s gotten you prepped, used his fingers and tongue in oh so many ways that had made you quiver, used your throbbing cunt for his own meal. When you spread your legs for him this time, it’s so he can rub his incredibly hard length against the lips of your pussy. Delectable and sweet as he remembers, Anakin watches the way your leftover cum and slick coat his length generously.

He’s never seen a cunt so cute, so fat, so swollen and precious. He taps his cockhead against your clit, listens to the desperate little pleas you let out as you look up at him with doe eyes.

“Please, Ani, want your baby.”

“Please, daddy, put it inside me. My cunt’s so tight and wet for you..”

You don’t say that last part, Anakin’s imagination runs wild, but he knows you’re probably thinking that— thinking that as his mushroomed tip pops inside your entrance, stretching, burning. Thinking that as you cry, your salty tears his most delectable meal besides the thing in between your legs. Thinking that as you grimace, give him that pained look as he fully sheathes himself inside.

And then, he begins to move.

It’s like a fire in your gut, at first. Hot, burning, grating. But soon it gives way to something else— something not even his fingers can create, something that’s absolutely out of this world. Your nails dig into his back, leaving red welts along the skin, and you should apologize but you can’t bring yourself to care. Ani’s whispering something in your ear, something dirty, filthy, and deprived; you enjoy it so much, you really do, as he speaks to you like this.

“Good girl, so tight. Daddy’s so happy when he fucks his little princess.”

“Look at that, how red and swollen your little pussy is. Is my cock too big for it?”

After harsh thrusts, skin slapping against skin, and curled toes, Anakin pulls out of you. You almost sob from the loss, but it isn’t long before he lays you on top of him and slips himself back into your sopping hole, pulling your ankles behind your head. This causes your eyes to flutter open again, a small moan leaving you. Anakin brings his hands around to hold your legs and head in a chokehold. He fucks you like that, all twisted and overstimulated.

Looking down, you watch as his length fills you to the brim and moves in and out of you.

“A-Am —“ you sniffle, a pleasured sob racking through your throat. “Am I being good, Ani? Is… Is god inside me now?”

Anakin groans, his hips pressing even harder against your raw fucked pussy.

“Yeah, baby,” He breathes, his hand pressing against the bulge poking out of your lower tummy. “God’s in you. Right in this little tummy.“

You mewl, understanding his words, the blasphemy in them. A blush coats your cheeks as you murmur out, “don’t say that.. ‘s bad. You’re being bad.”

“But I’m making you feel so good. Aren’t I, baby?” He taunts, with a hint of malice in his voice. “Isn’t this what you wanted? A thick, hard cock to fill up this little pussy?”

You shake your head, trying to deny yourself this pleasure you can’t contain. Anakin chuckles.

“Yes, it is. I can tell when you’re lying, little girl... oh, look at you. Little legs are shaking. Poor baby…”

You should feel guilty for all the dirty things leaving his sinful mouth. You should hate him and find him icky and push him away. Hes a dirty, filthy man.

But… he’s your Ani. The man who protects you, hugs you when you’re sad, buys you your favorite lip gloss and stuffed animals. And that cross is dangling in pressing against your back, cold and heavy like a burden but still turning you on and— he smells so good, and although you keep trying to move away from his harsh fucking, you know in your mind that you don’t want him to stop. Little sounds escape your throat with each thrust, moans and whines that sound like a wounded animal. But you are far from wounded— unless you count the soreness you’re probably going to feel tomorrow from Anakin pounding your guts.

Grunting, his arms flex on each side of you as he grasps your body with firm hands.

The man’s cock moves against your walls harshly, slick penetrating the skin of your thighs and making you shake. A smirk glazes his lips as he watches your face contorted in pleasure, and your neck is craned so you can see every facial expression he makes.

You thought you had never seen God. But right now, you might not be so sure.

“Good little angel,” he groans gently. “Such a tight little fuck hole for daddy.”

You want to be disgusted by the name, wanted to be disgusted since the first time he said it, but before you can think too hard the tip of his mushroomed head slams against a certain spot that has you sobbing out, “daddy, daddy!” against your own accord. He moans himself at the sound of your pleasure.

“Good fucking girl. Hittin’ that princess spot so good, yeah? Pussy feelin’ good?”

Your eyes roll back, your body going limp like a rag doll as you relax against his jackhammering thrusts. It all feels too good. The Bible always talks about heaven and you think that this is truly it: Anakin below you, holding you down, humping into you like an animal, as he spews disgusting phrases into your ears.

Maybe he isn’t the devil. Maybe he’s God.

You can feel something building up in your tummy, the familiar butterflies now turning dark like moth wings, scraping against that one spot over and over and over. God grins from below you, and bringing his hand up he forces your mouth open with his big fingers. His spit lands down on your tongue, wet and warm and perfect.

“Swallow.” He commands, and you do it greedily. Your voice moans for more, aches for more, and he does it thrice.

“Do you trust me?” He growls. “Do you trust you uncle Ani, baby?”

“Yes! Yes sir.” You whimper, and you know it’s true when it falls from your lips. He forces his fingers to press even harsher around your head. Your ears ring, a pressure beginning to form in your skull.

“God’s got you,” Anakin growls. “God’s got you and your life in his hands. And you know what?”

You don’t say anything, just shake your head as you try to catch a breath of air.

“He’s not gonna let it go.” He continues. “You’re gonna feel this, honey. You’re gonna get fucked like this all the time—“ your vision is blurring, his words making you spasm. He brings his fingers down to that swollen button on your soaked pussy and rubs in harsh circles. “— When daddy thinks his precious little girl is asleep, when he thinks she’s praying to god, she’s going to be praying to me. Choking on my dick, getting fuckin’ bred. Do you want that? Do you want my cum, you fucking slut?”

You can’t really hear him anymore; your body has gone completely limp, your eyes fluttering shut as you ride out wave upon wave of pleasure. You’re still breathing, you know you are, but you fall unconscious in Anakin’s harsh grasp.

And when he sees you like that, all fucked out and deadweight, he groans and begins to pound you harder.

#bunny spelling Anakin right for once?!!#bunny writes ͟͟͞☆#anakin Skywalker #anakin Skywalker x reader #anakin Skywalker x fem! reader #dbf! Anakin Skywalker #dilf! Anakin Skywalker #anakin Skywalker smut #dom! Anakin Skywalker #star wars #Hayden Christensen #dark! Anakin Skywalker

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prince-kallisto · 9 months

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JP THEORISTS ARE ON ANOTHER LEVEL OMG-

The Dark Mirror’s Overblot markings always had me feeling suspicious because of the little horns, but the Diamond shapes are??? The exact same as Meleanor’s crown???? WHAT.

I JOKED BEFORE THAT MELEANOR’S SOUL WAS TRAPPED IN THE MIRROR ALL THE WAY BACK IN JULY AND THAT SHE WAS THE “FLOWER OF EVIL” CROWLEY WORSHIPPED BUT NOW I AM AFRAID.

I highly, HIGHLY recommend rewatching the opening prologue just for the way Crowley speaks. His voice literally shows off how much he revers his flower of evil. But notice how addresses his “flower of evil” who is the “fairest one of all,” AND the magic mirror. It’s like there’s two separate entities inside. And perhaps the hand in the prologue isn’t his, but it is Meleanor’s ungloved hand.

We never actually did see the moment of Meleanor’s death…it makes me wonder that if near/at the time of her death, someone else was there to capture her soul, or at least manipulate her magic somehow. The Dark Mirror definitely is just the spirit trapped inside the Magic Mirror from Snow White, so I wonder if the markings on his mask is a sign that someone else is trapped deeper inside the mirror…and only Crowley can call out to the second soul inside.

Although he can only see small reflections of her, she is still “alive” in the mirror, and the only way for Meleanor to have a “physical” form is through blot, just like Ortho’s soul in Book 6. It’s likely why Crowley knows so much about blot and has a very close connection with STYX in there first place- through the Watchmen, he learned how blot can create a vessel for a soul. And Crowley managed to find 7 souls that resemble the Great Seven so much, and their blot is so powerful. Ortho became a mass of the entire Underworld, but perhaps Crowley only needs 7 powerful souls with Phantoms of the Great 7. So perhaps Crowley isn’t trying to revive THE Great Seven, but he does need the Phantom’s sheer power for Meleanor to have a strong enough form.

