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golden-cherry · 8 months

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deal - cl16 (13/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Sharing the bed with your roommate sounds pretty normal. Until ... just wait and see.

Warnings: 18+ (kissing, fingering, mentions of sex), fluff, Charles being worried

Word Count: 3.2k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: whoopsie. my hands just slipped. minors dni. feedback is appreciated!

Between sleep and being awake is that brief, fleeting moment when you feel more than you think. Your body is relaxed, your heart beats slowly but firmly, and the thoughts that usually keep you awake at night tend to float around in your head like shallow fog.

You snuggle deeper into bed.

Under the covers, it's as toasty warm as summer. It feels like you're lying in the sun after a nap on the beach and slowly waking up, which you now want to avoid at all costs, so you press your face back into the soft pillow and the warmth envelops you like a cocoon you never want to slip out of.

As the comforter slides down a bit from your chest and finds its place warm and heavy on your waist, goosebumps spread on your bare arms. Annoyed, you reach for the hem of the blanket, expecting to feel the fluffy fabric between your fingers so you can wrap yourself in that warmth again, just so you don't lose that feeling. This feeling of home.

But it's not the blanket that's warm and heavy on you.

Charles' hand slides from your waist over your stomach, or rather, under your shirt, and wraps around your middle to pull you closer to him. His chest is hard and firm against your back, and his splayed fingers burn against the soft skin of your belly. They brush over your ribs until they slide under your body and his thumb pauses at the curve of your breast.

You breathe deeply as his legs tangle with yours under the covers, leaving not a millimeter of space between your bodies. Charles nestles his face into the crook where your neck meets your shoulder, and his lips graze your burning skin.

"You're so warm," he whispers barely audible, his breath gently brushing your cheek like a summer breeze. He slides even closer to you, which is barely possible, and holds you so tightly that you couldn't squirm out of his grip even if you tried.

Which you don't. Why should you? No cozy blanket or nap in the sun has ever felt as good, as right, as Charles does at this moment. Behind you, pressed against you, so close you can breathe him in.

You press closer to him, to his warmth, to that feeling of home that you don't want to let go of, but just as you're about to push against him, he murmurs in your ear.

"Don't do this." His voice is low and raspy, sending a shiver down your spine.

You turn your head a little in his direction so that his lips move from the uncovered part of your shoulder to your jaw, spreading feather-light kisses that set your whole body on fire. Innocently you look at him, though you can feel exactly what you're setting off in him. "Why not?"

His hand pulls a little on your upper body, so you have to turn a little. As his splayed fingers slowly roam over your chest and brush against your nipple, your chest arches into his hand as if of its own accord. You moan softly. It's the most beautiful sound Charles has ever heard.

"Because then I can't guarantee anything." He props himself up on his elbow to look down at you. His gaze searches yours and his sparkling green eyes wait for a reaction from you. Which he gets, as he rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger under your shirt. You draw your eyebrows together and whine. You want more. So much more. "And because then I can't stop."

Your hand slides slowly up his hard, uncovered chest, along the nape of his neck, and your fingers weave through his hair, disheveled by sleep. As you tug gently, he moans and leans his head back a little so you can press a kiss to where his jaw meets his neck. As you gently suck on his pulse, a low rumble escapes Charles' throat. "Then don't."

His mouth isn't gentle or soft, but feral and wild as he leans over you and captures your lips like it's the most natural thing in the world. Charles pushes his tongue between your lips in a demanding manner, licking into your mouth as his hand, which was against your chest a moment ago, reaches for the hem of your shirt to pull it over your head, giving you a moment to catch your breath.

Against your expectations, he doesn't immediately pounce on your breasts, as his hand now moves to your neck to curl around it slightly so that his thumb is under your chin. He tilts your head back and his kisses travel from your mouth, to your jaw, across your neck. As he gently slides his teeth over your collarbone, you press his face even closer.

"Slow down, mon amour." He pulls back from you a bit so he can look at you. "I plan to enjoy this." His lips move further down, kissing your flaming skin, and as they close around your left nipple and suck, you nearly lose your mind.

"Charles," you moan, and his name coming out of your mouth sounds to him like a prayer finally being answered.

"What is it, ma cherie?" He lifts his head a little and looks up from your breasts, unrelenting hunger and desire and lust in them. "Tell me what you need, Y/N. I'll give you anything you want." Without taking his eyes off you, he runs his hand down your electrified body and slides under the hem of your panties to linger on the heat between your legs before sitting up to strip you of the last piece of clothing.

"You, Charles," you moan as he's over you again, his finger sliding between your folds and collecting the wetness. Your hand curls around his bicep. For God's sake, he definitely shouldn't stop touching you. "I just need you."

His face is back above yours as his finger gently enters you, and unbridled, you moan into his mouth. "I'm here, mon amour." He kisses the left corner of your mouth, and then your right, as his thumb circles over your swollen bud. All you want, all you feel, is Charles. "I'm yours, mon amour. Forever." As you feel his hard cock against your thigh, you arch toward him.

"But you have to spread your legs a little for me, love. Come on, just a little bit more."

You startle as the door suddenly opens. The blanket is tangled between your legs, and although it doesn't cover you, you're so indescribably hot that it would be a miracle if you didn't sweat through the mattress.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Charles smiles, standing in the doorway dressed only in sweatpants, his arms crossed in front of his chest. You can't miss his powerful biceps. Neither his abs. "Did you sleep well?" Drops of water bead off his wet hair and fall onto his wet chest, where they roll over his skin toward his stomach. Apparently he's just been in the shower.

You'd like to hide under the covers, because having to look your roommate in the face after such a dream is definitely too much so early in the morning.

But Charles' gaze is gentle as he sits down on the foot of the bed. If you were to hide from him right now, he would immediately notice that something was wrong. And explaining your dream to him is definitely out of the question.

"Very well, in fact," you answer truthfully, because you really haven't slept so deeply and soundly in a long time. You are completely rested and refreshed, as if last night never happened. You push aside the thought that Charles is the reason why you slept so well. And even more so the dream that still haunts your brain. "How about you?"

Your friend nods slightly, and apparently the seam of your comforter is so much more interesting than looking you in the face. "Definitely better than on the couch," he smiles. "I got breakfast, by the way. Or brunch, rather. It's already eleven o'clock."

You raise your eyebrows in surprise. "I slept that long?" you ask, horrified, and jump out of bed. Your cell phone tells you that Charles is telling the truth - you slept through half the day.

Charles laughs. "You did. But it's great!" He also gets up from the bed and leaves the bedroom, you follow him. "You said you haven't had a decent night's sleep in a long time. And if I can help you with that, all the better."

You'd love to wipe that stupid grin off his face.

On the kitchen table, breakfast is indeed ready, consisting of two pain au chocolat and two croissants, toppings and orange juice. You give your roommate a look, but Charles just shrugs.

"I remember that tasted good the day before yesterday. I thought we could keep breakfast that way." He sits down in his chair, and the way he's leaning, wearing only sweatpants and his wet hair, you have to look away, because even though you're vehemently trying to shoo the dream from your mind, it's still very present. Heat rushes to your cheeks. How are you supposed to live with this?

With his foot, he pushes your chair off the table so you can sit down.

You point toward the bathroom. "You can go ahead and get started. I'll be right back."

The cold water on your face helps cool you down a little, but unfortunately it can't stop the racing thoughts.

Dreaming like this about Charles, your friend, crosses every single boundary you've set. You also don't know why you dreamed about him like that, after all, he didn't give you any reason to. He didn't flirt with you or touch you in any proper way - so why did your subconscious decide to betray you like this?

You sit down on the toilet lid and put your head in your hands.

The dream felt so good, so real, that you can't possibly leave it behind. Is this what it would feel like if Charles actually kissed you? Touched you? Touched you like this? Would he take your breath away, make your skin burn, devour you completely?

Okay, stop. You definitely don't want to tumble down this rabbit hole.

You quickly comb your hair so you don't look quite so sleepy, and brush your teeth before leaving the bathroom again and joining your friend, who hasn't touched breakfast yet but is looking annoyed at his cell phone in his hand.

"Are you okay?" you ask as you sit down across from him and reach for one of the two pain au chocolat.

Charles, who was so engrossed in his phone, now looks up at you. "My boss texted me. I'm actually on break until next year, but apparently I have to go to a meeting in a few days, which I'm afraid I can't sit out." He puts the phone on the table with the screen down and grabs one of the croissants.

"But if it's just a meeting, it can't take that long, right?" you ask him, tilting your head.

Charles exhales audibly. "You would think so. But the meeting is in Italy and is supposed to last over four days." He pours orange juice into the two empty glasses sitting on the table between you. "So we wouldn't meet again until next week."

You nod your thanks to him and take a sip. "When do you have to leave?"

Charles purses his lips. "The day after tomorrow."

Disappointed, you slump back in your chair. So you only have a day and a half before he leaves. And then you won't see each other for four days.

But maybe the distance would do you good. In two days, you've grown so fond of Charles that it's almost unhealthy. You've become so attached to him that you don't want to let him out of your life, and you already know that you're going to miss him immensely for the whole four days.

After what happened to your old circle of friends, you swore you would never take anyone into your heart so easily again, but Charles - Charles is just Charles. He's nice, friendly and funny, and even though you fight - according to Kika - like an old married couple, you know for sure that you would make up within the next few hours.

Calling Charles just your roommate or friend wouldn't do justice to how you feel about him.

"Can you last that long without me?" you joke, biting into your pain au chocolat.

Charles, grinning, puts his hand on the spot on his chest where his heart beats. "My heart beats only for you, mon amour. It hurts when you're not with me."

At the term of endearment, the dream flickers before your eyes again, and suddenly the pastry in your hands is so exciting that you can't take your eyes off it, while warmth shoots into your cheeks and your heart beats faster.

Maybe the distance is actually doing you good.

And maybe there's nothing wrong with Charles being away for the next few days. Just in case Raphael decides to show up outside your apartment again and wait for you. You want to keep your buddy out of the drama, which would be pretty difficult if your ex suddenly showed up at the apartment door and Charles was here.

Possibly you could talk to Raphael, get him to come to his senses so he'll finally leave you alone. And that would work best if the conversation was between the two of you. Without involving your roommate in the matter.

"You certainly have to work anyway, so time flies. Besides, Kika and Pierre are still in town. They're both quite charmed by you, too."

You pucker your lips into a thin line and knead your hands in your lap. "I'm sorry I didn't let you know I was at Kika's last night. And also for not answering my phone when you called."

Charles takes a sip of his juice. "'It's all right. I was just really worried because you said you'd let me know when you got home. I thought something had happened to you. Especially since your ex-boyfriend won't leave you alone."

Charles is completely right about that, of course. But you don't tell him that, especially since he won't be spending the next few days in Monaco and shouldn't worry about you.

"I'm really sorry, Charles. I didn't want you to worry."

Your roommate leans forward and crosses his fingers on the table. "As long as that guy is still out there doing his thing and bothering you, I'll always worry. But you're a big girl, and I trust you to call me as soon as you need help." He smiles gently. "But if something happens, make sure you call and then I'll come home right away, all right?"

You return his smile. "I promise."

After breakfast and after you've washed the dishes, you clean up the apartment a bit. While you clean the bathroom, Charles dusts the furniture in the living room and wipes the countertop in the kitchen with a damp rag. When you both finish and arrive in the bedroom, you stand indecisively in front of the bed where your sleeping stuff still lies.

Charles looks at you. "What do you think?" He points to the bed with a nod of his head. "Do you have a problem continuing to share the bed with me? And please be honest with me. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable in any way."

You look at him. His gaze rests gently on you, and apparently he cares incredibly much that you feel comfortable in his presence. Which makes the guilty conscience that blossoms in you like a sunflower in summer because of the dream grow even bigger. You shouldn't feel that way about your friend. The only reason you could feel uncomfortable is your own thoughts that haunt you and make you wish there was more between you two than friendship.

But you must nip this thought, this hope, in the bud as soon as possible. It's all the better that he won't be here for the next few days.

Charles notices you stepping from one foot to the other. "If you think we might have snuggled tonight, let me reassure you. Nothing happened. And even if something had happened, that would be okay. After all, we're friends sharing a bed. I'd be surprised if we didn't touch each other in our sleep. Or cuddle. After all, it's the most normal thing in the world." He raises his eyebrows. "I mean, as long as you're okay with that."

You take a look at the rumpled bed and covers that are the only barrier between you at night. Like Charles said, you haven't slept as well as you did tonight in ages, and no matter how much you want to tell yourself it's not him, you have to admit to yourself that his presence calms you immensely. Even in your sleep.

You turn to him. "All right. But as soon as things get weird, then we'll end this and go back to our old deal, all right?"

Charles has to grin. "Why? You don't want to cuddle with me, do you? I swear to you, once you cuddle with me, you'll never want to sleep without me again."

You roll your eyes as Charles grin widens. He throws himself full force onto the bed - your side of the bed - and crosses his arms behind his head, revealing his bare muscular chest. For sure, the whole bed will smell like him in a moment.

"When you cuddle me out of bed," you begin, moving around the bed to lie on his side of it, Charles' eyes following your every move and as you snuggle into his bedclothes, blush rises in his cheeks. "If you snuggle me out of bed, I will ban you from the bed and confiscate every single pillow so the couch will be unbearable for you." You close your eyes and enjoy joking with your buddy. Just being with him.

God, you're going to miss him when he's not here for the next few days.

You don't catch how soft and lustful Charles' gaze becomes at the same time as you press your face into his pillow.

And for a brief moment, he imagines your face pressed into his pillow under different circumstances as he kneels behind you and his cock fucks you hard and dirty until you come several times for him - and only for him - and he claims you as his own with marks all over your fucked out body.

He clears his throat briefly, then closes his eyes as well. "Deal."

next part

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc prompt #charles leclerc fanfiction #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female reader #f1 #f1 smut #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc fluff #carlos sainz jr

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4sturns · 5 months

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TICKLISH

matt s. x gn!reader

genre: tooth rotting fluff

synopsis: where matt's trying to show your body the love it deserves by leaving light kisses all over your skin, but he forgets you're far too ticklish to handle them.

warnings: intro seems sus but have faith in me, cavity inducing sweetness, pet names (baby, honey, dear), delusions galore

a/n: thank you for 600 followers, enjoy this cute piece as my token of appreciation 🖤 this also has to be one of my favorite pieces i have ever written she's just so cute

matt has you pinned under him, his lips leaving feather like kisses around your jaw, slowly making his way down to your neck. it's the soft and gentle touch that you've been craving all day, accompanied with matt's presence of course.

your hands are held together above your head by matt's left hand while his right hand rests by your shoulder, holding his weight up.

when matt presses a kiss to the junction between your neck and shoulder, you release a content breath. your boyfriend never fails to make you feel loved. he cherishes every single inch of your body as if you were an angel in disguise, and to matt, he fully believes that you truly are an angel, his angel.

his soft, plump lips work their way down from your collarbone to the top of your chest. he leaves open mouthed kisses to the skin, his long eyelashes fluttering against your chest in result to his close proximity which makes you let out a small giggle.

matt's head pops up from his position below you as a gentle smile graces over his features. he releases his grip on your hands and lets them fall to his head. your hands waste no time as they get lost in his soft locks, massaging at his scalp. matt closes his eyes and lets out a little sigh, letting you know how much he's enjoying your touch.

"what's got you all giggly, baby?" matt grumbles against you, his head falls down to rest on top of your exposed stomach as one of his hands come up to draw shapes into the soft skin.

"it's nothing, honey. i just got a little ticklish, that's all." you continue to play with matt's hair.

the room's quiet, but it's peaceful. the lights are low in your boyfriend's room. the little led ghost fixture by his bed illuminates the side of his face, making him look like the most beautiful boy you've ever laid eyes on.

"ticklish, you say?" matt lifts his head back up. a mischievous smirk appears on his face, but before you can even react, you feel his lips return to the sensitive skin of your stomach as his fingers attack your sides, making you break out into fits of laughter.

you're thrashing around under him, hands trying so hard to push his off and away from your sides, but it only pushes him to tickle you harder. you're shrieking at this point, your face red from the lack of air as your uncontrollable laughter gets the better of you. matt joins in too, his chuckles and occasional screeches fill up the room with yours.

"matt, baby, i can't— i can't breathe!" you're tearing up as matt continues to attack your sides. but you're not going to let him get away with this.

with a small intake of air, you gather up all the strength you have left in your body and flip the both of you, causing for matt to be the one on the bottom now. you act fast, hands working diligently on his body as his eyes close and a light shade of pink dusts his cheeks.

you have one hand working at his armpit as the other attacks his side, similarly to how he tickled you moments prior.

now matt's the one begging for mercy as his giggles echo off the walls of the room and leak through to the rest of the house. you wish for him to always feel this kind of joy in his life. you never want this moment to end, but you know you don't have much time before he has you under him again, and you're not quite ready to be the victim to another ruthless tickle attack again.

your hands switch around to tickle at other parts of his body you're sure he's ticklish at, while your eyes scan matt's face. his eyes are closed shut but you can still make out the tears of laughter that threaten to spill from his eyes. his cheeks are now a shade of red, whether it's from the intense laughter or from how flustered he gets when he feels your body against his will be a mystery, but you'll question him about it later. his mouth is wide open as loud cackles and giggles escape his throat. you're positive his cheeks hurt from smiling so hard as much as you're sure his body probably aches from the insane amount of laughter and joy flowing from his body.

"so now who's ticklish!" you taunt him. he does little to fight back, having given up on swatting your hands away a while back. you note how he's struggling to respond to you which causes a string of cackles to leave your body.

suddenly, you're flipped over again and your back rests against the sheets once more. your eyes are shut tightly as you brace yourself for a second round of attacks, but they never come.

instead, you open your eyes to see a giggling matt hovering above you. his eyes are glistening with so much joy that you could almost mistake him as a kid whose parent got him ice cream from the ice cream truck down the street.

his eyes melt into yours before he breaks the sound of quiet chuckling with his soft and spent voice.

"i call a truce! i can't handle another round, my fingers ache." matt's still trying to catch his breath, chest heaving against yours as he tries hard to keep his laughter at bay. he flashes you a wide smile, a genuine one, which mirrors yours.

you quickly lift your hands up and put them in the air to show your surrender, before linking them around matt's neck, pulling him in closer to you. your lips collide in a sweet and passionate kiss. one which you both smile through, only to break away with another giggle.

"a truce it is, my dear."

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut

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your-highnessmarvel · 5 months

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Clean Shaven

Requested by @the-kestrels-feather : Hi lovely! I saw your requests were open and thought I'd send one in! Can I get a fluffy Bucky x Reader where Reader shaves him? I'm a firm believer in the inherent intimacy of shaving someone and I have a need 😅 gender neutral!Reader would be preferred, but if you can't/aren't comfortable doing that then Fem!Reader is fine too! Thank you in advance 💕💕

AN: Aw this was the cutest thing ever! I had to do some research because I've never shaved a man before and i was told it was hella specific but turns out - it's not???

Warnings: none, mentions of blood

*gif not mine

MASTERLIST

"Sit still, will you?"

Bucky looked up at you, smiling from under his brows. "You're holding a razor blade to my neck, y/n," he said. "And you expect me not to move a little?"

You snorted, pressing more shaving cream onto his face, covering his mouth. "You're a hundred-year-old super spy, trained for decades to sustain any type of torture," you answered, dipping the razor into the warm water that filled the sink. "And you can't handle a little razor nick?"

Bucky, unable to open his mouth or he'd swallow shaving cream, just rolled his eyes, grumbling behind his closed lips.

"What's that, grumpy?" you asked sarcastically, inching your ear closer to his mouth.

Quickly, he inched closer until a swath of thick shaving cream transferred onto your ear and you squealed, rearing back. "Oh, you!"

You could see the smile in his eyes, even though the bottom half of his face and neck were slathered in white. He got that crinkle beside his baby blues, that unique look that told you he was just messing around.

And, oh, it had taken you so much time to see that look for the first time, back when you started dating.

"Do you want a shave or not?" you asked, wiping the cream from your hair, from your ear.

Bucky chuckled quietly and nodded.

"For the last time, stand still!"

You approached again, one hand poised on his metal shoulder, the other holding the razor and shaving his cheek and jaw with sharp precision.

This close to him, you could smell his cologne and that unique scent that was his alone.

"You smell so good," you mumbled, shaving around his mouth then dumping the razor into the sink water. You felt Bucky give you a slight tap on the bum and you giggled. "Let me finish shaving you, Buck," you chuckled, lifting his chin to get the underside, sliding along his adam's apple with a crooked grimace on your skin.

"Scared to draw some blood?" he asked, eyes cast to the ceiling, exposed mouth in a slight smile.

You gave him a look even though he couldn't see. "What makes you think I'm scared of blood?"

"That one time Tony got a paper cut and you had to leave the room."

You stood, hands on hips. "That was a really bad paper cut!"

Bucky chuckled, ducking his chin to his chest, shoulder jostling up and down.

You dumped the shaving-cream-full razor into the sink with an exaggerated sigh. "Don't move just yet, I haven't done the left side of your face."

You went to his left side, carefully shaving from his side burns down to his jaw, hearing the low scrape of the blade along his skin. It was satisfying, shaving him, watching the clean, smooth skin appear below the white cream.

You loved his stubble, but a clean shaven Bucky had a special place in your heart.

"You're cute when you're concentrated," Bucky mumbled, staring up at you with dazed eyes as you cleaned the blade.

Returning for the last stripe of white, you kissed the tip of his nose. "You're cute all the time," you answered in a high tone, shaving that last bit and standing back with a smile.

Bucky stood, admiring himself in the mirror. As he pulled a towel to wash his face, he looked at you in the mirror. "Making me look handsome, y/n," he said, winking when you caught his eye. You watched him clean the rest of the shaving cream left and apply his aftershave, loving the way he stretched out his neck, exposing his adam's apple.

You especially loved that tic he did; raising his brows, jutting his lower lip.

He helped you clean up, storing the blade and the shaving cream. Then he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you onto the counter, sitting you so you were eye-to-eye with him.

"Thank you, my love," he murmured, snuggling your neck, pulling you into a tight, warm hug.

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky imagine #bucky fluff #fluff #bucky x reader fluff #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x you fluff #bucky x yn #bucky x yn fluff #bucky x y/n #bucky x y/n fluff

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ghouljams · 6 months

Text

(The Day After)Halloween on the Farm (Ghost's Version) Rating: T, there's vague nudity and mentioned sex Word Count: <1k Tags: This is all fluff folks, short and sweet, Ghost x f!OC/reader, very and I mean very minor descriptions of reader, reader has a scar Summary: You spent all night last night policing other people's fun, now you can spend time relaxing in Ghost's company. If he'd come back to bed, that is.

The sheets fall off of you, the sun streaming over your stomach and creeping towards your eyes as it rises. You wake up just enough to toss an arm over your eyes. It takes you a moment of drifting for the scratching of pencil on paper to reach you. It's the only noise in the silence of the room until you groan and go to grab your blanket.

"Don't move," Simon tells you quietly. You smile to yourself and let out a breath, sinking back into the bed.

"When did you get up?" You ask, settling in to listen to him draw. The soft drag of graphite is lulling, gentle and familiar. Simon is quiet for a long time as he works but you're patient, and you're not going anywhere.

"Hour ago," he says when his pencil stills, his fingers rub against the paper, "maybe."

You stretch a little, arch your back and twist your hips in the quiet. As long as he isn't sketching you can move, and you're quick to settle back into position. It's an attention you'll never get used to. The way you can feel his eyes drag over you, studying you with an open affection, makes you feel more beautiful than anyone ever has. He's not one to show off, but the few times you've seen his sketches they were amazing. His attention to detail is meticulous, every shadow shaping forms and adding softness, weight, to his sketches.

You wait for him to start sketching again. Each short scratch a new shadow that is rubbed soft by his fingers. You could almost doze like this. The soft light of the morning and the warmth of the house threaten to drag you back towards slumber. It's so warm in here, no wonder you barely notice the loss of your blankets. Simon must have turned up the heat after you fell asleep, easier than putting clothes on after sex you suppose. He stops sketching and you seize the opportunity.

"Can I see?" You chance the ask, he grunts and you hear the drag of his eraser.

"Sure." Your heart feels like it's going to burst. You move your arm from your eyes to check its OK to move and catch Simon staring at you. He really must have just woken up, his hair sticks in different directions, and he’s only wearing sweats. He's pulled one of the kitchen chairs to sit next to the bed, his shoulders hunched over his sketchbook. The pencil in his hands looks so small. He raises a brow, and that's good enough for you. He holds the book out to you as you push yourself up, and waits for you to take it from him.

When you do you have to stop from pressing your fingers against the paper, you can't trace the lines of graphite as desperately as you want to. You don't want to ruin his art, but you can't believe what you're seeing is really you. You're not insecure by any stretch of the word, but the way he draws you… "Am I really this pretty?" You breathe, eyes touching on the dip of your waist, the swell of your breasts, the soft part of your lips, the scar along your stomach so adoringly detailed.

Simon hums, and you glance at him. He’s staring at you, watching you inspect his work. His gaze is so open it almost makes you want to praise him. You think he’d like that.

“No,” He tugs the sketchbook free of your hands and starts scratching his pencil against the page, feathering the strokes along your sketched lashes, “You’re prettier in person, haven’t gotten it right yet.”

You lean forward against your knees with a smile and rest your head on your folded arms to watch Simon work. He’s so gruff, so practical with everything, it never fails to surprise you that his hobby is so delicate. Maybe that isn’t the right word, careful? Meticulous you could buy, but that makes too much sense with Simon. No, you like delicate. It speaks to the care, the consideration in his art. You’ve watched him draw his own hands, so meticulous to trace every vein and scar, and yet looking at the finished product it’s almost appreciative.

It’s definitely appreciative when he draws you. You know that much. You can see it. His eyes dart to look at you and back down to the paper, each line struck with purpose, each glance a calculation. And again you think that for all the technical parts, it’s loving. His sketchbooks are full of you, pieces of you litter every page, every inch. He’s packed full of you, just like you’re stuffed to the brim with him.

“I love you,” You tell him. He sucks in a breath, the same way he always does, almost disbelieving.

“Love you too,” He mutters, burying himself a little further in his work.

“We should fuck when you’re done,” You mumble, closing your eyes to enjoy the warm house, the warm affection in your chest. Simon’s sketchbook snaps shut almost as quickly as the words leave your mouth. You peek up at your husband to watch him strip his pants off, and reach to push you back down against the bed.

You move with his insistent hands, and stretch out against the bed again, letting his eyes roam over you with a different sort of appreciation. He pulls your legs up around his waist as you reach for him, tugging him down to kiss him. Simon meets your lips all too eagerly, and you let out a pleased hum as you finally receive a proper good morning.

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a-dauntless-daffodil · 2 months

Note

Lute sees Vaggie's wings have grown back and tries take them again. She grabs them to pull them off, but her hands burn right through her gloves. Sp, Lute tries to cut them off with her sword, but the blade shatters the second it hits the feathers. That's the power of love, bitch!

this could be either so dramatic or so fucking funny so i'd love to imagine it being Both

(fuck this turned out looooooong XD)

Emily: "Good news!”

Charlie: "YAY!"

Vaggie: "How good can it be, if we had to come all the way to stupid heaven to hear it?

Charlie: "Vaggie, c'mon- We could REALLY use some good news!"

Emily: "Then you'll love this. I looked into it and, Vaggie, you being abandoned in hell was wrong, not to mention Adam never cleared it with anyone else anyway- so you can come back here to heaven! Isn't that great!"

Charlie: "Oh... thanks Emily, that's..."

Vaggie: "Not happening."

Charlie: "Maybe she could have some time to think about-"

Lute: "No.”

Vaggie: "No."

Lute: “An angel's place is in heaven. Hell is a prison for sinners, demons, and the fallen who reject the very order of creation. If you choose to stay down there, then what does that make you?"