Crowley please explain yourself I’m too tired to even yell at you rn 😭🐦‍⬛

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst theory #twst overblot #twst meleanor draconia #twst meleanor #twst dire Crowley #twst crowley #twst levan #twst revan #twst Magic mirror #twst dark mirror #twst spoilers #twst book 7 #twst book 7 spoilers #KallistoPost

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spacechalk · 1 month

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Glass

After it was all over, Aziraphale sat on the edge of a bluff and let his feet hang over the side. Rivers and farmland stretched before him. In the distance he spotted a church crouched behind a copse of trees. His heel knocked loose a pebble. He watched it tumble into empty space and wondered what it would feel like to follow.

Behind him he heard the gentle rumble of an engine. The sound of a door slamming shut was muted, as was the crunch of boots on gravel as someone approached. He didn’t look around.

A wine bottle was thrust before his eyes. Automatically, he noted the vintage. He must have gone to some effort for this.

“Drink?”

Aziraphale nodded.

Crowley dropped beside him, sending another cascade of pebbles down the cliff. He produced two wine glasses and handed one to the angel.

Once the wine had generously been decanted, Crowley knocked his glass against Aziraphale’s with a bright ring that vibrated through his fingers.

“I believe congratulations are in order,” he said, taking a swig.

“Hmm,” Aziraphale murmured. He peered into his glass. He could see his reflection along the outer rim.

Crowley cleared his throat. “They underestimated you.” He hesitated, then made an aborted gesture with one hand. “I underestimated you.”

Aziraphale took a long pull from his glass.

Crowley planted his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, trying to catch Aziraphale’s eye. When the angel didn’t look up, he turned away, face etched with resignation. He kicked a heel against the cliff and watched dirt shower down.

Aziraphale took this opportunity to eye the demon’s profile.

“How does it work?” he asked.

Crowley looked over his shoulder. “How does what work?”

“No Heaven. No Hell.” The icy hand that had been stalking him the last few months seized his heart. “How do you know good from evil?” A dark void threatened to open up beneath his feet. If he put one foot wrong he would fall in and keep falling, forever. He struggled to breathe. “What if you can’t? What if there…isn’t? At all?”

Suddenly there was a hand on his arm. He could hear his breath harsh in his ears as he looked at it. He looked up into Crowley’s yellow eyes.

“It’s okay angel. Breathe.”

Aziraphale could feel tears gathering in his eyes. “The sheer – arrogance,” he murmured, “to think that I – ”

“Arrogant?” A strangled laugh struggled in the demon’s throat. “Aziraphale – you are the only person I met in all of Hell or Heaven who cared – at all – to even try to figure out what was right and wrong,” he said intently, every line of him leaning forward, eyes wide, trying to make him understand. “The arrogance to try? What about the arrogance of thinking you don’t have to?” His breath pulled rapidly in and out of his chest.

The tears Aziraphale had been fighting spilled over.

“I’m not sure this is going to be comforting but – I don’t think anyone knows for sure, certainly not me,” Crowley said. His grip on Aziraphale’s arm tightened. “I’m not sure that what the Almighty imparted in the garden was knowledge of good and evil so much that it was knowledge that everything is complicated and all of it matters so much. It deserves your conscience and your doubt. It deserves your best effort.”

He tilted his head, tried to catch Aziraphale’s eyes. “I am not worried about you at all,” he said, lips quirking in an attempt at a smile. “You, who gave your sword away at the very Beginning. You’ve always had a heart for these things.”

Aziraphale raised a hand to wipe his eyes and Crowley let go, turning to look out over the landscape below. Aziraphale immediately missed his grip; but he was still close, shoulders brushing together.

“’Sides,” Crowley said, aiming for nonchalance and falling staggeringly short, “I’ll still be here. It’s easier together, I think.”

Crowley looked out at the fields and Aziraphale looked at Crowley. He was swamped by the urge to put his head on Crowley’s shoulder and only just managed to resist it.

Aziraphale looked into his glass. “About what you said – in the bookshop –” he began.

Crowley flung up a hand to head him off. He drained the rest of his glass in one go. “We don’t need to talk about that,” he rasped.

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “Don’t we?”

Crowley shook his head emphatically. “It’s okay. I’m sorry I said anything. Or…” He hesitated, his eyes dropping to Aziraphale’s lips before careening away. “…did, anything. You don’t need to say…what you’re going to say. I promise I won’t do it again.” He sloppily crossed his heart and pushed himself to his feet.

Aziraphale listened to his footsteps crunching back toward the Bentley. A kind of calm anger poured in and began filling up his chest. His face set like stone. “That’s a shame,” he said out loud.

The footsteps paused. “What was that?”

“I said – ” Aziraphale pushed himself to his feet and turned around. Crowley stood halfway to the car, bottle and glass in one hand, keys in the other.

“I said,” he said, “it’s a shame that you will never again tell me that you love me; will never kiss me again.” He twisted his hands together, fingernails biting into skin. “I was rather hoping you would.”

Crowley stared at him.

Aziraphale moved forward until they were only inches apart. He held Crowley’s eyes.

Crowley hesitated for a long moment, searching his face. Finally he swayed forward, almost helplessly, head tilted, and pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s.

Aziraphale inhaled sharply and leaned into the kiss. He brought one hand around to grip Crowley’s shoulder, and used the other to cup Crowley’s face. A tremor ran down Crowley’s body. Aziraphale brushed his thumb along Crowley’s jawline and deepened the kiss. That icy hand retreated and Aziraphale dared to hope he would learn how to keep it at bay. He felt like he had stepped outside in winter and found a patch of sun.

He pulled back and smiled to himself at the dazed expression on Crowley’s face. “Do you want to get rid of…” he indicated the bottle and glass still in Crowley’s hand.

Crowley slowly dragged his eyes away and looked at the offending objects. “Hm? Oh, right.” Unceremoniously, he tossed them away, stuffing the keys back into his pocket as he did so. His arms encircled Aziraphale and pulled him back in for another heady kiss.

The glass hit the ground, but instead of shattering into shards, it shattered into seeds, which germinated far too rapidly, extending tender green shoots and fragile white roots until a patch of wildflowers had rooted in the gravel beside the road, an eddy of pink, red, purple, and impossible blue.

#good omens #fanfic #soft #but soft what light #i hope everyone is having a good week #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands

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evita-shelby · 9 months

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Happy wife, Happy life

Or Tommy gets drunk and assumes his wife is someone else so he sleeps on the floor instead

For @runnning-outof-time with the prompt 34) “I didn’t get your name.”

Gif by @cillianparadise

The sight of Tommy, this new Tommy who is always in control at all times, drunk as hell and stumbling into the bedroom, is a sight for sore eyes.

It is the old him, the one who laughed and loved horses and had ambition but not the sort to get you murdered by the Crown's most evil men.

“Did you have fun tonight, love?” You ask as your husband of four years stripped down to join you in bed.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I am sure you’re a catch, but I got a wife.” He answers, perfectly serious too and lies down on the floor after taking his pillow with him.

You can’t help but laugh and tease him. Not like he’ll remember this tomorrow.

“Oh, so you’d rather sleep on the floor instead of your bed, Mr. Shelby?” you ask letting you arm hang over the edge of the bed and just low enough to bop his nose.

He hates it, and rolls his eyes at your immaturity.

“Yeah, happy wife happy life.” Tommy responds as if it made all the sense in the world.

Good boy, you say and he thanks you for the praise and rejects your advances while he’s at it.

“What if I told you your wife was in bed and can’t sleep without you with her?” you ask while you lightly pester him in ways only you did.

“Mhm, she’d shoot me if she caught me in bed with another woman, especially you.” He turned on his side and you paused as you raked your fingers through his mop of dark hair.

You.

Was there another tramp trying to woo him away from you?

You knew from the beginning that every woman here would sign off on their firstborn to be in his bed, and sell their soul to the devil to be in your shoes.

You were jealous, so much so that when he left for France you told him he could fuck a whore so long as you got to fuck a fella in return.

Your threat saved him from a bout of gonorrhea which Barney got from a whore who gave it to every man in the battalion save for Tommy.

“She doesn’t have to know,” you say keeping up the act so you know which woman you have to scare away from your fucking husband.

Couldn’t these ladies see the wedding band in his finger?

“She will, you aren’t exactly doing yourself any favors working in the pub, Miss. Miss?” Tommy faltered forgetting the name of the mousy barmaid. Looked like Jane Seymour , with that holier-than-thou face that got Anne Boleyn short of a head. “Sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

“Grace. Grace Burgess.” You filled in the blanks and knew you’d make the blonde bitch leave Birmingham and scurry the fuck back to Belfast or your name isn’t Y/N Shelby.