Vaggie: "It's making me fucking happy, for one thing."

Charlie: (whispers) "... a happy day in hell?"

Vaggie: (whispering back) "Every single one."

Charlie: (BEAMS)

Lute: "Then you've made your choice. You're not an angel. You’re not one of us. You're a traitor."

Vaggie: "And it's been better company than I had up here."

Lute: "Think so?” (grins) “Sera, respectfully, hell is rebelling-"

Charlie: "We were PROTECTING ourselves!"

Lute: "-they killed Adam and one of their people is up here acting like he doesn’t still sympathize with murderers and filthy sinners. We can’t risk anyone else getting past heaven’s gates.”

Vaggie: “Like I’d ever want to!”

Lute: “So you wouldn’t lead the charge if your demon bitch said the word and pointed at us?”

Emily: “Lute!”

Charlie: “Vaggie wouldn’t-”

Vaggie: “Charlie never would! That’s what makes her different from assholes like YOU.”

Lute: “You think everyone’s as weak as you are, don’t you? She’s a hellborn princess. She just called violently resisting a sanctioned extermination ‘self defense.’”

Charlie: “YOU WERE KILLING PEOPLE!”

Lute: “Sinners are not people. They had their chance and burned it. And they’re not the only ones.”

Emily: “But they can be redeemed! We’ve seen it happen!”

Lute: “Once.”

Emily: “It doesn’t matter that it was only ‘once’- it matters that it happened and we still don’t understand why. We have a duty to the people of heaven, but if sinners can find their way here then that duty includes them too! And the exterminations were just wrong from the start!”

Lute: “Careful Emily, you’re starting to sound like a traitor too.”

Emily: “If the other choice is sounding like YOU, then-”

Sera: “Enough! Both of you! Emily is not the one on trial here, Lute.”

Lute: “Then listen to the ones that ARE! Sera, listen to them, listen to HER- she’s made her choice. She’s fallen even more than Lucifer Morningstar did-”

Charlie: “Don’t you DARE bring my dad into this!”

Lute: “-and there should be a PRICE for that. We need to take precautions.”

Emily: “Precautions? What does that even mean? She’s locked in hell with everyone else, like Lucifer is, what more can you even do to her?”

Lute: “Same thing I did before. Only this time.” (draws sword) “I know how to make it stick.”

Charlie: “What?”

Vaggie: “….you… bitch.”

Lute: "Traitor's don't need an angel's wings, do they? Traitors don't deserve them."

Charlie: "Well she has them again now anyway so CLEARLY having angel wings doesn’t mean what you think it does!”

Lute: “It means I didn’t use heavenly steel the first time.”

Emily: “You-”

Charlie: “Don’t. Come any closer.”

Emily: “Lute stop! Sera stop her! This isn’t helping anyone!”

Sera: “I have only one question.”

Lute: “Ask and get it over with, we all know what the answer is already.”

Sera: “Hush.”

Sera: “Vaggie. Do you reject our offer of a pardon, and the orders of and service to heaven, in favor of remaining hell?”

Vaggie: “…I do.”

Sera: "Understanding that no other angel has ever done so before?”

Vaggie: “They would’ve, if they’d met Charlie.”

Sera: “Then you are guilty of treason.”

Vaggie: “…”

Sera: “Lute. Make it quick.”

Lute: (grinning) “As the seraphim commands.”

Emily: “Wait-”

Charlie: “BACK. OFF.”

Sera: “You are not in hell, miss Morningstar, this is not your domain and you have no power to draw on here. I will honor our former treaty not to spill hell’s royal blood but do NOT test my patience with it. Emily, restrain her.”

Charlie: “NO-”

Emily: “Sera you can’t! This is-!”

Sera: “Fine. Exorcists, hold the hell princess. And Emily, if you cannot obey a command or bear witness to my rulings then leave before I remove you myself.”

Emily: “I… you…”

Lute: “Kneel. Traitor.”

Charlie: “TOUCH HER AND I’LL MOTHERFUCKING KILL YOU”

Vaggie: “Charlie don’t struggle don’t fight them- get those fucking spears out of her face- Emily!”

Emily: “…what…?”

Lute: “I said. KNEEL.”

Charlie: “VAGGIE!”

Vaggie: “Please! Don’t let- AGH- don’t let them hurt her!”

Emily: “I won’t… I.” (grabs Charlie and holds on tight) “I- I have her. Spears down. I, have her restrained.”

Charlie: "FUCK YOU LET GO! LET GO-"

Sera: (relieved) “Thank you.”

Lute: "Let's make you look the part first shall we? Trim this hair out of the way?"

Vaggie: "You're pathetic."

Lute: "I'm not the one chained up and crying on my knees."

Charlie: "PLEASE I can make a deal I can make a new agreement with heaven- Whatever you want! What do you WANT from us!?"

Lute: "I want her to hold still. If she flinches, I might nick that left over eye of hers."

Vaggie: "Fuck. You- Ah!"

Lute: "Whoops. Hope that won't scar."

Sera: "Lute I said to make it quick-"

Lute: "We want to it be clean too don't we. I'm just cut cutting off some loose ends- wouldn't want to miss her wings and MANGLE this, would I."

Emily: “Charlie-”

Charlie: “YOU!”

Lute: "There. Now you look just as pathetic as you did three years ago."

Emily: “Charlie just close your eyes, she’ll be okay-”

Lute: “No she won’t.”

Charlie: “VAGGIE-”

(Slash)

(THUNDR CRACK)

(shatter)

Lute: “AARGH!”

Sera: “…….” (horrified)

Lute: “My hand! My sword-” (rounds on Charlie) “Demon BITCH! WHAT DID YOU DO!?”

Charlie: “Vaggie? Are you..?”

Vaggie: “….fine. I’m. I don’t think it’ll even bruise?”

Emily: (awed) “Your wings broke her sword. They shattered heavenly steel-”

Lute: “DEMON MAGIC!”

Emily: “A miracle.” (releases Charlie)

Charlie: "Vaggie-" (snaps the chains off vaggie and pulls her close)

Sera: “Traitor. How did you regain those wings.”

Vaggie: (huddled in Charlie’s fierce hug) “C- someone told me I had to fight with love, and I thought about Charlie, and they just…”

Lute: “SEE!? They were made in HELL they’re as profane as the love that spawned them-”

Emily: “Then they’re not under heaven’s jurisdiction to take away, are they? They belong to Vaggie. Not to us.”

Lute: “Belong to- she doesn’t DESERVE-”

Emily: “And you don’t deserve to cut them off her apparently.”

Lute: “I-”

Sera: “Lute. QUIET.”

Lute: (seething and bleeding from sword shrapnel) “…”

Sera: “You, fallen. If I bent my power on you, I could very likely burn those wings from existence.”

Charlie: “If you want to start a war with hell that’s a VERY good way of doing it. Sera.”

Sera: "...."

Sera: “…you will no longer be allowed past the gates of heaven. You are here on and forever more bound to the regions of hell, regardless of your wings-”

Vaggie: “Fine by f-fucking me.”

Sera: “-and in time you will lose all your divinity. You will bleed a demon’s blood one day.”

Vaggie: “Good.”

Lute: “If you live that long.”

Charlie: (Unholy SNARL)

Emily: (getting between them) “Can I send them home now? Or are we going to do something else to shame all of heaven in front of our guests?”

Vaggie: (sighing) “I’d love to be home right now…”

Charlie: “We’ll be there in a second.” (hugs her tighter) “I promise.” (kiss her hair) “Want to stretch your wings?”

Vaggie: “…yeah.”

Sera: “No, Emily. I will banish them.”

Charlie: “Okay.” (suddenly glaring) “Ha ha thank you Sera but don’t bother. It’s straight down from here and the prison wards don’t stop anyone from coming IN do they?”

Emily: “Are you sure your wings are okay for flying with, Vaggie?”

Vaggie: “That’s what I wanna find out.”

Charlie: “We’ll be fine. And we won’t be coming back.”

Emily: “I’m sorry.”

Lute: “Like you’d have the chance.”

Sera: “Go. Heaven is no place for either of you.”

Charlie: “Wow really I hadn’t noticed! I mean no one in HELL ever tried mutilating my girlfriend in front of me, but whatever I guess!” (muttering) “Sadistic homophobic pricks.”

Vaggie: “Told you.”

Charlie: “You did. You did tell me. I’m sorry I didn’t-”

Vaggie: “I love that you didn’t listen.”

Charlie: “…okay.” (deep breath) “Okay.”

Vaggie: “Besides, there’s Sir Pentious up here now.”

Charlie: “True. They don’t deserve him.”

Vaggie: “And Emily.”

Charlie: “Hm.” (burns a hole in the clouds beneath them) “Ready to fuck off together for all eternity?”

Vaggie: (weak chuckle) “Yeah, sweetie. Let’s go home.”

- they go home-

Sera: “Emily.”

Emily: "..."

Sera: “I hope you will think hard on what you’ve done and very nearly did today. Please.” (touches Emily’s shoulder) “For your own sake. Please.” (leaves)

Emily: “…she’s never going to forgive me, is she.”

Lute: “Oh shut UP. Sera will forgive you for ANYTHING.”

Emily: “I meant Charlie.”

Lute: (disgusted noise) (throws her broken sword down after them) (stalks off)

Emily: (sits down on the edge of the clouds) (finds one of Vaggie’s loose feathers floating by) (picks it up and twirls it sadly as she stares down at the distant warm glow of hell)

-down in hell-

Angel Dust: "Unholy fuck, Vaggie Tales, what the hell happened to your hair?"

Charlie: "Lute."

Vaggie: "Heaven."

Angel Dust: "Huh. Shit that's a bad enough cut to make a guy rethink the whole redeemin' himself stuff to get up there, y'know?"

Charlie: "I know. Trust me Angel Dust- NOW, I know."

#hazbin hotel #chaggie #charlie morningstar #vaggie #emily hazbin hotel #lute hazbin hotel #sera hazbin hotel #angst #threats of violence #incorrect quotes #an au idea i guess???#ends perfectly happy enough kinda #only casualties: vaggie's hair. emily's hope of staying friends with charlie. charlie's dreams and mental health....#....#well #i guess it /could/ have gone better

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sweetstarryskies · 2 months

Text

@wolfstarmicrofic | Draught of the Living Death | 685 words

Note: Mature themes and references to sex, nothing explicit

Sirius and Remus are friends. Best friends. Sure, they might hold eye contact longer than necessary. They might be more touchy with each other than with anyone else. Maybe their banter turns flirtatious so quickly they often don’t even realize. But they are just friends. Friends that flirt sometimes.

Sirius is sitting on the couch closest to the fireplace. He is lazily doodling stars and half-crescent moons all around the instructions for the Draught of the Living Death, not paying attention to the homework assignment he’s supposed to be working on with James. James has his Potions book open as well, he is lounging in an armchair, feet resting on the coffee table in front of him. Peter is sitting on the floor, a piece of parchment on the same table, drawing a Mandrake. Sirius looks up to watch Remus who is sitting on the couch with him, book in his lap, back resting against the armrest, legs spread out across the cushions, feet buried under Sirius’ thighs.

James interrupts the comfortable silence: “Do you ever think about our professors having sex?”

“What the fuck, James?” Peter groans, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes, dropping his feather. Sirius starts cackling and Remus just looks at James, slowly shaking his head. Sirius stops laughing: “Hmmm, honestly, can’t say I have, Prongs. Why? Who would you want to shag out of all of them?” Peter drops his forehand onto the table, mumbling something about being too sober for this conversation. James’ answer comes out a little bit too quickly: “Flitwick.” Sirius nods and hums thoughtfully, Peter sighs and picks his feather back up. Remus looks at Sirius now: “Are you thinking about Minnie?” Sirius stares at him in shock: “Oh, absolutely NOT, Moony. That is revolting. I do have mommy issues, but they do not go that far.” Remus chuckles and looks back down at his book.

“I don’t know,” Peter muses, apparently giving into the others’ nonsense, “I think I could show Minnie a good time.” James throws his head back laughing while Remus is chuckling again. “Oh, please,” Sirius replies, “Pete, you probably think the G-spot is where gangs meet up.” Peter glares at him, head turning red like a tomato. But before he can say anything, James interferes: “And what do you know about G-spots, Pads? Aren’t you ‘as gay as they come,’ like you always say?” The usage of air quotes is accompanied by James’ shit-eating grin. Sirius exclaims, clutching his heart in mock-defense: “Hey! I’ll have you know I’ve had sex with women before my gay awakening.” Remus looks up: “That alone does not speak for your G-spot-finding-abilities,” he deadpans. “Oh, and what makes it your forte, Moony? You’ve never even had sex with a woman, as far as I know,” Sirius replies, smirking back at him.

Before Remus can reply, Peter speaks up: “Actually, I think Moony can make anyone feel good.” Sirius tries to retort something sassy but is caught up by images appearing before his inner eye; ways in which Moony could make someone feel good…

James’ grin widens when he agrees with Pete: “Yeah, Moony can definitely find any and all important spots.” Sirius just scoffs, and feels himself blushing. Remus wiggles his toes that are buried underneath Sirius’ thighs: “See, Pads?” With that grin that makes Sirius’ heart skip a beat. He stares back for a second too long. Flustered, Sirius averts his eyes to his Potions book, trying to think about draughts instead of dicks.

A moment later, he feels Remus shift, sitting up and scooching over to sit next to Sirius, nudging his shoulder: “Awww, Pads, don’t pout.” Remus leans in closer and lowers his voice to speak quiet enough for only Sirius to hear: “Do you need me to make you feel good?”

At that, Sirius gets up very abruptly, snaps his book shut, throws it back at the couch, and stomps over to the staircase. On his way to the dorm, he can practically feel Remus’ eyes on him.

This whole ‘Friends who Flirt-Thing’ was definitely getting out of hand.

#wolfstar #marauders fanfiction #this is my first ever piece of writing i am posting #this is nerv wrecking #remus lupin #sirius black #sirius x remus #idiot wolfstar #i like to think they are all very sassy #remus is just waiting for sirius to crack haha #poor pete #sirius is a little shit #remus is so meannn lol #marauders era #peter pettigrew #james potter #one shot: wolfstar

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callofdudes · 4 months

Text

I made more because... Because! @aidenlydia again, this is their au but I'm eating it like fish sticks on a plate of mac 'n cheese. Getting this scene out of my head because I love them and I have nothing else to do waiting for dinner.

More Viking SoapGhost.

Ghost watched, his eyes unmoving as John wrote with his charcoal wood pen on some old pages. Geez it must have been four pages with three drawings and eight life updates.

Finally John signed the bottom of the pages and rolled them up with a string.

"You done??" Ghost asked flatly when He finished.

"Yes, now I need these delivered back to Roach."

"You say that like I'm going to do it."

John looks at him, nodding. "You are."

Ghost sighs and groans. "I'm not your dumb messenger bird." He grumbles, shifting closer and standing. John pulls his cloak tighter and chuckles softly. "Actually, you are."

He holds out the folded papers to a pouty Simon. "Go on, shouldn't be long now if you get to it." John encouraged.

"Fine, but I'm bringing back a tab worth my while for it." He grumbled, looking up at the big man.

"Mhm, and I'll happily pay."

Ghost shifted, black wings flapping in the air, snatching the papers between his talons. He squawked at John, who could only smile softly, barely noticable.

And watched him head off. Simon didn't actually mind doing errands for John. If anything the combined stretching of his wings and the inevitable praise he was going to get for completing the assignment would be worth it.

Oh yes indeed.

John kept the fire lit, watching the open snowy land as Ghost's small form had left his sight. He poked the fire, watching the embers flock to the wind of the cave mouth, then over at Ghosts bedroll.

He sighed softly, placing his hand on it, noticing a stray feather stuck to the inside. He chuckled softly, picking it up and twirling it around.

"Be safe, Ghost."

Ghost did as he promised, he made the incredible eight hour journey in the shitty weather back to their small village. Fucking between houses to the main hall.

Stopping at the doors, his feet hit the ground, heading up the stairs and pushing the knocker open.

The large door swing, creaking when he entered. A head poked up, followed by a little smile. "Well well well, hunting season is barely started and you're already back."

Simon rolled his eyes softly, coming over and dropping the roll of papers. "From MacTavish."

"What is it??" Roach asked, undoing the twine.

"Hell if I know, I may be a crow but I do not snoop."

Roach gave him a look, and Simon sighed. "Ok not this time. But I was damn curious."

Roach chuckled softly. "Alright, I'll look these over, you go get some rest. Probably had a long trip."

"Well I got permission to run up a tab so I'm gonna go get my arse drunker than a bat in honey." He flipped the end of his cloth mask back over his shoulder to keep it secure. Heading back to the door and out to go get absolutely hammered.

And you don't want to see a shifter drunk, it's not always pretty. But Ghost has been starting to learn that eighteen drinks is when John has to cradle the poor crow with his talons straight out and wings a mess as he takes him home.

And of course, by the time Ghost had slept off the drunken night Roach had something new written up for him. Returning to the hall and taking the papers.

"Will you be alright to fly?? You look a little..."

"Mmm I'll be fine!" Ghost mumbled, heading from the hall and taking off again. Damn messenger bird. John better congratulate him at least or he's never running him these stupid errands ever again.

It was late when he returned, but he saw the familiar smoke and a crackling fire. Flapping his wings and stretching out his talons when he saw a dark figure among the casting, wobbling shadows.

He latched onto John's arm guard, crooning his neck and fluffing his feathers before tucking them in.

John noticed the letters and gently took them, noticing the scratchy pen writing of Roach.

"Thank you Ghost, you've done very well."

Simon melted, making a little noise and hopping up his arm, craning his head to peck at John's beard.

"Yes, good work." John put the papers down to run his large, calloused thumb over Simon's small head, gently smoothing the feathers down.

Oooh yeah, this is so worth it.

He fluffs his feathers, nipping at his hand when he attempted to pull away. "Alright then, if you insist... Get comfy."

Simon cawed at him. He wouldn't be getting comfortable. Hopping onto the ground and shifting, noticing his bedroll slightly closer.

"You miss me or something?"

"Only warming the place where my cold heart will go after I see that tab." He mumbles as he turns his attention mostly onto the letters.

Simon smiles a tad, laying down and getting comfy. He looks around, then at the fire, watching the flames dance. His head slowly coming down, resting against John's thigh.

It was hesitant, but then again peaceful. The silence only filled by the crackling fire. Simon's head feeling a mess from the last of the alcohol and the flight until Johns hand gently touched his head.

He didn't react, keeping himself stiff as Johns thumb absentmindedly stroked his hair. Eyes still glued on the letters, reading them through.

Simon relented to relaxing, curling up and pulling John's cloak over him slightly. His eyelids felt heavy, and the soothing warmth of John's hand slowly had him coming undone.

Letting himself fall asleep there, letting out soft breaths.

John's gaze finally flickered over to his partner, humming softly. "Good work, Simon. Can always count on you."

He put the papers aside and leaned back, watching the entrance of their camp as Simon slept. He would keep watch, he'd gotten enough of his own rest for now.

It's shorter but hell that first photo had me in a coma. Yes, I am insane, yes, I will make more, respectfully if I'm allowed to keep gobbling up these meals...

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #ghostsoap #09 soapghost #soapghost #viking john mactavish #viking au #crow shifter simon riley

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johnwickb1tsch · 1 month

Text

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 29 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

-You dare not put it down on the big tablet on your easel where John will see, but you can’t stop yourself from drawing it out in your smaller sketchbook-journal that is easier to squirrel away under clutter, putting down marks like you mean to exorcise her from your memory. You draw her like a ghost in her field of happy white flowers, and write in the margins in your looping script, I’m sorry. I don’t know how to make him forgive you. You want me to save him but I don’t know how. I don’t fucking know how.

Maybe she’ll actually hear your plea and do something useful about it, like haunt John’s dreams instead of yours.

Maybe you’re losing your damn mind.

You find that either way, you’re not brave enough to mention her to your captor again.

She becomes an obsession, and you keep drawing her in your little sketchbook. You’ve only ever seen one picture of her. It was in the den, but has since disappeared. Still, you feel you know the lines of her face, the brightness of her eyes. You go back to your old fixation with the ladies of Mucha, sketching her out as the Lady of the Daisies with flowing auburn hair surrounded by her stylized flowers and flowing lines.

You strive to cover your true fixation by putting down anything as quickly as you can on the easel, knowing your captor will be by for inspection. You draw sunflowers, your favorite summer bloom, something fun but you can do with your eyes closed with colorful, juicy strokes of oil pastels. You hope to keep John off the scent of the book that holds your heartfelt neuroses that you bury under piles of all your new art supplies and anything else you can find.

It was stupid, of course, to think you could really hide anything from him.

One day you find him in the chair with his legs crossed, perusing your sketch journal with one of those magnificent thunderheads of a frown.

You are certain you are fucked, when he asks, “Is this your idea of a joke?”

Trembling as you imagine what he’s going to do to you for this infraction, you answer truthfully, “No.”

He closes the book with a snap, crossing the floor to stand before you, his powerful body moving deceptively slow, the way a tiger appears slothful in the jungle.

You know he can snap you up with one bite.

You cannot stop shaking, as he peers down that straight nose at you, pinning you with black eyes that somehow burn. He does not touch you, but God. He sees everything. You just know that he sees everything, and you find you are terrified of how he’ll react.

“Have you been snooping through my things?”

“No.” The irony of him holding your sketch diary is not lost on you, but wisely you hold your tongue.

“How did you know what she looked like?”

“You had a picture out of her, ages ago.” At least, it felt like a like a lifetime ago.

“How did you know about the daisies?”

Now you know he’s going to flip his shit. It sounds fucking absurd, even to you. Your voice can barely rasp past what feels like dried twigs in your throat to whisper, “I saw them in a dream.”

You expect him to scoff and call you a liar. But he just searches your face, his eyes a little too wild for your liking. Here we go. He’d been damn near stable the past few days, but surely this will set him off.

You close your eyes, unable to watch the unfolding of your doom. This is it. He’s going to lock you up forever. You’ll never see the light of day again. The trembling in your frame kicks up to ten, and you hug yourself just to have something to hold on to.

When his next question comes, he could push you over with a feather.

“What does she say?”

You shake your head, realizing your cheeks are wet with tears.

“Nothing. She just…offers me the flower.” Going for broke you add, “She looks so sad.”

It is the sound of tearing paper that opens your eyes; with horror you find John making confetti of your art nouveau sketch that took hours to do. However, any protest dies on your lips—if destroying the drawing appeases him, maybe he won’t take it out on you.

Without another word, just a hard look, he stalks from the room.

Only when the sound of his footsteps fade down the hall do you let out the breath you didn’t even realize you were holding, your knees quivering like leaves in a storm.

However, you are not foolish enough to believe you’re in the clear just yet.

-Later, there is no dinner. You find the kitchen cold and empty. Not sure what to make of this, you graze in the fridge, before returning to your bedroom. Not sure where John has gotten off to, you shower, then go to bed, finding yourself lying awake in the dark without him beside you, almost itchy without his steady presence in the evening at your side.

Part of it might be that you fear something is brewing, and you can’t stand the waiting…but part of it might simply be that you miss him, as fucked up as that is.

In the end, against your better judgement, you go looking.

You search the house, until the only room that is left is the garage. Silently you open the door, slipping through without a sound. You too are learning how to move quiet as a wraith. The smell of rubber and oil assaults your nostrils. Classic rock is playing low on the radio. In the far bay, the hood of the Mustang is open, and John is bent over inside, wrenching on something and muttering to himself. There is a partially empty bottle of Blanton’s Bourbon on the workbench behind him, and an empty glass.

Unable to stop yourself from committing what perhaps might prove to be suicide, you creep to the other side of the Land Rover, using it as cover as you eavesdrop on this man grumbling to the ghost of his deceased wife.

“What do you want from me? I loved you. I loved you with every fucking fiber of my being, but you left me. I died with you the day you left me, and she is the only thing that makes me feel alive again. I need her, and she never would have come to me on her own. She never would have stayed. She never would have stayed.”

He says this to himself over and over, and it wrenches your heart, because you know it isn’t true.

You think you manage to creep back out again without him noticing, Led Zeppelin on the radio disguising the sound of the door.

When at last he comes to bed and wraps you in his arms, holding you too hard for comfort, you feign sleep, smelling the bourbon fumes on his breath. You can’t help but tense, wondering if he will forget his promise this deep in his cups.

But he just sighs into your hair, crushing you as he pulls you even closer, and you don’t know why it breaks your heart all over again.

#heyyyy it happened!#bittersweet john wick imagine #john wick #john wick x reader #john wick fic #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #yandere john wick

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tomssexdoll · 18 days

Note

omgg write a fluff w tom/ bill where him and the reader are high outta their minds that would lowk be hilarious it could also be a little smutty in the end 👀

HAHAHA YESSS

Stoned

PAIRINGS: Tom 2007 x Female reader CONTENT: FLUFF + SMUT (just a bit) SYPNOSIS: Y/N and Tom are high as FUCK, they are friends and she comes over to his house to try this "new" thing he has. She assumes it's some sort of drug or weird guitar solo, they watch movies, cuddle and at the end get a lil bit freaky... A/N: haven't been high in over a year so don't bash me if i get the feeling wrong, it's from what i remember lmao WARNINGS: teasing, kissing, drug use (weed)

Me and Tom have been best friends for over 10 years, he has been my rock, supporting me through everything. He never changed, always hanging out with me, showing me off to new friends. He was amazing.

One day he called me and said he had something to show me, something "new" he wanted to try out with me. I immediately knew it was a drug or a weird guitar solo, he is full of surprises I guess.

I got into my car and started to drive to his house, wondering what stupid thing was going to consume my day.

I arrived eventually and greeted Tom, hugging him tightly and walking inside, sitting in his room. He came in with a little baggie of what looked like weed, he handed it to me and I sighed "Tom this is a lot of weed, do you plan to smoke it all tonight?" he chuckled "no of course not, if we like it we can try it again at the party next week" he rummaged through his draws, pulling out a small black bong, decorated with skulls.

"Wowww real edgy" I rolled my eyes playfully, he laughed and slapped my arm playfully "shut up it was on sale, i'm not spending 50 fucking dollars for a small bong."

I stood up and grabbed the grinder that went with is, putting the bud in there and grinding it down, once it was finished I grabbed the bong, packing some of the weed in there.

"Wow you really know how to do this huh?" he smirked, admiring what I did. "Well my brother smokes and it's not like I haven't done it before so.." I shrugged and grabbed the lighter, sparking it and hovering the flame over the bud, sucking in the smoke. (did i just give you guys a tutorial..)

I inhaled it, feeling it burn the back of my throat but in a nice way, a familiar feeling to when I smoked cigarettes. "Fuck..that's some good shit..where did you get it from" I blew the smoke out, starting to get the effects already.

My head a bit woozy, eyes drooping ever so slightly and everything becoming a bit more brighter. I looked back at Tom, finishing the rest of the cone, the way he threw his head back when inhaling was so sexy..the way his lips slightly parted and his eyes slowly shut.

"I got it from Greg, you know, Janes older brother" he looked back at me, blowing out the smoke as well. "Oh.." I said slowly "well it's not dodgy weed I'll tell you that" I giggled.

Everything was a bit slower, my talking, movements. It felt wonderful, like I was as light as a feather.

"Let's have some more, cmon" he scooted closer to me and we had 3 more cones each, it was hitting hard now, things were much more slower, I looked down at my hands and they were slightly out of focus, like I had 4 hands.

I got up from his bed and grabbed his hand, going towards the kitchen and raiding his pantry, grabbing all the snacks I could find and a few cans of soda. I sat down and dropped everything onto the coffee table, laying down next to him, resting my head on his lap, "should we order pizza.." he mumbled, I nodded slowly and grabbed my phone, dialing the store and ordering 2 large pizzas, one cheese and one meat lovers.

"Fuck..we are gonna feast" he chuckled, his eyes super red and droopy, I smiled and picked a movie to watch.