Part 2

#tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x fem!reader #tommy shelby x wife!reader #thomas shelby fanfic #tommy shelby x oc #peaky blinders fanfiction #k's 3.5k celebration

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star-girl69 · 4 months

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Your Girl

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!Demigod!Reader

—-

synopsis: late at night, you and clarisse get to know one another.

a/n: ykw i dont even know what i write anymore just enjoy it i truly just listen to the wind oh my god

Your Girl - Lana Del Rey (Unreleased)

warnings: im sorry im obsessed w the nightmare trope, friends to lovers MEYOW, HURT COMFORT, clarisse just wants to KISS, light tension, very light and fluffy tho…. not a lot of angst tbh, POSSESSIVE CLARISSE I SCREAMED, mutual pining YESSSSS, they’re in love but they don’t think the other could be in love w them, clarisse knows what she wants and sets out to get it, monsters- again it’s a drakon bc i’m evil, mentions of death, swearing, mentions of weapons, weed and smoking, substance abuse idk if it’s addiction my health teacher would be so disappointed, shotgunning weed, idk what’s happening honestly we’re all along for the ride, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

You don’t know where Clarisse gets it from, but she has good weed.

They’re these perfectly little rolled blunts, with some sort of amazing concoction inside- you can’t even be bothered to care that it’s bad for you. Not when it makes you feel so good, not when it makes everything else fade away.

So, that’s why you’re here now. Sitting in the woods, leaning against a rock covered in moss, staring up at the stars. Sometimes you talk, sometimes you’re just here next to each other. But tonight, you think you took one too many hits, so you’re feeling a little sentimental.

“I would fucking die without you, Clarisse.”

She snorts. “Yeah, probably.”

“No, no, not just like- because you’re so strong, and stuff, but because of this fucking weed. I can’t sleep without it, y’know.”

She hums.

“And, like, you need sleep to live, or else your brain will like eat itself, or something ridiculous. Did you know that?”

She looks at you, mouth curved into an unimpressed smile, eyebrows raised. “I didn’t, and I care so much. Thanks for telling me, leech.”

“That’s mean,” you huff.

“Then stop leeching off of me and stealing my weed.”

Clarisse always looks so pretty in the moonlight. You would never admit that to anyone, but in the dark when your head is all hazy- you know she’s pretty. She’s beautiful, if you’re being honest, but she’s also your dealer- you can’t risk upsetting her. But still, sometimes you’re not sure how she isn’t a daughter of Aphrodite.

But you know better than anyone else that she gets everything from Ares, like she’s a carbon copy of him.

She gets her precision, her strength, her tactical mind, her rolling storm of emotions from him.

Except, there’s a softness in her. Only here, in the moonlight. You don’t know if it’s you or the weed, but you like to think it’s you. You like to think that Clarisse likes you as much as you like her, not just tolerates you for your mediocre company.

She’s sitting with one foot planted onto the ground, hair pulled back all messy, her arm balancing on her knee. The joint is held out conveniently towards you, lazily in between her fingers, so you flip yourself onto your stomach and reach out with open lips.

She smiles and flips the joint around, placing it onto your lips. Your close your eyes and your mouth, breathing in deeply. Gods, does it taste horrible, but you love it too much.

You pull back and breathe out the smoke.

“You love me, and my weed-stealing tendencies.”

“Uh, yeah, okay,” she rolls her eyes.

—-

Clarisse probably trains more than any other demigod at camp. Thirty minutes after dinner, like clockwork, you can find her heading to the field where all the sparring dummies live.

Clarisse is probably your only true friend at camp. You stick to yourself for the most part, hang out with your siblings, but besides for that it’s Clarisse. And she’s the same way. She hangs out with her siblings, and then you. Of course- everyone at Camp knows her name and her ruthless reputation.

You’re unknown, she’s known. She’s the best fighter you’ve ever seen, you’re mediocre, compared to her. She helps you at every turn, you’re the one getting helped by her. She’s mean to everyone, and you’re kind to whoever happens upon you.

You force each other to bring out the other sides of yourself no one gets to see. Clarisse gets to be soft, you get to be loud and annoying. You’re friends, but you both get something out of it.

She’s your friend, your dealer, your savior.

If the first day you came to camp, running through the woods with a drakon hot on your heels and your mouth split open into a scream- maybe Clarisse and her siblings wouldn’t have turned around and noticed the drakon.

Of course, Clarisse was the one who actually killed it, and she was the one who hoisted you up from where you had collapsed, breathing heavily. She was the one who actually made sure you weren’t hurt while your satyr protector panicked about having to face the Cloven Council.

She was the one who found you in the middle of the night, that drakon hissing in your ear, she was the one who gave you the claw she had pried from it’s dead body, she was the one who told you it was dead and nothing could hurt you in Camp.

“Clarisse!” you call, running towards her. Most campers like to wind down after dinner, so the field is empty.

“Leech,” she says when you reach her, leaning her spear against a dummy and stretching her arms above her head.

You always come everyday. You ask her the same question.

“Do you have it?”

She digs under her armor, pulling out the small cloth containing the blunt. “You would probably go insane if I didn’t.”

You feel calmer just looking at it. You smile sheepishly up at her.

“You know I can’t sleep without it, Clarisse.”

She looks away, stuffing it back under her armor, against her stomach.

“Maybe you should try and skip one night.”

You scoff. “I don’t feel like pulling an all-nighter, Clarisse.”

She nods, but her face is riddled with concern. “Okay, angel,” she mutters, so low you can barely hear it. But you do. You hear her call you angel, and you turn away instead of slamming your lips into hers.

—-

After that first night, you slept with that claw tight into your hand. And it was fine. You still had the occasional nightmare, but every demigod had those. But the older you got, the more monsters you learned about, the more comfortable you got with being a demigod- the more the nightmares came. Knowing the drakon was dead didn’t help, and the nightmares got worse and worse until Clarisse found you again one night.

You had drifted apart from her. She had her life and you had hers, but ever since you’ve been bonded by the nights.

She wrapped her arms around you and let you cry, mumbling about how she was the strongest demigod at camp, and there was the barrier, and nothing would ever get through to you.

She was soft in that moment. And you could tell she regretted it, because she ignored you for the next few days until one of her siblings pushed you to the ground. She appeared out of nowhere and grabbed his shirt, yelling that if he ever touched you again, she’d fucking kill him.

While he sputtered and asked why she cared about some stupid weak girl, she helped you up and said: “She’s my girl.”

And since that day 3 months ago, you’ve always been her girl. Neither of you really knew what that meant, except you liked being around each other and you liked this transaction. Clarisse liked owning something. You liked belonging to someone.

That’s what this entire friendship is about- convenience.

So, that’s why Clarisse being concerned about you makes you feel weird. You care about Clarisse, she cares about you- but only enough that she doesn’t want to see you hurt by someone else. But who is she to stop you when you’re the one hurting yourself?

You arrive at the rock in the forest, fingers twisting together. Clarisse is already there, lighter and blunt set out on the ground, polishing her spear.

“Hey,” she says, looking down.

“Hi.”

You sit down, eager to get your hands on the weed and forget about the way Clarisse’s concern confuses you.

You stare at your shaking hand.

Gods, are you really that nervous?

Clarisse’s eyes are sharp, she notices everything, she processes it much faster than you can ever dream to. It’s why she’s so quick in battle. She’s a well oiled machine and you’re the one job she’s assigned to do- she knows you by heart after all these nights.

Her spear is pushed off her lap. “Why are you shaking?” she says, voice low and raspy, her hand cupping yours.

“Low blood sugar,” you lie. “I’ll grab a snack before I go to bed.”

She says nothing, but you watch her hesitate as she grabs the blunt and the lighter from the ground, you watch her hesitate again as she goes to light it. But she lights it, she sticks it in between her fingers and holds it out to you.

“C’mere,” she mutters, and you lean forward and let her place the blunt on your parted lips. You breathe in, only for a few seconds, and you could go for a lot longer.

“I wasn’t done,” you huff as she takes her own drag.

“My weed,” she shrugs. “I decide how much you get.”

“You’re a bitch.”

She laughs. She laughs and it makes your stomach twist in such a good way you can’t feel like this anymore, you can’t remember what she does to you, what she called you.

You reach out blindly for the blunt, biting your lip as you practically climb on top of her.

“Clarisse!” you yell, but she seems to find your desperation hilarious, holding the blunt out as far as she can. “I fucking hate you, oh my Gods.”

“Okay, okay, fine,” she says, pushing you off of her. You realize you’re laying on your stomach in between her legs, one hand planted to the ground around her leg, the other reaching out.