After 45 minutes our pizza FINALLY ARRIVED. I ran to the door and quickly gave the pizza guy the cash, slamming the door and almost tripping trying to get back to the couch, "fuck!" I yelped, Tom just laughed and grabbed one of the boxes, stuffing his face with pizza.

"Mmm...so good" he groaned, I grabbed a slice and ate it, savouring the taste "has pizza ever tasted this good?" I said, it was like they put magic into it, usually pizza was mid but this time it was amazing. Our movie was ending soon, we picked a horror, which was kinda dumb because we were so high.

I sat up and held him tightly at the suspense, screaming and hiding my face into his arm when the jumpscare popped up "jesus" he chuckled "it wasn't that bad" I rolled my eyes and softly shoved him "shut up..wasn't even scary.." I mumbled

By the time we had finished 3 movies everything was DEVOURED. We decided to chill for a bit, have a talk and enjoy each others company. I layed down on the couch and he spooned me from behind, holding me close.

Usually we'd always cuddle, it was never weird to us but this time, the tension was super high. Not even in a bad way, it's like the air was thicker...the way his arms were wrapped around me and his face pressed softly on the top of my head made me feel some kind of way.

I turned around and looked up at him, it's like in that moment, we were the only people alive. His eyes washed over with desire and love, surprising me. "You know, you are so beautiful y/n, you're the most beautiful girl i've ever seen" he smiled softly, brushing a hair away from my face.

"Yeah whatever, I'm sure you tell every girl you hook up with that.." I rolled my eyes, secretly enjoying the praise. "No, y/n..I mean it, you are so beautiful" he leaned closer, our lips basically inches away.

"Tom..." my breathing hitched slightly, searching his eyes for deciet but all I saw was sincerity, love and compassion, I smiled softly, blush creeping onto my cheeks.

"I want to kiss you.." he whispered, his breath hot on my lips.

"ok pizza breath.." I giggled and leaned in, kissing him gently. He kissed back, wrapping his hand around to the back of my head and pulling me closer, locking our lips into a passionate embrace. His kisses got more urgent, his erection becoming prominent in his pants, pressing up against my leg.

"See how you make me feel? You drive me crazy" he moaned against my lips, slipping his tongue in my mouth. I reached my hand down and softly palmed his clothed cock, making him groan softly.

His hands snaked down to my waist, then to my ass, squeezing it softly. Then, his hand came back up, slipping under my shirt and grabbing my breasts, rubbing his thumb over my nipple, sending shivers down my spine.

I had grabbed one of his shirts earlier, removing my bra since you weren't able to see much anyway, it was getting a bit hot so I changed my outfit.

"My shirt looks so good on you..might have to fuck you in it" he mumbled, grinning widely.

I chuckled "we'll see about that", I rolled us over, flipping me on top of him, deepening the kiss.

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littledollll · 5 months

Text

Call me your angel

Lucifer Morningstar x human!reader

A/n: i love fics that just randomly come to me. In this case I was scrolling through the Lucifer tag like a starved animal (realized I’m practically the main user of it btw) and came across this post by: @masscared-star and immediately thought of some cute sort of intimate conversation scene simply because of that beautiful back-facing drawing. So this is whatever that idea was! Beautiful art btw!<3

Again special thanks to @pebbleswritessometimes and @v3nusxsky for helping me brainstorm and with the general writing process as always.

Warnings: Lucifer’s a little closed off, aludes slightly to sex (barely), non-sexual intimacy, slight insecurity, Lucifer suffering bc of their own mind.

_______________________________

“…you look so pretty..” Lucifer’s attention was captured by your barely whispered words. They were lost in their own mind, always thinking about something, there wasn’t a moment they lived without so much running through their mind. So much you would probably never know.

‘You know enough’, they said. ‘You know what you have to. You know what you really want to.’ Though it wasn’t quite true. You’d never know enough about them. There wasn’t an amount you could know about them without wanting for more.

You wanted to study each and every part of them and their complicated mind. You wanted to understand and feel whatever they did. To feel tethered to this wonderful being. But you know better. And so do they. There is a price to pay with that much knowledge, with all that power.

Maybe in far into the future, you’d finally know everything about the devil, maybe you could have a sliver of understanding for all of it. But for each thing there is time, unlimited time at that. So you had no rush. Lucifer felt comfort in knowing that.

The feeling of your warm hands wrapping around their back and just over their stomach made a slight shiver run through their body, their wings fluttering at the contact.

Your chest pressed against their back, wrapping them in a familiar and warm embrace. And in that moment you felt every running thought leave their mind as they relaxed into your embrace. Their ever-powerful wings rested against their back, against you.

“I wouldn’t know what it feels like.. I have my fair supply of never-ending thoughts. Insecurities and such. Curiosities mostly.”

Immediately, they knew you were observing them. Reading their behaviors. You already knew, or at least had an idea of what was on their mind.

“It’s not all that different from yours then.. no, not truly.” You nodded, they continued.

“Curiosity brought me here.” You disagree. But arguing that would be pointless, you have a thousand times before. “Why do you humans wish to know and have an explanation for everything? The universe is so grand and complicated... sometimes I wish I knew nothing.”

That’s a hard sentiment to combat. You say nothing, letting their statement be just that. “We think we deserve to, maybe. Is it wrong to wonder about everything that was and brought us here? We all want to know about different things, mostly anyways. I wish to know all about you.”

“You deserve to.”

Their statement leaves you confused. Didn’t they just argue we really shouldn’t? That it’s foolish for a human to want to know and understand everything. “I don’t think we d-“

“No. You deserve to. But I fear knowing everything might cause more harm than good. I do not wish for you to understand my wretched mind. But I wish to offer you understanding… does that make any sense?”

Their hands meet your own, feather light touches trace your forearms and each hand, each finger even. Like they’re just admiring you. As if they hadn’t a thousand times before. As if they hadn't a few moments ago. Their hands wrap around your own.

You nod again.

“I’m not in the dark about you… I don’t feel as such either. Maybe it’s my human brain making me want to know it all, hm?” They playfully scoffed, amused by your behavior towards this topic.

“There is vast knowledge that lives in me. Greater than any human mind could ever comprehend. Greater than even I can truly understand. It certainly feels like a burden. But you welcome it and me with open arms, why?”

That idiot. How can somebody so smart be so stupid all at the same time?

“I don’t think you need a map to understand why I love and accept you, angel.” That made them pause. You felt them suck in a breath, and their heart just- stop. Granted it was something they did for your comfort, the devil doesn’t truly need a heartbeat. So there was no concern for their health, but fear for wondering if you went too far.

“..I call you my devil so often, I-..” you wished you could see their face now, it would give you a bit of an idea on how to continue. But you’d have to guess and trust you know them enough to know how they felt in that moment.

You felt a soft squeeze in your right hand, before their thumb began to gently caress the back of it. It made you sigh in relief. “I feel as if you’re my angel, in a way that is very personal to me and no one else.”

That felt nice, hearing your soft words, understanding more or less what you meant by it. “I like it... you may continue calling me that.”

“Call me your angel.” They spoke almost shyly, even through what you would often call their ‘fancy’ way of speaking (a habit you’ve also picked up after so long with them). It was thoroughly amusing to you.

“And so I will, my angel.” They felt the words whispered against their skin, something was oddly comforting about it, Lucifer wished to relish in it forever, bathe in the feeling of the warmth of your love. But that was no far fetched dream, this was it. That warmth was you. That warmth was theirs for all eternity.

#lucifer sandman #sandman lucifer x reader #the sandman #lucifer morningstar the sandman #lucifer morningstar sandman #the sandman lucifer morningstar #the sandman lucifer #the sandman lucifer morningstar x reader #gwendoline christie #lucifer sandman fluff

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thatwriterchick222 · 2 months

Text

slap you silly (john price x f/reader)

summary: literally just a short one shot with pussy slapping teehee

a/n: another draft i had lying around that i never posted... i'm still blushing and giggling over it tbh

NSFW under the cut ;))))

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“Look at the mess you’ve made, my love.” Price pulled his fingers out of your dripping cunt, his eyes intently watching as he smeared your come around. You trembled beneath him, his thumb still rubbing your clit as you came down from a powerful orgasm.

Lifting his hand from your cunt, a string of your slick connected the two of you for a moment, and you couldn’t help but stare, your mouth agape and your breaths still heavy.

Suddenly, and without warning, Price’s hand came down and gave your pussy a quick slap, sending a mixture of pleasure and pain jolting through your body. You jumped, a surprised yelp escaping your throat. He looked up at you, letting his hand gently rub you up and down.

“Like that?” He tilted his head, his forefinger and middle finger lightly drawing circles on your clit for a moment. He looked infuriatingly cocky, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You nodded, redness creeping up your neck.

Sure enough, he pulled his hand away before landing another slap on your aching cunt, and this time, the sound of your wetness was apparent. Your face became even redder than it had been, the slick sounds emanating from your body being one of the most arousing things about it. Price rubbed you again, the stinging pain from the slap subsiding quickly.

He quickly smacked you again, his palm lingering on your clit as you jumped under him, your lips parted as you simply let him do whatever he pleased.

“Bloody hell…” Price watched your face contort in both surprise and pleasure, taking in the way your body reacted to his hands, your hips bucking as he stroked you, or your tits bouncing as he slapped you once again.

The strange concoction between the stinging pain and searing pleasure was oddly addictive, each harsh slap of his hand against your cunt making you squeeze your thighs around his forearm, yet bucking your hips for more.

You could feel yourself working up to another orgasm, strangely on edge despite him barely touching you how he normally did. It was as if he were teasing you, after slapping you hard he let himself hit a little lighter repeatedly, as if he were patting you on the back.

“John…” You ground your hips into his hand as he gently stroked you, soothing the pain that rippled through you. Your cunt burned, and you assumed it was probably redder than it ever had been, and wetter than it ever had been. Sharp breaths and pathetic whimpers were the only sounds you could get out, your brain practically mush as he began to stroke your clit once more.

“Use your words, darling.” He said, his eyes staring you down, knowing damn well that you were already close to your second orgasm.

If you were being honest, you didn’t have words, for you were too flustered, your heart pounding in your ears and your body absolutely on fire. You just wanted him to keep touching you, and you would do about anything to keep his hand there.

“Don’t– stop.” Were the only words you managed to get out, but you should’ve held back because you knew Price was in the mood to be mean. He slowed his movements on your clit, and then pulled away, landing another quick slap against your pussy. You bit down on your lip, hard, to stop the moan from coming out, to prevent yourself from giving the satisfaction that you enjoyed this.

His finger began slowly running up your slit, gathering the slick that was dripping down. You let your head fall back against the pillow, his feather-light touch a welcome change to distract you from how numb your lips were.

And then he slowly began to push his thick middle finger inside you, and you practically melted around him at the delightful stretch. It went in easily because of how wet you were, and he quickly decided to add another finger, slowly pumping them in and out. You were already so on edge due to the painfully slow teasing, and you instantly ground your hips down desperately on his fingers, reveling in the way his upwardly curved palm brushed against your clit. Your eyes screwed shut, your orgasm approaching faster than you thought it would.

You were startled out of your trance as Price reached up and landed a quick– yet gentle– slap on your cheek, along with a quick and low whistle to grab your attention.

“Hey, eyes on me, angel.”

Fucking Christ.

It wasn’t long before you were letting go around his fingers, each quick thrust of them against your g-spot coaxing more and more out of you, your hands scrambling for purchase on the bedsheets. Your body shook as waves of burning pleasure coursed through you, and as you were beginning to calm down, your breathy and shaky gasps dissipating, he pulled his fingers out and slapped your tired aching pussy one last time.

#john price #captain price #call of duty #smut #call of duty smut #captain price x reader #captain price smut #slapping kink

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yanderenightmare · 1 year

Note

Since I just realized you also write for JJK, may I please ask how is Megumi in bed?👉🏼👈🏼 Thank you beforehand!

Fushiguro Megumi

TW: yandere, NSFW, noncon/dubcon, mental instability, mentions of injury, abuse, possessiveness, he's a bad one

POSSESSIVE DOM

He looks at you with the most deceptively pretty expression.

Long black lashes rest heavily, casting jagged shadows over the dark look in his deep blue eyes. That look of… you’re not entirely sure what, but you’d say you’ve seen it before on people who’ve found something they’ve been long in search of. A certain mix of relief and a building resolution to keep it close so as never to lose it.

Coveting.

He would make you shy if he didn’t make you so scared. If behind that look of softness and adoration, there wasn’t something so very sick.

But Megumi makes you feel like a plant more than a person.

He makes you feel so fragile. Not in how he can break you upon contact if he wanted to, but in how he handles you as though you’re but a dainty little flower, nothing but sheet-thin petals upon a brittle stem in the pot he’s placed you for your own good and protection.

But you know better than to think he won’t hurt you if he feels the need to. The scars from when the hellhounds sank sharp unforgiving canines into your legs after hunting you down the first time you managed to run away from him never seem to heal - as well as the other million claw marks and nicks you have decorating your skin from the several additional failed attempts at keeping yourself from him.

It’s best you not give him the need to and stay put while he disillusions himself into believing that you’re truly his.

He barely speaks to you, barely regards you as something to talk to, eyeing you almost medicinally while stroking his hands up and down your smooth skin. Undressing you slowly - like it would be a shame to rush - like he’s worried he’d miss something if he went any faster.

His soft fingertips glide ever-so-gently over your collarbones, feathering as though in mockery of what brutality he’s committed before, drawing the thin spaghetti straps of your dress down your arms until it slips off your hips into a little pool circling your feet.

He’s so silent you fear making a sound, scared it would annoy him while he concentrates on mapping every last bit of you under keen eyes, dragging his long digits upon your curves and over flecks of random beauty marks and scars he’s made that make up your fine body.

And it feels exactly like how one would handle a plant, holding it gently and eyeing it for disease or distress.

He’ll push his lips to your temple and give you a kiss, nose in your hairline while he breathes in and sighs heavily, his hands rubbing your shoulders while you struggle to keep your shaking to yourself and the tremble on your lip between your teeth.

He’ll stay close while undressing, eyes on yours while revealing his lean toned perfectly cut limbs, as though chiseled by a flawless hand and painted a fair unblemished alabaster like a statue carved in the image of a deity.

You feel spoiled next him, not ugly but... ruined.

You expect him to say something - he always looks like he might - but instead, he’ll just stare while laying you out flat with your back to the mattress. Kissing you tenderly and touching you just so.

He might give himself away and squeeze your thigh a bit rough once sheathing himself, but it’ll quickly fall away to a gentle caress again while promptly coming to kiss the place as though to say sorry. Again, as though in mockery of all those times he’d done so much worse without even batting an eye.

He’ll be nothing but silent and slow, lipping at your skin without teeth. Touching you in the same fashion a shadow touches the ground - without a lasting print - just cold.

That’s how he is, most times.

But there are days he’s different…

Days you question if he’s at all the same person. As though someone or something else had been patiently lurking within the shadows inside of him, something that, on some days, grows tired of the dark and wants out to play.

On those days, you really do feel like nothing but a flower beneath a boot. Plucked - no, ripped from the ground - roots snapping beneath you while your stem’s strangled tight in a chokehold, soft juicy flesh so easily marred and marked when his teeth come out of hiding, making their presence known as he bites out distorted laughs that make you go so dizzy -reeling in shock- trying to wrap your mind about how in hell it can be the same man.

When he’s like that, he doesn’t treat you like you’re something to be neatly watered and nurtured but as though you’re something finally ready to be eaten.

He’s usually so calculated with everything, but it becomes as though his usual need for perfection loses all meaning, resulting in split-second impulses based purely on eager desires of wanton lust. And you can see it in his eyes -the pang of manic hunger- as though you’re something to be devoured.

It gives you such shivers, but it’s not really that he’s so rough that gets you…

What gets you is how loud he suddenly becomes. His arms snaked about your waist, holding you up with his hand on your throat, clutching it in a bruising deadlock as he rams into you from behind, his teeth on your shoulder and neck and cheek and ear -anything he can bite into and mark- growling all types of possessive words stating his claim on you.

That if anyone ever dares try and take you from him, he won’t think twice before setting his hell hounds loose and making you watch as they tear the waste limb from limb, splitting flesh and breaking bones until only a lumpy puddle of pulp and blood is left.

And you, in his shadow, where you belong.

#yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #yandere megumi #yandere fushiguro #yandere megumi fushiguro #yandere #megumi fushiguro #fushiguro x you #fushiguro x reader #fushiguro megumi #megumi #fushiguro smut #megumi fushiguro smut #megumi smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujustu kaisen #jjk smut

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fleet-of-fiction · 3 months

Text

Jake Kiszka x Narrator & Sam Kiszka x OC.

Chapter Two

Summary: The Jones Family are new additions to the sleepy community of Beech Run. A tight knit scattering of rural houses, where everyone knows everyone. Deeply religious and overbearingly strict, the daughters of the family are kept under lock & key by a fanatical Father and submissive Mother. They watch from bedroom windows as their neighbours, The Kiszkas, draw intense curiosity and desire to be free. Madness of youth , hope & obsession collide to bring the danger of forbidden love to poetic ends. (Era A/U)

A/N: This chapter is particularly seeped in religious doubt. There's sexual activity in church. Spanking and cock warming and talk of it being a punishment from God. If you are particularly religious or have any trauma regarding this I urge you not to read. These views are the views of a character I have created and do not directly display the views of the writer.

Warnings:Religious trauma. Parental trauma. Intense emotions including desire, obsession, grief and yearning.Loss of virginity.Explicit sexual activity.Heavy praise kink.Severe edging.Oral sex m/f.Fingering.Masturbation.Dirty filth talk.

Summer 1984

I would have taken a thousand punishments in the wake of the memory of that hazy afternoon. Surrounded by tall grass and the sound of crickets on the breeze. Jake, and his exploration of my body, like a dream that I'd yet to wake from. Still frames in my mind, of his mouth and his eyes and his voice. I could still smell his flesh long after I parted from him. Consumed by it even as I stood at the foot of the stairs, beyond the hour of our curfew. My fate already sealed.

Jolene was unrepentant. The flush of her cheeks and the ravaging of her hair telling a story that she would never utter in words. I knew better than to ask. But when she'd appeared, breathless and without remorse, I knew that Sam Kiszka had been gifted with her heart, and perhaps more.

I don't think either of us came away from that afternoon exactly as we'd arrived. If innocence was the price paid, I felt a little richer for what I'd received in return. Perhaps a bird with clipped wings losing it's feathers, only to find that beneath there was an even greater bird just waiting to fly. That was how I imagined myself. On the verge of taking flight.

"Explain to me, boy."

Dad was standing in the hall, formidable and with a rage simmering away beneath a steady gaze. I'd only ever seen him this vexed once before, during a time when he'd been forced to reconsider the limits of his power over our brother. I thought, perhaps, that Ben would take his moment to exert his mounting power. But he wasn't the alpha, not yet.

"Car trouble, Dad." He replied nonchalantly, throwing his jacket on the bannister. "We're only a half hour late."

He would lie for us, but only to better serve his own needs. If he wanted to take Harriet Dinsmore out again and use the car, he'd have to pretend that nothing nefarious had happened out there while he was meant to be our escort.

"Don't you lie to me, boy!"

The way he spat the words out made me flinch. Instinctively reaching for Jolene's hand. The two of us ravaged and ruined by those boys, softly acknowledging that flower petals had been plucked in those fields. And we would take whatever punishment would accompany it.

"I had a phone call from Mrs. Dinsmore. Thanking me for my son getting Harriet home at a reasonable hour." He said, meeting his son at eye level. "And then she also happened to mention that young Lewis had been glad to see my girls down at the creek today."

I sensed the fear in Ben's eyes. The boy he once was never too far away. Bolstered by his freedom and the reluctance to lose it, he backed down immediately. And my lungs deflated.

"I left them in town, I swear." He pleaded, "I didn't know they went to the creek. I swear, Dad!"

It was pitiful. The way his cheek was turned as our Father struck it. That painful retrospect of what he could or should have said playing over and over in his mind as he looked directly at us. As if somehow Jolene and I had caused this. As if he didn't understand quite fully how free will worked just yet, and he'd had a choice. He could have told the truth.

"I'll deal with you later."

There was a look of reproach as Ben stormed up the stairs, clutching his cheek in a shame that was yet to properly manifest itself. He'd treat us like ghosts for the rest of the summer, but we truly didn't mind.

I was sad to see him go, still. Without the focus on Ben it meant that it was my turn to feel my Father's wrath. A wrath that he truly believed was descended from God himself. Sometimes I wondered if the truly believed that, or if it was a diocese of lies he told himself in order to sleep at night as the tyrant he truly was.

"I expected better from you." He said, standing with his finger extended at me. "I expect my daughters to uphold the values of this house and the church we embody. Not go against my word at the first opportunity."

He cast his eye towards Jolene, who would stand firm. She'd finally experienced something worth holding on to. Something she would protect, even in the face of God's wrath; which seemed to always wear our Fathers face.

"Dad, we're sorry." I apologised, although the validity of it felt like a sin within itself. "We had every intention to go into town with Ben. It was awful hot though, and we just wanted to cool off by the water. We didn't know that there would be others down there. Promise."

There were flecks of spit in the corners of his mouth as he leaned in. A tremble of his lip as he tried to keep his tongue in check. I could see my Mother lingering in the kitchen door way, like a shadow that bore no use without the shade she dwelled in. Both of them prisoners to their own demeanours. I hoped that there'd been a time, once, where they'd known how it felt to lay down and feel what I had felt that afternoon.

"Proverbs 19:9 - A false witness shall be punished, and a liar shall be caught." He quoted, as he often did, when he needed witness to his tyranny. "And I'll not have liars for children."

I didn't feel much like a child. And he would see me punished like the young woman I was becoming. Yanking me away from my sister, digging venom into my flesh with fingertips that intended to bruise me.

"You'll go to the church. And you'll pray on it until the sun comes up. And if I don't find you on your knees, you'll stay there until supper tomorrow."

Jolene knew better than to protest. Her hands flew to her mouth as he handled me out of the door and out towards the car. Her silent pleas for him to let me go left on the tip of her tongue. I wouldn't struggle. And she knew that I would go to my punishment as willingly as she would go to hers. And somehow, we knew, that we'd meet in the aftermath.

I was grateful for the sweet coolness of the church floor. The ebb and flow of a breeze that in the shade was a welcome respite from the summer heat. My knees were bent, pressed into the red velvet tuffet as I rested my elbows on the solid wooden edge of the kneeler bench. Genuflecting to the lord with my fingers entwined and a solemn knot in my stomach.

That was where he found me. Alone in my retribution. The gentle click of the church door alerting me to his presence, although I didn't turn and look. I allowed the echo of his footsteps to guide him towards me, my eyes burning into the effigy of Jesus Christ on the cross. My knuckles white, palms growing steadily more sweaty.

In the candle light it appeared as if Jesus was smiling at me. And I wondered if it were a cruel trick to lull me into thinking that I was absolved. The devil painted such a beautiful picture in my mind, and he arrived just when I thought I could be saved.

"I followed you." He said, his voice echoing against the rafters. "I didn't think he was going to leave you here, though."

He would know me in my anguish. I dared to turn my head a little, greeting him with a soft apology for the state in which he'd found me in.

"You should leave, Jake." I whispered, afraid that if my voice carried any higher God himself would hear.

He was wearing the same shorts, sunburnt shoulders now covered by a light blue shirt. Half of his hair tied back, the rest tumbling down against his neck. As I swallowed, I realised my mouth was unflinchingly dry. The sight of him an unholy memory of what he had done to me mere hours ago.

"I'm not leaving this church until you do." He assured me, slumping down onto the dusty floor, his back against the kneeler. He propped his forearms up on bent knees and sighed heavily. He didn't ask me to stop praying. He just...sat there.

"You'll be here until dawn." I warned him.

"So be it." He replied, without hesitation. "If I'm the cause of your punishment, I'll be the remedy too."

I didn't quite know what he meant. I didn't dare ask him to explain. The darkness was drawing ever closer and the temperature was dropping. The candles flickered in the encroaching draft, and my knees began to give way. The warmth of the afternoon felt like a fever dream. And he could feel the way my body began to tremble against the enormity of it all.

"Here." He offered, rising to press himself against my back, "Lean against me."

He took a little of my weight, but still didn't make me stop my prayers. He was like scaffolding around me, holding me up as I tried to right the perceived wrong I had done. His body still felt warm and tender against mine, his breath exhaling on the line of my jaw. His chest against me, arms tucked around my waist. I felt completely detached from the divine. As if my soul wanted nothing more than to dwell with Jake.

"We didn't do anything wrong today, Bonnie. You know that, right?"

I wasn't a moral compass on what was right and what was wrong. All I knew was that I'd done something which merited the endurance of midnight prayer. I couldn't speak to it, the softness within which I recalled the heat of the afternoon. It had me tongue tied as I tried to speak to God and beg for his forgiveness for such wretched wickedness. The wickedness of pleasure.

But God didn't speak to me that night. The only voice I could hear was Jakes.

"Do you want to be punished?" He asked, "For what we did?"

His question caught me off balance. My breath caught a little and a tiny, almost indiscernible gasp escaped my lips. This involuntary move made him hold me a little closer, a little tighter. Pulling my body up and more earnestly against him.

"God see's everything." I replied, trying to breathe against his palms that were flat to my sternum. "I'll be punished regardless."

He breathed an amused little sigh into my ear.

"If God see's everything, he's an immoral voyeur who knows that the flesh he created cries out for touch." He explained, taking the liberty of wrapping his fist around the hem of my dress. "Don't you think what we did down by the creek was a gift from God?"

When I thought about it like that, like it was God's hand guiding me into sin, I didn't want to believe in him anymore. And not because the God I'd been raised to fear might have been a foolish idea created by men who desired control over others, but because there seemed to be no God that could ever satisfy me.

"What are you saying?" I asked, keeping still as he pulled my dress up, revealing my underwear to the altar.

"Puppets. All of us. Moving around by the command of one puppeteer." He continued, his voice low and commanding. "All seems a little... inconceivable. Doesn't it?"

I was powerless to stop it. The thrum of blood beating in my core. The way it seemed that every muscle and sinew in my body seemed weak against his strength.

"All these moving parts, tethered by invisible strings to a hand nobody can see." He preached now, tucking the back of my dress into my bra strap, viciously pulling down my panties until I was fully exposed where I knelt. "You could kneel at this altar for hours in penance and feel nothing. Or you could let me help you feel something."

"You blaspheme." I whispered, closing my eyes as he slipped a righteous palm down the curve of my ass.

"You blaspheme!" He growled, "Against yourself, against your body...against me."

Perhaps I did. Fear was the definition of every corner I'd ever turned. Fear of God. Fear of my Father. Fear of wanting something I knew neither of those things would ever allow. It all seemed trivial though, somehow, when Jake ran such careful hands over me. When I could feel his body responding to mine. Heavenly, almost.

"Proceed, then." I allowed, fingertips digging into the bench. "If you're here to make me feel something. Go ahead."

If Jake was here, perhaps he was sent by God to instruct my punishment? Or maybe it was all just a bunch of nonsense. Maybe he was here because he wanted to be? Maybe all of this was just fuelled by nothing more than two people who wanted this?

I could feel the trembling in his body as he prepared himself. My underwear languished at my knees, my dress pulled up so that my entire lower body was on display. I remained in my kneeling position as he pulled himself back, taking a deep breath.

"Do you want to be punished, Bonnie?" He asked again.

"There is no God, is there?" I almost sobbed. "Only us?"

"Have faith in me." He replied so softly, his hand slowly riding down my thigh. "I'll never worship anything but you, Bonnie. I swear it."

I'd never forget that night in the church. The way my fear in God died and in it's place was planted a new found obsession for pleasures I'd been repeatedly denied.