She leans back and takes another drag. You roll your eyes and move to attack her, but she’s too fast, sitting up and holding your hand down, her other hand grabbing your chin. She breathes out the smoke right into your lips that are parted in shock, smiling as you stare right into her amused eyes.

She leans back while you sit there stupidly on top of her, blowing out the smoke. “That- that’s- I hate you, did I mention that?”

“You did,” she muses. “But we both know you’re lying.”

You look at her, at her wide smile, at the look in her eyes. You want nothing more than to be her girl- her girl in the way that she’ll kiss your head, tell you about all the things you’ll never do, she’ll lay down with you in a bed of soft pillows. Her girl in the way the reason she’s soft in the moonlight isn’t the weed, it’s because of you. Her girl in the way you can run to her, the way you do now, but with the added connotation of love.

You grab the joint, and she lets you, watching intently as you breathe in and blow out the smoke. She has no right to be worried over you. Not when you’re the one making the choice to waste away your youth. And especially when you’re not her girl- not in the way you want to be.

—-

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t come,” she hums.

You sit back against the rock. Normally, you would have been here 20 minutes ago.

You didn’t catch her after dinner, and you stayed firmly in your bed until it all got to be too much. You’re terrified of sleeping, of the nightmares that will come- but for some reason, the weed just puts you at such ease that you don’t have any nightmares.

You didn’t want to be near Clarisse tonight. Not after yesterday, not after the way she’s been making you feel, and the fact that you know she could never really like you. Why would she? You are the stupid weak girl who gets pushed over. You run from drakon’s and can’t even sleep because of nightmares.

Clarisse is fiercely protective of those she loves, but you’re too much work.

You wanted to go one night. One night without the weed, and prove to her and yourself that you don’t need it. You’re not that weak.

But you couldn’t.

You sit down, she looks at your tense shoulders and doesn’t tease you, just hands you the blunt. You mumble something of a thank you, looking up at the stars, shoulders relaxing after a few more breaths.

“I, uh, I tried to skip. Tonight, I mean. I tried not to come.” It’s embarrassing to admit this. You’re so scared of the nightmares that even if it’s a placebo effect, you come back to this clearing every night.

“But you couldn’t?” she asks.

“I couldn’t,” you affirm, staring at the ground.

“Well, you can’t just go cold turkey, dummy. You have to wean yourself off of it. Do you not remember, like, any of those nicotine patch ads?” she laughs. “You’ve got a good memory, you remember.”

“Shut up, meanie,” you mumble, raising the joint to your lips. She stops you.

“Ah-ah. Starts now. Make it a good one, ‘cause that’s your last, baby.”

“Fine,” you mumble, ignoring the butterflies in your stomach. You breathe in for a long time, tempted to go a little longer, but Clarisse reaches over and pinches your cheek. “Okay!” you yell, throwing the joint back to her.

She laughs and raises it to her own lips, taking in another long drag before putting it out.

You look at her, silent question in the air. She shrugs.

“Been meaning to slow down for a while, why not do it together?”

“Yeah,” you hum, looking back towards the stars. “Oh, hey, Ares is out tonight.” She looks over.

“Yeah,” she muses. “Fuckin’ Ares.”

“It’s still beautiful,” you say, stars in your eyes. “You have to think about it the way mortals do. They don’t know the Gods put them up there- they think it’s just some random spotting of stars, they think they made patterns out of it. Isn’t that beautiful? To make patterns and people out of stars? To look for humanity where there is none?”

“I never thought about it like that,” Clarisse says.

“Aren’t they beautiful?” you ask. You can feel her eyes on you.

“Yeah,” she affirms. “Beautiful.”

—-

The next two weeks goes by the same. You don’t catch Clarisse after dinner, but you come every night, you smoke a little less, she teases you and gets closer to you. She gets bolder and bolder and you get shyer and shyer.

You still feel like too much. If she just lets you prove this to her and to yourself, the maybe you can lean against the rock with her and flirt back.

—-

You meet Clarisse by the rock. She’s still standing, waiting for you. She takes the last of the blunt you’ve been using for the last few days and lights it, taking one small drag before she flips it around and holds it out to you.

“C’mon,” she guides. “Not too much, I’ll stop you.”

You feel kind of like a baby as Clarisse puts the joint on her lips, fingertips against your face to steady her hand. You breathe in for just a second, tempted for more, but she takes it away. You look up at her, fingers twisted together.

“Clarisse, I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

She leaves the blunt to blow out in the wind in the natural dip of the rock, your own little ashtray at the top. Of course, Clarisse will come and collect it the next morning- you don’t want to upset the nymphs and satyrs in the forest.

“It’s a good idea,” she affirms. “Don’t worry, okay?”

You’re scared. You remember being chased by the drakon even now, you remember it’s snarls, you remember it’s claws moving through the air. You remember your heart pumping in your ears, you remember the stones in your stomach that were supposed to be fear.

You feel like Kronos, but what you swallowed wouldn’t just sit idly inside of you- no, your fear would rip through your stomach and your skin and burst out of you in an explosion of blood, like some sick joke of a firework.

She grabs your wrists. Clarisse is soft, here, in the moonlight.

“Hey, it’s okay. I-I was thinking, I didn’t know if you were gonna be okay, but why don’t you sleep in my cabin?”

You shift on your feet. “Clar, no, I can’t ask you to do that. What if we get caught? And I-I- it’s embarrassing, what if your siblings see? What if they tell everyone?”

Clarisse rolls her eyes and tugs you closer from where you had subconsciously started to drift away.

“They already think we’re dating, anyways. Besides, Y/N, no one cares. Most of my siblings have secrets anyways,” she smiles.

“Wh- we’re dating? They think- why?”

Her face is deadpan. “‘Cause you’re my girl.”

You pull back. “Clarisse.”

“What?” she says, slightly incredulous. “You are. You’re about the only person I can tolerate at this camp. I hope you know that. I know I can be horrible, but really, I… care about you a lot.”

You look in her eyes. There’s no lies, no insincerity.

“I know, Clarisse. And I… I appreciate it so much. You’re, like, my only friend,” you smile.

She smiles back but it’s tight. “Friend, yeah.”

You put your arms around her neck and hug her. It’s the first time you’ve ever really hugged her, and her arms wrap tight around your waist. Her mouth presses against your hair. You let yourself be her girl in this moment.

Clarisse is your best friend. She cares about you. Of course she helps you with this. She’s your best friend. Of course you let her.

—-

You do follow Clarisse back to the Ares cabin, back to her bed- and she points to one of her siblings you can’t see in the dark, but there are two figures in the bed. She smiles and you stifle a laugh.

You know better than anyone else that big bad Ares kids are like a marshmallow on the inside. They act all tough, and they are pretty tough, but there’s a soft spot inside of them only unlocked by one person with the right key.

You notice her sibling has their arm around the other person. You wonder if Clarisse will wrap her arm around you like that too.

Clarisse climbs into her bed, opening the covers for you. The beds at Camp are twin sized, but you can fit two people on them if you’re close together. You don’t hesitate, not anymore, not when you have one chance to pretend you’re really hers.

You lay on your side, facing her, hands tucked up by your chest. Her eyes meet yours, she brushes her curls out of her face.

“Good?” she asks. You nod, breathing out.

“‘M fine,” you say.

She rubs your arm, cold from the dark night. “Just relax, okay? Just close your eyes, Y/N.”

You do, you close your eyes, but you’re so fucking terrified you can’t.

“Clarisse,” you breathe, a plead. For what, you don’t know. You want a million things from her in this moment. It’s not fair of you to ask her, you know this, but it doesn’t stop you from asking.

Your breath comes fast, your nails dig into your palms, but you keep your eyes screwed shut like sleep will just magically hit you like a train.

“It’s okay,” Clarisse says, firm. “Why are you so scared?” she whispers.

“They’re so real,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

“They’re not.”

She wraps her arms around you so tight you feel like she’s crushing you. But it keeps you in the moment. If you focus on the way her skin feels against yours, on the way her thumb brushes your shoulder blade, her fingertips scratching the back of your scalp.

If you focus, if you imagine all the thing you and her will never do, if you imagine being her girl, then you can fall asleep.

You dream of her lips pressing against your head, her voice in your ear, calling you her angel.

—-

You wake up, Clarisse still wrapped around you, and slowly detangle yourself. Drool pools at the corner of her lips, and you have to bite back a giggle as you slip out of the blankets and into the warm riding sun.

She looks just as pretty in the sunlight as she does in the moonlight. You feel like a lover slipping out of a bed of secrets. But you’re not. You’re just a friend slipping out of a bed of rumors.