Jake was nothing if not gentle with me. The soft rise and fall of his hand as it skimmed the inside of my legs, parting them a little where I knelt. His arm was pressed against my collar bone, keeping me steady when I might weaken. His subtle whispers were for me, not even God was privy to them as he spoke directly into the shell of my ear.

And then I knew his purpose. The slow roll of my body as he leaned it forward. The sharp recoil of his previously gentle palm as it reeled back. And the bitter sting of it as it connected with my flesh. The sound echoing around the church walls. And my silent scream ringing out into the far reaches of my mind, unable to flow out of my mouth as I bit down heavily on my lower lip.

Jakes hand lingered on my ass. Squeezing it as he centred himself. The very act he'd just performed seemed to draw such high levels of arousal that his breath seemed to cease for a moment. His mouth resting breathlessly against my shoulder as he pulled back once more. This time the connection was even more unyielding. And he moaned, digging fingertips into my tissue where I knew it would bruise.

Each time he spanked me I could feel myself drawing closer to something divine. Not God, not a deity I could believe in. The tears of it dripped down my inner thigh and rolled down my leg into the fabric at my knees. This was something else. Something only Jake could give me. My senses were entirely heightened. The sound of it against church rafters. The sting of it on my reddened skin. The pain of each squeeze as he revelled in it, and the way he seemed to go deeper into an arousal he could only speak of in feral groans with each snap.

"Your silence wont make a difference." He said, noticing the droplets between my legs for the first time. "Your body speaks where your voice will not."

I was still learning. "Once more." I urged.

I needed it. Whatever this feeling was. I craved it. The way his reactions made me wetter and wetter. The way his ministrations made it unbearable for him. The way I knew it was because of me that he damn near sank his teeth into the flesh at the base of my neck. Fighting for his life as he breathed harder. Kneading my ass cheek, rolling his palm over the heat.

"Tell me how much you need it." He begged, "Tell me how much you need my palm across your sweet little ass."

I began to think, perhaps, that he needed it more than I.

"Is it wrong how badly I need it?" I dared to ask, my voice quiet and small.

"No." He breathed. "You don't have to be pure if you don't want to be."

He did it again. Harder. With more vicious intent. The sensation of it sending ripples through my flesh and down into the folds of my beating pussy. That time I couldn't hold myself together. Whimpering so wretchedly that the candle flames danced in my breath.

"Again." I beseeched.

He didn't preach to me again that night. He pummelled his hand over my ass repeatedly until I gushed a river. My cries finally finding their voice. Ascending like a choir into the bell tower. With each switch of his wrist he grew more insatiable. And it seemed that he couldn't bear it any longer once he was done with me. Almost as if all it would take would be one more strike to make him ravage me.

He was exhausted by the time he hastily pulled up my panties. Ruffling down my dress, making it appear as if he'd never touched me at all. Nuzzling against my neck, his nose pressed against my jaw. Trying to swallow and breathe, like he'd lost all control. And despite the drop in the temperature, his brow was covered in a sheen of sweat.

I fell helplessly into his arms. My legs buckled under the weight of what we'd done. And he held me tenderly. The hand which had executed my desired punishment now brushing back my hair and lovingly stroking across my temple. I didn't reach orgasm, neither did he. But there was this strange comforting feeling I knew we both shared that something had inexplicably changed there in the church that night.

Once we had both calmed, we found ourselves tangled in a sweet embrace as we sat on the cool church floor. He coiled a light touch beneath my chin, cupping it in the curve of his index finger as he tilted my head up to meet his gaze. And he kissed me with all the uncontrollable arousal he'd supressed. His tongue explored mine. His gentle lips soft like pillows, opening and closing at slow intervals to allow his tongue to retract. Pulling back just enough to look into my eyes as daylight began to turn the black night into a pale blue hue.

"Why don't you ever stand up to him, your Dad?" He asked, playing absently with my fingers as we held each other. "You're eighteen. Surely that has to count for something?"

I knew he would ask eventually, I thought perhaps it would have come a little later.

"It's not like it is at your house." I sighed, "Your parents actually care about what you want. I don't think my Dad ever stopped to wonder if any of us wanted any of this. It just... is."

He stroked the back of my hand and curled both of his around it, closing around it like an oyster shell. "It doesn't have to be."

I wanted to join him in his hopefulness. But with the sun coming up I knew that I would have preferred to face the consequences of him being there alone. Another punishment. Another atonement for something I'd done that felt good.

"You'd better go before he gets here to pick me up." I responded, with my heart sinking even as the words spilled out. "I don't want you to have to deal with him."

But Jake was staunch. Sometimes I forgot that he was older than me.

"I'd take him on in a heartbeat if it meant that I got to keep you." He said reluctantly, sweeping his lips across my cheek. "Find what you love...and let it kill you."

The day I met Jake was the day that everything started to make sense. The night I spent with Jake in that church was the night I knew why. The pieces of my life finally started to fit. And there was no joy to be found in anything except for him. And I knew that I was irrevocably in love with him. Doomed, some might say.

Jolene was sitting in the window as I arrived home. Her forlorn morning stare reaching out to me through the glass as I climbed out of the car, the journey home wordless and without any conclusion. My Father had simply walked into the church, ascertained that I hadn't fallen asleep at my post, and opened the door for me to walk outside.

The weary walk to my room was peppered with my Mother taking my cardigan at the door and sheepishly asking me if I was feeling alright. I felt a sense of betrayal from her that usually simmered below the surface, but that particular morning it raged so aggressively I could barely look at her.

"May I go to sleep now?" I asked, ascending the stairs as my Dad silently nodded his approval.

No sooner had I opened the door, Jolene flew to it. Dark circles painted beneath her eyes, as if she hadn't drawn a wink of sleep either. Her nails bitten down to the quick and almost manic as she gripped my shoulders.

"Did Jake find you?" She demanded, frantic as I tried to sit at my desk. "I saw him, his car sped out of the driveway after Dad took you out. He looked pretty pissed."

There was a strange sense that my head was under water. It felt like my ears were blocked and my vision blurred. I hadn't slept, I'd been on high alert. And every time I thought it was safe to, I forgot that it hurt to sit down.

"Yes, yes... he found me." I sighed, pulling off my dress and slipping into my night gown. "We can talk about it later, now I really need to sleep."

She continued to fret as I climbed into bed. I hadn't realised that my body had been tensed, my muscles suddenly relaxing as I pulled my blanket around me. In here nothing else mattered and I closed my eyes. Feeling Jolene's unease as she lingered on the edge of her bed on the opposite side of the room.

"Let me sleep, Jo." I said, eyes still clamped shut.

She hesitated a little before responding.

"I had sex with him, Bonnie." She whispered, forcing me to open my eyes.

I wasn't really sure what I'd expected her to say. That perhaps they'd exchanged a sweet kiss. That she'd let him trail his fingers up her shirt, but nothing quite so absolute as the full act.

"What do you mean?" I asked, reluctantly sitting up as a beam of morning light began to creep in through the crack in the curtains.

She rolled her eyes and began wringing her hands between the folds of her night gown nervously.

"That's why we were late to get back to meet Ben." She explained, her eyes trained on the closed bedroom door. "All of this is my fault. I should have been the one doing midnight prayer. I'm the reason we were late. I'm the one who committed the sin."

She'd endured her own type of punishment. I could see it in the way she couldn't settle. Her knees in a frenzy as they shook up and down, her fingers in her mouth as she continued to chew on her nails. I opened up my blanket and invited her to lay with me. Immediately she drew the same calm as I had from being shrouded in pillows and blankets. Our bodies side by side as I hunkered down with her. Something we hadn't done since childhood.

"Was it what you wanted?" I asked, delicately pushing her hair away from her tired face. "With Sam? Did you do it because you wanted to?"

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Of course I wanted to. He didn't make me do anything. Maybe I got caught up in the moment, but he was gentle with me from start to finish."

He was just like Jake. She weaved a tale so soft and seeped in romanticism that I was swept away with it. The way he'd offered her his hand to hold. The way he'd wanted to show her where all the fish liked to gather at an old bridge further down the creek, and they'd sat with their feet dangling off the edge talking about nothing of consequence. It sounded like a perfect summer afternoon. And she'd let him kiss her on that bridge for the first time, her and I locked in our unfolding stories at the same time.

"One minute we were kissing on that bridge and the next he scooped me up and carried me to the river bank. I don't think either of us had any idea what we were going to do. It just...happened."

She didn't have an inkling of regret. Even though she was sleep deprived, there was a sparkle there in her eyes as she talked about him. About the way he'd soothed her with caresses, assuring him it was what she wanted when he would have stopped. Calling her his little grasshopper because she'd been so excitable. He'd been slow and careful with her, repeatedly asking if she was ok throughout the whole thing. Taking care not to hurt her. Promising to shoulder the brunt of any punishment laid out.

"He's going to ask Dad for permission to date me." She said wistfully, "I told him that it didn't matter whether he asked for permission or not, that we'd never be allowed to date. But he was adamant. He said he wasn't going to let it come between us."

Our secrets were ours to keep. I knew that the minute Sam Kiszka crossed that street and onto our porch that they would unravel. I wanted to keep our secrets safe. It didn't matter how many punishments we endured. Jake seemed to understand this. His was a far more mature and level headed approach. Jake would have followed me anywhere, in pursuit. He would have snatched me up and taken me anywhere I pleased. But he knew better than to try to defy a man who was neither sound nor reasonable.

"I know he think's that he's doing the right thing, but he can't ask Dad to date you. It'll only make things worse." I worried, careful not to bring my own intentions into it.

Jolene's eyes moved down. Gentle disappointment laced in her heavy breath. When she looked up it was with forlorn dismay. A film of tears threatening to spill over her lashes.

"He's in my bones now, Bonnie." She sniffed. " I want my chance with him in every life time, not just this one. Don't you understand that?"

Such a romantic little thing, she was. I carried the bruises of the sexual deviances of what I'd done, but she'd known something I'd yet to know. A secret that was all hers, that I was no part of. I wondered why Jake hadn't tried to have sex with me, why her and Sam had come to it so soon? She was so eager to have everything so suddenly, part of me wondered if she hadn't instigated it herself.

It didn't really matter. Her mind was so staunchly set that I couldn't argue with it.

"Ok." I conceded. "Well, did it hurt?"

The swell of her smile was enough to keep me awake. The fissures of a giggle threatening to give way.

"A little." She replied, "I didn't know what to do at first. He laid me down and touched me, told me it was so that I'd be ready. And then he kissed me all the way down until his mouth was... you know...and then he kissed me there a little while. I don't know what came over me, I just knew that I'd let him have his way after that."

A flush of pink rushed to her cheeks. She seemed more awake than she had been a moment ago.

"And then... it was like a hot knife cutting through butter. Smooth and slow. And I could feel it sting, but only for a moment. And he asked me if I was alright, he never stopped looking into my eyes for any hint of pain. I just kept nodding, trying to keep it together. Not knowing if I should make a sound or stay silent. If I should move and let him do all of it. I just laid there for the first few minutes, taking it all in. Like even as it was happening I knew I'd recall it like a dream."

Theirs was a sweet summer love. A tender fairytale I could see a shadow lingering behind. But I didn't dare tell her. I hoped that it was stay where it was and leave them be. She deserved a summer of love.

It made me wonder what was going on in Jakes mind. The opportunity to descend into sexual madness had presented itself twice now, and twice he hadn't tried to take my virginity. I questioned whether it was a long game he was playing, or if he simply did not desire to have it.

"Did you do it with Jake?" She asked, almost as if she'd heard the reverb of my thoughts.

I couldn't lie to her. "Not all the way. With him, it's like he's playing this long game. Almost like he can't bear to take it too far too soon."

I knew she would think that I judged her. But what one brother would do wasn't always going to be what the other did. She was well suited to Sam, and yet their shared penchant for chaos was the face of that very shadow I could see behind them.

"Do you love him?" She asked, yawning and rubbing her eyes as the sun crept in.

That was something which seemed to have a more simple response. I didn't know his favourite colour or the way he liked his eggs cooked. I didn't know what songs he liked to listen to in the car on long journeys, or if he ever sang in the shower. These were things I ached to know, and resolved to know in due course. The little things. It was the biggest thing which drew me to my conclusion.

"He took a risk coming to the church last night." I replied, feeling my eyelids grow ever heavy. "For that alone, I will love him."

It felt as if I'd only closed my eyes for a moment. I was drifting from a dream that I wouldn't remember when I opened them. I could hear familiar voices rising, my name somewhere on the breeze. Perhaps I was still dreaming? Somewhere in the distance I could hear my Father's voice. His venomous sermon waking me, and I sat bolt upright in a panic that I hadn't known would come.

I had no sense of the time. The sun was beating down from the centre of the sky, my curtains rippling in the warm summer breeze as my window sat at half mast. And outside the peace of the afternoon was broken by the sound of my sister's screams.

I grabbed my robe off the hook on the back of the door and flew downstairs. The front door was wide open, so rarely was it ever left like that; I knew immediately that something was wrong.

My Mother was standing on the porch, pacing a little as she watched from her safely appointed spot in the background. My Dad was standing at the foot of the driveway, holding Jolene back as he pointed an ominous finger at Sam. He was flanked by his older brothers, who were trying to convince him to pull back. Jolene was crying. Tears streaming down her face, begging to be let go of. Trying to rip at Dad's shirt, like an animal caught in a snare trying to fight for it's life.

The moment I appeared Jake's eyes lost their focus. He let go of his brother. Bile began to rise in my throat and I shook my head, terrified that he was about to move towards me. The very motion of my head seemed to break his heart. He would have made his claim, would've fought for me. But now was not the time.

"Please, Mr. Jones. Just hear me out!" Sam pleaded, trying to reach for Jolene. "I love her, Sir. I wont hurt her, I promise!"

It was as if he couldn't feel the push and pull of his daughter who wriggled on the end of a hook that only he had the power to reel in. He barely shook against the onslaught of her efforts to break free. His eyes burning into the boy who had come to ask for his permission.

"You set foot over here again, boy, and I'll call the police. You hear me?!" He threatened, "This is my land. My daughter."

Josh was still fervently attached to Sam's shoulder.