She looks so peaceful, you can’t help but wonder if she always sleeps like this- or if having you next to her had the same effect on her sleep as it did to yours.

—-

There’s a loud knock at your cabin door.

There’s only you and a few of your siblings in here, putting the final touches on their outfits for the day, grabbing the last items they need. One of your younger siblings open the door, and you look around the pillars- maybe it’s a counselor doing some sort of inspection? You take a glance around your bunk- but it’s all clean.

Your eyes meet hers.

“Out,” she says, roughly. She looks at you so intently you almost wonder if she’s talking to you. But when you siblings stand there in shock, she looks away. “Well? I said get out, dummies.”

They exchange looks with you, but eventually shuffle out, not wanting to risk Clarisse and her wrath.

She shuts the door behind your last sibling.

“Being tough has it perks, huh?” she smiles, leaning against the door. Your shirt isn’t even pulled on properly, one of your bra straps is already falling down your shoulder from the act of putting your shirt on, and you’re staring at her with your mouth wide open.

She looks you up and down.

“C-Clarisse, what-?”

She walks over to you, frown etched onto her face.

“I woke up and you weren’t there.”

“Oh,” you say. “I… I thought you would have wanted me gone-”

“Don’t care. If you’re going to sleep with me then you need to wake me up and tell me you’re leaving.”

She rolls her eyes at your confusion. She sits on your bed and then gestures animatedly for you to sit down.

“Did you not sleep well?” she fusses. “What’s up with you this morning?”

“I slept great, Clarisse, it’s just- why are you here?”

“To tell you that you can’t leave,” she deadpans. “I mean, you spend all night shaking in my arms, terrified, and then I wake up and you’re not there? I almost killed someone. You’re lucky I decided to check here first, Y/N.”

She laughs. She laughs like it’s so funny.

“Why?” you ask.

“‘Cause you’re my girl,” she shrugs. “And-”

“Clarisse, what does that mean?”

You know what you want. And you’re not dumb, but you’re the only friend Clarisse really has- what did you have to compare it to? You’ve been thinking about it in your head, rolling it around like a diamond- each side reflects something you want from her. Her love, her protection, her touch, her time, her.

She plays with her fingers. “It means… I like touching you. I like protecting you. I like being near you. I like your voice and your face.”

She stares at you blankly, like she’s recounting a grocery list, waiting for an affirmative “yes, I heard you.” But all you can do is stare in shock, trying to make your brain catch up with your heart- Clarisse likes your face. Clarisse feels the same way you do. You can be her girl, and you’re not too much for her, you’re not just friends.

“Oh, fuck it,” she mumbles. She places her hand on your face and pecks your lips. “That’s what it means, okay? I’m, like, embarrassingly in love with you, if you haven’t noticed.”

Clarisse is so blunt and forward it makes your head spin.

She stares into your eyes, searching them for something other than shock and confusion.

“Okay,” she says. Shuffling back. You can tell she’s hurt and embarrassed, but her face reveals nothing other than faux confidence and indifference. “I’ll go, I guess-”

“Bitch,” you mumble, slamming your lips onto hers.

It feels so overwhelmingly right and fills you with such a calmness that weed could never compare to. If you were dependent on the joints, then one taste and you’re addicted to Clarisse. She kisses you back with just as much ferocity, throwing your arms around her neck, trying to swallow you whole with her mouth as she grabs your neck with one hand, your face with the other.

It’s months of tension and wanting, lips touching through the passing of a joint, all of it coming down to this moment that feels so bad, so sinful- surely the Gods must frown upon loving someone this much. You would never pray to any of them again if it meant Clarisse would keep kissing you like this.

When she finally pulls back, you’re both smiling wide, leaning into her palm, hands playing with the curls at the base of her neck. You feel like a giddy school girl. You feel like a lover discovering something wildly new and unknown, promising to keep it secret, sealing it with a kiss of pure fire.

“That was such a mean way to confess to someone,” you say. “Just bitchy. Brass and blunt- harsh, even.”

“Shut up,” she mumbles, pressing her face against yours.

“Yeah, it’s okay. I know you’re a big softie who drools in her sleep.” She pulls away and glares at you.

“I don’t fucking drool, Y/N. You’re seeing things.”

You fake frown, bringing her closer to you. “Such a horrible thing to say to your girlfriend.”

“My girlfriend?” she breathes, swollen lips parting like she’s aching to kiss you again.

“Your girlfriend,” you affirm, staring straight into her eyes.

You sunk more into becoming a demigod and all it got you was nightmares and a fear of sleeping. But the more you sunk into being her girl, the more you sunk into loving her and being loved.

You don’t know where Clarisse gets her softness from. Certainly not from her father. She didn’t learn to kiss your head from him. She didn’t learn how to hold you, how to call you hers, how to whisper in your ear from Ares.

You don’t know where Clarisse gets her softness from, but it’s good.

—-

SHOUTOUT TO clarisse “cause you’re my girl” la rue LOVE YOUR POSSESSIVE ASS!!!!!!!!

—-

clarisse when y/n smokes weed: oh so pretty……

clarisse when y/n can only fall asleep bc of her arms or her weed: my girl fr……..

clarisse when y/n: oh my wonderful perfect angel

—-

y/n: BITCH

clarisse: YOURE SO HOT FUCK

—-

where did clarisse get her weed from you may ask? me that’s where she got it from i ripped through the fabric of reality to give it to her to make this happen actually and you’re welcome

—-

taglist:

@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison @nvirskies @pnsteblnme @mar2ss @restellsss @ravisinghs-wife @marsconer @evangelinexo @randomhoex @luvrrish

@sincerely-silk

#clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue x you #pjo tv show #pjo x reader

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starryhutcherson · 28 days

Text

━━ ON THE CLOCK

author's note: to those who have submitted requests a reminder that since i always keep my requests open there are a lot of them already so im working towards completing all of them but be please be patient with me, and also i sincerely appreciate all the i've support gotten so far!!

'୧ ‧₊ pairing: mike schmidt x reader warnings: 18+ sexual content! masturbation (m!receiving), mentions of riding, phone sex, dirty talk, swearing word count: 2000+ ⋆ ✩‧₊

The air in the monitor room is stale and sticky against Mike’s goosepricked skin. He’s more or less nearing the brink of insanity in the incessant silence that’s only punctuated by the occasional squeak of the chair beneath him, and his own heavy, helpless breathing. He’s hyper aware of the ache of his growing bulge as it strains against the constraints of dark, faded denim, and it’s becoming more and more difficult to ignore his longing as he tries (and fails) to keep his eyes trained on the grainy images of the monitors before him.

Six hours seemed more resemblant to six years as he sat and watched and waited —waited for this shitty shift to end so he could get home, get home to you. You and your airy giggles and knowing eyebrow raises, that evil twinkle that lives in your irises, the one you flash him before he’d whisk you away to the privacy of his modest bedroom, diving into your body, the territory he’s claimed as his.

Fuck. He can have you once this is all over, he tells himself. He wasn’t going to bother you when you were sleeping, not when he’d already swarmed you with the responsibility of unpaid babysitting for Abby.

Even though his jeans were sodden with a saturated patch of precum that was blooming right at the tip of his tent.

His mind wanders before he can rope it back in; he’s thrust back into the memories of previous intimacy. Of his shaking figure, swallowed by the mattress, outlined in a tide of his own sweat, your gentle palm easing along his length, the stark contrast from his own calloused fist so erotic in itself. You were always there. Every buck into your hand, you accepted. Everything he needed, you gave. You always gave.

He feels like an animal; his insatiable lust makes him sick in his own skin, but what can he do? You’re everything and more, and the heat festering in his stomach is making it hard to breathe. His desire is too strong over him – he’s weak. He runs his tongue along his teeth, searching for you and the flavor he craves but his search is futile.

A few more tangled minutes saunter by, and eventually he feels he has no choice but to give in to a fraction of his lust. His skin is melded further with a dry haze of heat and he curses himself as he reaches into his boxers.

Stroke, stroke, stroke.

He starts slow, his fingers grazing his cock and triggering a taunting voice that begs for more more more. You stay imprinted onto the forefront of his mind; every curve and crevice, the way you conduct the heat of his groping hands better than any precious metal. He can picture the slope of your jaw so effortlessly, the way your neck bleeds into your shoulders, every divot, every movement forever memorized.

He needs more, it isn’t enough, the friction feels like an unscratchable itch. He’s chafing and aching like a raw wound, his pace quickens, his voice raises pitch, but nothing happens. Without you, he's helpless.

Mike’s brows furrow, nose twitches with utter concentration, features strewn wildly across his face as he chases his fantasy, fist speeding. In his mind, your body glides atop his, slick and succulent; the air is so heavy, a smothering caress to your slippery skin as your hips rock and ride with practiced ease. A whimper falls from his lips. Another, and another, ringing dull across the frozen air.

But it won’t ever be enough.

He needs a part of you, a slice, a vestige, something. He can’t come now, not on his own, not without some help. His wrist falls limp, his chest rises and falls sporadically as he takes his breath back in, stopping his movements. His eyes wander across the decrepit room until they reach the phone, mounted against the wall and waiting for him. Beckoning him. Call you. Get some help. He knows he needs it.

Shit.

—

Your body feels lifeless as it deflates into the welcome embrace of the worn sofa. Swaddled in a patchwork blanket, hands nursing a cup of lukewarm tea, your vision remains weary as it wanders through the curios of the Schmidt family home. The dim light that seeped from the lamp on your right was enough to coax you further into a state of fatigue, and you might have fully fallen off the brink of consciousness had it not been for the shrill cry of the phone that rang from the kitchen.

You stumble upwards to a shaky standing, inching across the carpeted floor and picking up the receiver with a lethargy wave of your wrist.

“Hello?”

Your voice is broken glass as it comes out, shredded and tired and when Mike hears how groggy you sound he nearly hangs up without even greeting you.

“Uh… hey.”

You can hear the speed of his uneven exhales, what’s he been doing? Is he alright? Why is he even calling you?

“Mike, what the hell? Why are you calling on the job? Has something happened?”

A moment's pause blossoms between the line, as another shaky breath tears itself from his mouth.

“Nothing’s uh… nothing’s happened.” You cock a brow, and he can hear the confusion knitted into your tone.

“What’s going on then? Why do you sound like you just ran around the block?”

Again, he doesn’t reply. And then reality takes a knock at your head.

“Oh.” He’s silent, every inch of him consumed by raging shame. Jesus, why’d he call you? Why’d he have to embarrass himself like this? He’s pathetic, he’s so pathetic, he called you? You’re gonna realize how needy he is, you’re gonna hate him, you’re gonna leave him—

“You know I can’t come over, Mikey.”

Your saccharine voice is enough reassurance that this wasn’t as stupid as he thought; at least you haven’t screamed or been sick with disgust at the revelation that he really, truly, needs you.

“I know. I know, I… I just thought that…” He swallows his pride. “I just wanted to hear your voice. Look, I can hang up–”

“Don’t.”

He silences himself, and shifts uncomfortably in the cheap spinny chair that he’s resting in.

“Don’t?” He probes nervously.

“Nope.”

He’s aching, leaking, every single surface of him is basked in sweat and screaming out for you.

“I’ll help you, yeah? That’s what you want? Need me to talk you through it?”

A shiver chews at his spine, his figure convulses and his knuckles whiten around the phone.

“Don’t get shy now Mike.”

He just about crumples at your tone; so sultry and yet sugar-sweet. You’re sanguine; he’d devour you if he could, drunk on the feeling you give him. He’s never known love like this and he never wants to let it go.

“Yes. Yes, please, god, please.” Mike can taste your grin through the phone.

“Knew it. Is your dick out already? Is it Mike?”

His insides burn. “Y/n–”

“Tell me Mike. C’mon.”

He glances down at himself, at his cock that rests stiff and swollen in his hand, wet webs of pre-cum etched across the skin of his rough palms. “Yeah,” he confesses softly, weakly.

“So you’re all ready f’me, huh?”

He nods despite your inability to see it, eyes trained on the way he pulses, the way he dreams to disappear between your glistening folds.

“Mike.”

“Shit. Sorry. Uh– yeah. Yeah. I’m.. I’m ready,” his voice descends an octave.

You settle down into the chair beside you, getting comfortable, a smirk creeping into the corner of your lips. “Then go on. Touch yourself. Nice and slow, just for me.”

He chokes at this, spluttering as his fingers ghost along the sensitive flesh, thumb caressing his tip as his fist begins to stroke his length. He lets out a satisfied hum, falling into the gentle rhythm that you allow him. Nothing faster. He wants you to make him cum. He wants to be good for you.

“Yeah? Feels good?”

He’s still a little tense– he’s never done anything this dirty before. Technically speaking, he’d never done anything dirty until he’d met you. He was bound to Abby early on, and lost any idea of a relationship, prioritizing her in every instance, but then you came along, took his heart and his virginity and everything in between, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

“Should be you,” the words tumble from his lips, accompanied by an audible slop as he gathers more of his slick with his fist.

“I know, baby.” His chest caves at the pet name. “I know. But it can’t be right now.”

He grumbles something that is lost under the muffle of background noise and the distance between you two, but the phone does capture a soft whine that crawls from deep in his throat. He bucks up, seeking more; more friction, more of the nectar that drools from your voice. To taint your neck with reds and purple, for you to do the same to him. He needs to writhe beneath you, for you to drink his stress up with kisses. His hand gains speed and another fractured whimper escapes his lips, adorned with the broken syllables of your name.

“That’s it. Just like that. Go faster for me, a little faster.”

He’s nodding again, a subconscious action as his hips begin to chase his fist. He doesn’t have the capacity in his head to reply to your sugared little coaxes with words, but he whines and grunts and loses himself. Loses every shred of apathy, loses the stress and the indifferent facade that he veils upon himself.

If he was sweating badly before, his current state is beyond that. He’s soaked, his entire face glimmering under the flickering lights, and all he feels is an inescapable hunger blooming in his stomach, and oh god he’s already so embarrassingly close.

“You getting close for me Mike?” He manages to jumble out a quiet, “So close,” under the current of his breathless whimpers, the stark contrast to his typical low grumble almost comical.

“Yeah you are. Just for me, right? Gonna give it to me, I know you are.”

He just about sobs; tears prick the corners of his warm eyes and he gives up any and all control, fist pumping at an ineffable speed as needy cries spew from him like a faucet. He’s finally getting what he needs. “Just for you, god, god, honey please– please, honey, sweetheart, oh–”

“Gonna make a mess, a big mess, all over your hand? You always do. Always giving me everything, so good for me.” He’s indescribably close, nearing the brink of ecstasy, whining and moaning and thrusting into his hand and convincing himself that it’s yours– you and your soft palms, floral lotion delving into every crevice. He moans, once, twice, dangerously near…

“And you know I’ll always be here, ready at home for the real thing.”

He cries out your name so loud the impact alone should shatter glass as he erupts with thick white ribbons, tears rolling free along the flesh of his reddened cheeks, whimpering shamelessly. His brows knit so tightly his skin scrunches, his eyes squeezed shut as his sentences string out in incoherent bursts and all he feels is the overwhelming relief as his entire figure shudders in shock.

His hand, the table, his faded navy hoodie, tainted with ivory spills that seem to never cease. He comes and comes and comes, heavy and hard, enough to fill buckets. His chest heaves and he wants to freeze this moment and keep it tucked in the waistband of his jeans, buried in the creases of his mind. Your name occasionally falls from the knot of tangled words he can’t seem to choke out, and though it seems eternal, he does float down from his bliss eventually.

You listen to his breathing for a while, hearing his jagged gasps morph back to even sounding pants, and you can sense the moment it all hitches and the shyness, the awkward man who asked for your number in the coffee shop, claims him once again. He doesn’t speak first.

“You okay Mike? Did I lose you?” You tease gently.

He groans out. “Stop.”

“That’s not what you were saying before,” you grin.

He grunts irritably. “I hate you.”

“Oh really?” There’s a soft silence that creases as his voice, gravelly and hoarse, comes back.

“No.”

You smile. “I love you Mike.” There’s no pause this time.

“I love you too.”

masterlist

✩‧₊

#mike schmidt smut #josh hutcherson smut #mike schmidt fluff #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt #fnaf movie #josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson x reader #five nights at freddy's #michael schmidt

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charliemwrites · 4 months

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Making this a separate post because the idea has evolved a bit:

(Was talking about this in the discord if it looks familiar)

I’m thinking less of a 1 to 1 Greek god au. I’m thinking it’s more of a theme to their dynamic and in parts of their story.

Johnny is a reincarnation of some ancient, nameless (or many-named) god, associated with dark forces. He’s not evil incarnate. But he is something of a representation of “darker” human nature. Anger, bloodlust, impatience, selfishness.

Persephone!reader, by comparison, is sort of a personification of gentler human nature. Patience, mercy, altruism, gentleness. She is less “awakened” so to speak because her mother has been a major limiting factor in her life. Like, helicopter parent to the extreme.

Persephone!reader goes to her aunt Laswell as a sort of compromise. See the world, the real world, in a controlled sort of way with her aunt watching carefully over her shoulder.

Problem is, no one is expecting the dreams to start as soon as she gets to base. Dreams of a man that scares her as much as tempts her, and encouraging the worst and most selfish of her impulses. She doesn’t tell anyone - why would she? They’re just dreams.

Captain MacTavish scares intimidates her, even though she insists that he doesn’t, looking him in the eye with her chin tilted up defiantly. When he’s on base he finds all sorts of ways to cross her path, sometimes teasing her into an indignant fluster, other times telling her off for “distracting recruits”. Always, always has an eye on her, even if it’s not his own.

Once things come to a head (I haven’t figured out how yet) Persephone!reader insists it isn’t fair. And just because they’ve been something in the past doesn’t mean they have to now.

Johnny, of course, is utterly amused. She’s barely got any idea what’s going on, but sure, she’s going to deny forces beyond life and death.

They strike a deal. When he’s away (for months at a time… a season’s length, even) she can run and hide and do whatever she wants to “escape” him. If he cant find her within a week of coming back, then he’ll leave her be and she’s “free”.

(She scoffs that he’s going to cheat, using her aunt and all of her connections but he just scoffs. As if Laswell would help him over her own niece. And as if he needs the help.)

He always finds her within a day of coming back from a mission. No matter where she is or what her name is. No matter how well she covers her tracks (even with Laswell’s help). He comes to her with gifts.

At first it would be sweet if not for the smirk on his face and the realization that she’s “lost” again. He brings flowers of all kinds, and green plants in little pots. Then it’s a new sweater, a nice coat, a piece of jewelry.

And then… and then they get worse. A bullet is the first sign. It’s just a whole bullet, her name engraved in its side. Then it’s a casing, the bullet clearly having been shot. He tells her it went right between someone’s eyes. The “gifts” become patches from enemy jackets, pretty stones splattered with dried blood, a human tooth.

It’s awful. She hates it. She can’t ever make herself say it (or believe it). And when he’s gone, she physically can’t make herself throw them away. Shes tried and tried, and the last time she put a real effort into it, she ended up on the floor having a panic attack, sobbing and calling Johnny.

(He purrs at her through the phone, gunfire background noise while he soothes her back inside. His voice keeps her company while she makes a tea, readies a bath. Tuts at her to call him again when she’s tucking into bed. She refuses to acknowledge that she does.)

Similarly, she finds herself getting or making things for him. For his inevitable return. Cigars and his favorite whiskey. Making patches for his uniform. A leather bracelet with her initials on a silver charm. A ring with an inlay the color of her eyes. Doesn’t even realize what she’s doing until she’s home or the thing is done. She’ll hide them away for months with no plans of giving them to Johnny. He inevitable finds them within his first week home anyway.

(There’s the one time she bakes for him, humming as she measures and mixes ingredients. Lets him steal tastes from the bowl and lick flour off her cheek. Only realizes what she’s done in a domestic haze when he’s eaten the sweet treat and thanked her for it.)

And when he’s home…

The deal is that when he’s home, he gets to treat her like his. Climbs into her bed, grumbling about pillows being a poor substitute for him. Steps into her shower midway through, ducking his head so she can shampoo and condition his hair with her gentle hands. Dresses her in his clothes, in his dog tags. Always has a hand on her, even in her (their) home.

And he delights in yanking her into his lap - especially in public. When his team comes to visit (and they always do) he lounges with her on his thigh. He’s also kind of a dick. Like he’s courteous to servers (mainly female ones because chances are they won’t flirt with his girl) but pretty much any stranger talking to him or his Persephone is met with smarmy asshole behavior.

It’s to the point that she just fusses at him to let her talk to people. And he’s happy to do so, amused by the way she charms people. He only intervenes when someone is rude or a little too friendly with her. She’s had to break up bar fights before because god knows his men won’t try to stop their captain.

She is literally the only being in all of history that can tell him no and stop and he’ll listen regardless of the situation. She has to actively remind herself that it’s not healthy and she should not be a little flattered about it. And she’s not. (She is.)

#cod #thoughts™️#my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #dark fic #hades and persephone #Persephone #hades John mactavish #captain mactavish x you #captain john mactavish #Persephone reader

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axelsagewrites · 5 months

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Hello, dear reader. I'd like to make a wish for Rhaenyra's little sister, maybe a year or two. And she never liked Alicent, who after marrying the king tries (along with Otto) to demote her to bastard status (but Viserys loves his little girl too much to do this to her). Of course, things get even worse when Rhaenyra's sister gets engaged to Harwin...

Thank you for your attention, I like your stories 🫶🏻. Another thing, can I stop by more often? I wish I had more of my ideas adorned with your writing

Harwin Strong*Suitable Match

Pairing: Harwin x f!reader

Word count: 1320

Warnings: Step parent hating step child, secret relationship, kind of implied smut

a/n: ahh thank u sm for being so sweet and ofc request as much or talk however much u want. sorry i didnt reply sooner i just didnt want to lose the request x

Masterlist Here

A life of a princess was something to envy. Well so many had claimed however after the death of your mother life felt like an ever falling spiral. Your sister began to grow closer to Alicent after the death and while you were happy for her to have a friend Alicent had always been unkind to you.

It had started small with her asking Rhaenyra not to let you join in their games to her unpicking your needle work whenever you would wander off to stretch your legs. Soon you gave up on even trying to be nice to her. anytime she was invited to dinner was met with loud sighs from you.

“Why does she hate me?” you pouted one night as Rhaenyra upbraided your hair.

Your sister rolled her eyes as she began to brush your hair out, “She doesn’t hate you. she’s just not used to a little sister,”

“She’s mean,”

“Cmon she isn’t that bad?”

You didn’t want to say I told you so when Alicent was betrothed to your father but the look on your face said it for you. at least Rhaenyra was able to marry and move away. you were instead stuck living at court with your evil stepmother and her spawn. Well, the children were kind to you, but Alicent constantly used them to get under your skin.

She’d send toddler Aegon running over with pretend crown shouting that he was going to be king. Or she would have a 2-year-old Aemond claim he was your husband. She tried to make Helena spill wine on your dress one time, but the poor girl burst into tears and confessed to you instantly.

Instead Alicent settled on insisting that your chambers were given to Aegon. Something you managed to convince your father against from at first but soon you were moved to a wing of the castle usually just for guests. You would’ve complained about longer if you hadn’t realised your new chambers window overlooked the kings guard training ground.

From your window you’d pretend to be doing needle work while secretly watching break bones fling any man that challenged him like a rag doll. Eventually Harwin caught onto your staring and would send his own glimpses up between sparring. It was also handy that your chamber was only a short walk from the guards’ sleeping quarters and Harwin soon became a frequent private guest of yours.

“Ser Barros is coming to court next week,” your father told you over a family dinner, “and I heard his son is looking for a wife,” he said, shooting you a hopeful glance.

“I heard he’s a fine man father,” you said kindly knowing full well it didn’t matter. Somehow every match they tried to make for you was sabotaged. The tall dark Baratheon boy was ever so keen for weeks for your hand then one day disappeared like a ghost. The gorgeous Lannister man that would bring you fine jewels suddenly decided a dornish match was of more importance. Even the Tarly boy you had courted had inexplicitly decided to join the nights watch. Every time Alicent wore the same twisted smile.

The only ones she didn’t send running were the incredibly old and decrepit looking men from minor houses, but it wasn’t hard to convince your father they weren’t suitable matches. “Perhaps we should set up a luncheon to great the boy,” Alicent suggested making your father smile widely. She really had twisted him around her finger.

“I wish I could stay here all day,” you pouted as you lay your head on Harwin’s bare chest.

His chuckle vibrated through you as his arm wrapped tight around your waist, “Me too princess but I have my duties and you have yours,”

“I thought your duty was to serve me,” you sighed dramatically, pretending to try get away.

Harwin laughed, his arms moving to cage you against the bed as he moved to lay over you, “I think I serve you just fine princess,” he said, his lips moving to kiss along your jaw.

“Oh yeah?” you asked and Harwin hummed in response as his kisses grew lower.

As expected Borros’s son went running after only a week and now you were in another awkward family dinner however unluckily for you the children all had the cold so now you were sat in stoney silence with just your father and Alicent. “You should really think about your future dear,” she said with a fake sweet smile, “We worry for you,”

Instead of replying you grabbed your wine, drinking a hefty sip of it. Viserys sighed, “Alicent is right dear. You must marry. At this point we’re going to have to start considering marrying you to a tree!” he said, flinging himself back in his chair. “Honestly what even happened between you and the boy?”

The days that followed were awkward to say the least. Alicent walked around smug as all hell and your father continued to sulk. You decided enough was enough and when Alicent went out to the sept you decided to track your father down. Unsurprisingly you found him staring over a model of the city.

“Father?” you greeted, walking closer to the tired looking man, “May we talk?”

“Of course, sweet child,” he said, nodding for you to sit beside him before sighing, “You know I worry for you?”

“I do father, and I do appreciate it,” you lied but did your best to look sympathetic to your clueless father, “but I was thinking. Well. I found another match you see father,” you spoke, and his head perked up as he waited for you to finally spit it out, “He’s sweet and kind and his family is well respected. You even like his father, and I was just thinking- “

“Out with-it child,”

You took a breath before finally asking, “Have you considered Harwin Strong yet father?” Viserys sighed, his eyes turning away but you continued, “Think about it! I’d be able to be at court and help Helena with her studies. Plus, you have four more children so four more matches. You already have the Velaryon which secures the crownlands. Harwin and I would secure the Riverlands. Then after you betrothed Helena, Aegon, Aemond, and Daeron you will have six of the seven kingdoms on your side. Your reach will go far especially if our children do the same,”

“You want to dilute the blood of old Valyria?” he asked, sounding exhausted as he spoke.

“No father, only strengthen it,” you said, moving to hold his hand, “Besides there is no other Targaryen or Velaryon to wed unless uncle daemon is brought back from exile- “you said but your father raised his hand to hush you.

He paused for a moment before nodding, “I will think about it. but for now, leave me. I have a lot to consider,”

“Thank you, father,”

Apparently Alicent must have missed this chamber meeting because somehow the news came back finally in your favour. Harwin would be your husband. You were so happy when your father told you that you instantly hugged him before rushing to find Harwin however that night at dinner Alicent shot you many dirty looks.

Finally, you had undermined her. you’d won. Well, that’s how it felt at first, but her glares began to sink into your skin till it itched. As the dinner ended, she tapped her cup with her fork, “A toast to my dear sweet daughter,” she smiled at you making your father beam, “May she have a marriage like ours,” she said, holding his hand tightly but you felt your stomach flutter.

“Here, here,” your father said, standing to kiss your cheek.

Alicent did the same, her arms twisting round your back into a bony hug, “Do not forget yourself darling,” she whispered sweetly in your ear, “You don’t win that easily,”

Taglist: @clairacassidy @valeskafics @starkleila @jacesvelaryons

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imyourbratzdoll · 6 months

Text

𝒂𝒏 𝒐𝒃𝒔𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒔 𝒂𝒏 𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒇𝒖𝒍 𝒌𝒊𝒅𝒏𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈

🍑peaches world (and the men that just exist in it) masterlist🍑

summary - the beginning on how you were kidnapped by the king of koopa kingdom, buckle in your seatbelts and enjoy the ride, because this will be a smutty rollercoaster.

warning - mentions of cock, kidnapping, inappropriate feelings/thoughts, swearing.

18+ only please, the gif isn’t mine, header created by me.

Warnings and Reminders - Please do not plagiarise, copy, repost/republish, adapt, or translate any of my work on any social media platforms, apps, or third-party sites. The only platforms I post my work on are: Tumblr and Wattpad. I do not own any character of any franchise (Marvel etc.) All my works are fiction and may be dark or triggering content: READ ALL WARNINGS BEFORE PROCEEDING.

You watched your kingdom from above, it was a peaceful day as your people walked around and lived their lives happily. Usually, things were more of a ruckus. With a smile you turned and began to walk out of your room and down the hall, your pretty pink dress falling gracefully to the floor and sways with each step. You were happy, Lloyd and his brother Tangerine were currently out helping the people, so you had the castle to yourself.

You were wondering what you were going to do with your free time. You had many options, you could improve your parkour, do some painting that you always wanted to do but pushed to the side, you could go outside and tend to your flowers. The possibilities were endless and just as you were about to take the last step, a hand wraps around and covers your mouth. Your eyes widen, your hands immediately go up to try and pull whoever it is away. You freeze when they speak, feeling their massive body pressing against you.

“Shh, little Princess. You don’t want to warn the guards now, do you?” Ari Bowser Levinson is the one currently holding you. Your enemy, your rival. The King of The Koopa Kingdom. “That’s a good little Princess, staying nice and quiet for me.” You try to fight the shiver that runs through your body, knowing it’s wrong to feel this way when you are with someone. “Do you know how shit your security system is, Princess? I managed to slip right in, I mean. Someone really bad could’ve broken in and taken you for themselves, don’t you understand how dangerous that is.” He whispers like he isn’t the really bad person. You wiggle, trying to move away but you end up brushing your arse against him instead causing him to groan. “I wouldn’t do that, Princess. Unless you are wanting me to take you right here.”

You stop abruptly and your eyes widen, suddenly everything goes black. You don’t remember anything after that, and when you finally wake with your eyes fluttering open. You look around, confused. The walls and floors are grey, you tilt your head as you notice a large screen resting against the wall. Your attention is brought away from it when Ari enters the room. “Good morning, little Princess! Has my little Princess made herself comfortable in her new home?” He towers over you as he’s around 8 feet tall. He stalks closer, bending over to stare at your sitting form. “I sure hope so, because if I get my way, you will be staying here for the rest of your life!” He grins, and you shiver as it comes off evil-like. His eyes holding something much darker behind them.

“Screw you and your plan, Ari! I’m sure Lloyd and his brother are already on their way to come rescue me!” You huff, arms crossing over your chest unknowingly pushing your breasts together and giving the older man/monster a lovely view. Your bottom lip juts out and you try to glare at him, failing miserably with how small and cute you are compared to him.

Ari coos, “You are correct, my smart little Princess. As far as I’ve been informed, they are already on their way!” He watches you jump with joy, your breasts bouncing with each movement, and he feels his cock twitch, licking his lips as soon the fun will begin.

“Really?! They are coming?! That’s great!” You continue to jump, clapping your hands as a giant grin appears on your face.

Ari laughs, shaking his head and moving closer to you. Backing you into the wall. “Not so fast, little Princess. Not everything is going to be easy for you.” He grins, placing his arm next to you against the wall. Ari directs you toward the screen, his arm wraps around you, making you feel even smaller, those darn tingles appearing again, and you try to push them away knowing how wrong it is. His hand reaches into his pocket, receiving a remote and you eye it. Your eyes move from the remote to his hands, wondering how they can still look so good with the claws.

You had always heard stories before Ari turned his attention toward you and your kingdom. (Mostly you, but you didn’t think someone would be so obsessed with just you.) He was once a man that got his karma, being turned into half of a turtle. His already big build helped him mutate into something more monstrous. Horns in certain places, claws, sharp fangs, a larger cock. (Not that anyone got to see, but I guess it’ll be your lucky day.)

Ari snaps you out of your thoughts, smirking when he catches you staring at his hands. “Two days have passed since I kidnapped you, little Princess. Where do you think Lloyd and his brother are now?” He hums.

“I presume they should be knocking at the door to enter the castle, right about now. I think…” You blink up at him, brows furrowed.

Ari boops your nose, smirking wider than before. “Alright, if you have that much hope in your little boyfriend. Let’s watch it live to see how they are doing, shall we, little Princess?” You both face the tv, his large finger pressing the on button and he grins at your wide tear-filled eyes.

“They’re at the beginning?! But how?! What are they still doing there?!” You yell in disbelief. Sure, the brothers were a bit slow sometimes, but you would’ve thought that saving you would make them go a bit faster. You begin to scream at the screen, hoping that they would be able to hear you. “It’s been two days, and you are still there?! I’m not even in that fucking world!” Ari chuckles behind his hand as he hears you swear, you look so cute as your cheeks puff out. “I’m in Bowser’s castle! Everyone knows it’s the biggest and most guarded of them all! Those are just fucking decoys!” You stomp your foot, practically throwing a tantrum, not noticing the big bad King sneaking closer behind you. “You fucking idiots! They’ll kill you now! Fucking watch out! That’s just the first Goomba of that level! Don’t let him touch you, you idiots!”

“This is going to take a while, little Princess. So… Why don’t we have some fun while we wait.” Ari smirks as you turn with a confused look on your face. Before you can react, he rips your dress from your body, and you stand there with wide eyes. “Oh, we are definitely going to have some fun, little Princess.”

would you like to follow the game? if yes, please click round 1 when the link is avaliable.

𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 1

thank you for reading!

feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

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