"With all due respect, Sir, my brother is a good person. He doesn't mean any harm to your daughter." He reasoned, holding a palm up towards my Dad to signal a cease fire. "We only live across the street. Only seems natural they'd take a liking to each other."

He didn't know it, but he was kicking the hornets nest. I wanted to intervene, feeling useless as I stood there with a voice that couldn't speak and feet that wouldn't move. I felt no better than my Mother as I watched the screen door over at the Kiszka house fly open. Their sister appeared, trying to explain what was going on in violent hand gestures, as their Mother stormed across the front yard and over to where her boys were trying to avoid a scuffle.

"Marie, come and take your daughter." Dad said calmly, shoving Jolene back towards the house as my Mom scurried down the porch steps to retrieve her.

I stayed close by. I didn't know what else to do.

"Boys, get back in the house!" She demanded, pulling them apart like rubber bands. "Mr. Jones, I know you're a well respected pastor in this town but I don't like your attitude towards my family. We welcomed you in to the street, we were met with indifference. So I'd kindly ask that you don't raise your voice or your hand to my son again!"

The way she stood there, fierce and unflappable. I'd only seen her a handful of times, taking groceries into the house or tending to her flower beds around the edge of the porch. Sometimes she would sit with Mr. Kiszka on the porch of an evening. The two of them sharing a drink and watching the world go by. That sort of slow living I thought only existed in movies.

"You keep those feral mutts away from my girls." Dad argued, that terrible finger of devout judgement mere inches away from her face.

But she remained unperturbed. Josh and Jake lingered at her back, Jake not knowing whether to stay behind his Mother or come to my side. I continued to subtly shake my head every time I caught his eye.

Mrs. Kiszka, with her arms folded and her eyes wide with rage, kept her lip tucked firmly under her teeth as she weighed and measured my Father. I noticed Ben lingering by the garage door, an oily rag in his hand and the car bonnet propped up as he stared at the chaos unfolding. An onlooker, no better than I. And I hated myself for it.

"If my feral mutts go anywhere near your girls, it's because they were invited." She bit back, keeping her voice low and steady. "It only seems hospitable that we extend the invitation right back."

Such poise and grace deserved accolades. She took a few tempered steps back, raising a cheerful grin as she looked back at the house and regarded only me and my sister.

"Girls, you are more than welcome over at our house any time." She said sweetly, "You know, it's downright cruel the way you keep them cooped up like that during summer."

She gathered up her boys and began the triumphant walk back across the street. I knew the rage that simmered beneath my Father's still frame was unfathomable. He remained where he stood for a few more moments, deftly trying to fight against raising his voice or going over there to continue the fight.

I left him there. Taking Jolene from my Mother, ushering her back inside to calm herself. Utterly broken by the events that had unfolded. I looked back only once, to see Jake staring at me from his driveway.

Dad went into his office and slammed the door behind him, the sound shaking the walls of the house. I sat Jolene down at the kitchen table and made some tea, her face all pink and blotchy from the tears. I could hear the sound of lawn mowers humming outside in the distance, and Ben hammering away at something in the garage.

Like it had never happened.

But it had. And there was no going back from it. Shaken and ruined by it, I sat holding her hand. Trying to ignore our Mother as she appeared, cleaning away the dishes at the sink as if she was looking for something to occupy herself.

"You girls, you know you shouldn't get him angry like that." She dithered, almost as if she couldn't see the state in which Jolene remained in. "It's so much easier to just... not push his buttons."

"And I suppose by not pushing his buttons you mean never speak a word, stay in our rooms and be on our best behaviour at church?" I replied, urging Jolene to drink her tea.

She pushed it aside. "I don't care what anyone says, I won't be kept apart from him."

Mom dropped a glass in the sink. "Oh, Jolene... you know your Father just wants the best for you. To marry a good Christian boy from the church."

"I don't want no one but Sam!!!" She yelled, our Mother flinching back as if she'd thrown hands. "You'll never understand! Just because that's what you did, it doesn't mean that's what I have to do! Look at you, like a frightened little puppy! Scared of what he'll say if you step out of line! I'm not afraid anymore. And if you want me to stop seeing Sam, you'll have to kill me."

I didn't know it at the time, but Jolene had set in motion a course of events that would never be able to wash it's hands clean of the blood that would be spilled. I would often think back to that day in the kitchen and hear the sound of that glass shattering in the sink, our Mother's hand bleeding out under the run of the faucet. And I would wonder what might have been if she'd just kept it a secret a little while longer.

That night, I couldn't sleep. My pattern ruined from the previous night of wakefulness and the day I'd spent catching up. Unable to settle in my bones thereafter, after being woken so abruptly. Jolene had spent hours beneath her blanket, refusing to be comforted. Sobbing into her pillow until her breath had gone shallow and I could discern the waves and depth of sleep that had taken over.

I kept the window half open. The heat still bearing down, even when the sun had set. The trails of the night breeze gliding over my leg as I hitched it over my blanket and tried to distract myself with a book.

The way that Jake had looked at me was etched in every single thought I had. Barely able to eat supper at the excrutiatingly silent dinner table, unable to focus on anything but the way he'd wanted to step to me. That same tangible desire that was being screamed out of Jolene's lungs existed within mine.

Only mine was a little quieter. A little more serene. But no less bold in it's approach. I wanted him so bad I couldn't read any of the words on the page. I had to actively stop myself from going to the window to see if he was waiting there with a sign. I knew that if I did I wouldn't be able to stop myself from climbing out and going to him.

I didn't need to wonder, though. The night was so thick with atmosphere, the sound of the crickets had shrouded his movements. It wasn't until his hands curled around the window frame, pulling it open as wide as it would go, that I looked up from my book and felt my heart begin to rage within my chest.

He fell into the room, knocking over my pencil pot as he climbed over my desk. Admonishing himself as Jolene stirred a little, but did not wake. He silently placed the pencils back where they belonged and stealthily moved over to my bed.

It felt as if I hadn't seen him for days. About to whisper my fears as he placed a warm hand to my mouth and hushed me before I could utter one word.

"Ssssh now." He whispered, "You don't want to get us caught, do you?"

I shook my head with his hand still firmly planted there. His body was firm against mine, his eyes scanning my face in the low, golden glow of my bed side lamp.

"You sure do look pretty when you're all tucked up in bed like that." He said quietly, smirking as he released me. "Get dressed. Meet me out on the porch roof."

I glanced at my alarm clock. It wasn't yet midnight. I knew that if I could slip back in before sunrise, the risk would be lessened. I thought about it as I watched Jake climb back out, waiting until he was completely through the frame before yanking off my night gown and carelessly picking up the first thing I could grab out of my closet. Conscious that one creak of the floor boards could wake Jolene.

Would I even care, even if I did get caught sneaking back in? Would the consequence be worth it? I clasped my bra on, pulling the straps over my shoulders as I shimmied into a pair of white linen shorts and a blouse. I shoved my feet into a pair of sandals and knew that the regret would haunt me for the rest of my life if I didn't climb out of that window right then and there.

The sight of Jake in the summer moon, silver light illuminating his side profile as he sat on the edge of the porch roof waiting me, it was all I needed to know that I might never climb back inside the window. He was looking up at the stars, completely enchanted by the expanse of little white dots scattered across the noir. And when he noticed me, his face transformed from one of spacial wonder to one that knew it's home when it saw it.

"Do you trust me?" He asked solemnly, extending his hand for me to take as I climbed out.

He was wearing a muted purple t-shirt, ripped at the hem and paired with a pair of washed out old levi's. His hair hadn't been brushed, I could make out the knots even in the light of the moon. The wild elements of him only serving to make my heart beat faster. There wasn't anything about Jake that made me think that I was about to enjoy a peaceful evening. Everything about him had my danger receptors firing in all cylinders. And yet, I did trust him.

"Why, shouldn't I trust you?" I asked, letting him guide me down the trellis that ran down the side of the porch, his hands reaching for my waist as he helped me onto the ground.

"That very much depends." He fired back, "If your Dad intends me to bring you back without knowing how much I've fallen in love with you, then no."

His words stilled me. There under the moon, he caught me with a gentle gaze that guided me into a kiss that could have been witnessed by every eye in the whole world and I wouldn't have cared. His palm rested on my cheek, his hips angled towards mine. Heaven tasted like his tongue which gently probed into my mouth and brushed over mine, sending a rush of arousal to my beating pussy.

"What happened today shouldn't have happened." He said, keeping his forehead rested against mine. "I can't pretend that I understand why the fuck your Dad is such a narcissistic bastard. But I'll take you the fuck away from here. Just say the word. I've been working at my Dad's music store, saved up enough to get my own car. A little left over, too. We can go anywhere you want. I'll look after you, Bonnie."

I almost died inside at the sentiment. Waves of heat and flutters of excitement churned away in my stomach as he awaited my response. There wasn't a single condition to the way that I loved him. I didn't know how or why or even when I knew that it was love, the exact moment I could have hand picked from the little ones we'd shared. But I knew, beyond all conviction, that I would have followed him into the fire and brimstone of hell if that was where he was destined to go.

Jake made the dead parts of me breathe again. The parts of me that I'd long since disregarded and thought could never be resurrected. And I wanted so badly to honour that. To take his hand and let him lead me as far away from Beech Run as was humanly possible. But I couldn't leave Jolene. Not with the threat of the days events still hanging over her head. Without me, there was no guiding light for her.

"I promise." I whispered against his open mouth. "One day I will ask you to take me away from here. But not yet..."

For now, I let him take me across the street and up the gravel of his driveway. Every light in his house was out, save for the flicker of something glowing behind the half raised garage door.

"I meant what I said." He reminded me, stopping right before he would open it fully. "I'm gonna show you how much I've fallen in love with you."

"Maybe I'll show you." I countered, leaving him a little bewildered as he pushed up the garage door.

"You deserve to have beautiful memories. I really hope this is one of them."

The garage was only a small space. Littered with music paraphernalia. Multiple piles of vinyl in cardboard sleeves. A few stereo systems of varying degrees of use were dotted about. There was a drum kit right at the back and a set of guitars leaning on stands sitting on a moth eaten old carpet. On the walls there were posters, some of them lovingly placed in glass frames and others haphazardly tacked to the wall and ripped at the edges. I didn't recognise any of the faces in the images, but they looked like musicians or from movies. In the centre of the room was a couch with a pull out bed. He'd taken the liberty of making it up, surrounded with pillows and several blankets and comforters like he'd tried to build a soft little nest.

And all around the room were the dainty flickers of tea light flames. Hundreds of them, lovingly placed and ignited to fill the room with a soft glow that gave me a lump in my throat as I looked at what he had done for me. If he had wanted me to remember this, it would always stand proudly at the front of everything I did that summer.

"You did all this, for me?"

He went over to one of the stereo's and at the very top was a record player. He set the pin into the grooves, and let it begin to spin. I didn't recognise the song, but it set the mood perfectly.

"This is the least of what I'd do for you." He said, pulling me in to slow dance as I rested my head against his shoulder. "And when you finally decide to run away with me, then you'll know how far I'm willing to go."

We made out on the pull out bed for a little while. His smile as I kissed his teeth made him giggle, sharing laughter as we kissed amongst the piles of vinyl and instruments. I could have stayed like that forever, just taking in the memory of his lips and the way it felt to have his arm tucked beneath my head as he pulled me in. Sometimes his hair would fall out from behind his ear and sweep across my cheek, making me shudder at the sensation of it. And he would gallantly tuck it back, taking a moment to catch my expressions in the candle light.

"Tell me what you know about sex." He said, playing with the cord on the waist band of my shorts. "Do you ever think about it?"

I suddenly felt so very small in his arms. "Of course I think about it."

The steady beat of his heart became so erratic I could hear it in his breath. He was doing anything to distract himself, twirling the little string of fabric between his fingers and only looking at me when I hadn't said anything for a while. Like he'd been waiting for me to speak and didn't want to break the spell.

"I know enough about sex to know that I think about it." I offered, "Why do you ask?"

He couldn't look me in the eye, then. Preferring to shoot his gaze at the stereo, the clear plastic hood of the vinyl section propped up like a car bonnet as the pin skipped over to the next song.

"What I did to you in the church... and in the field the other day... I don't want you to think that it's all I want." He sounded sincere, bringing his eyes back to me after he'd finished speaking.

I could see the conflict. His desire to protect me and fuck me at odds with one another. I pulled him into another superfluous kiss. It had been enough for him to do all this for me. To lay the bed out with all the soft comforters and pillows and light all the tiny little tea candles, pick out his favourite music and making sure he said all the right words.

"But I also want you to know that I would do it all again. Over and over. Because your body does something to me that is beyond all fucking reasoning." He trailed his hand down from my throat into the valley of my breasts. "It started the first time I saw you in the window. Took every ounce of strength I had not to get too hard. And then when I saw you coming towards me down by the creek, I felt dizzy for the first time over a girl. I wanted to give you something, something that would make you feel good. But I'd be lying if I said I didn't want to know what you felt like. I couldn't get the thought out of my head for hours, even in the church I wanted to pull your panties all the way down. I wanted to just pull my zipper down and let it happen. But I knew that if I did, I'd regret it. You deserve to be courted sweetly. Not spanked to the edge of tolerance under God's roof..."

"I liked it." I cut him off, his fingertips pushing the edge of my blouse away from the curve of my breast. "I'm not made of porcelain, Jake. I wont break. I've been treated like I shouldn't be exposed to sex my whole life. Like it was a dirty sinful thing that would land me a one way ticket to hell. I don't care where I end up after I die. I just want to live..."

"Then we'll live." He agreed, wordlessly tugging at my clothes until he had taken them off and thrown them down by the bed.

In my underwear, I'd been conditioned to feel shame. But there was nothing but power there as Jake knelt at the foot of the bed and stared at me as if he'd unearthed buried treasure. His tongue sat the edge of his teeth, his eyes moving down from the way my hair tumbled over my breasts right down to the curve of my ankles.

"You ever seen a hard cock before?" He asked, shedding his t-shirt and unbuckling his belt. "I don't want to scare you."

I couldn't help but giggle. "I'm not afraid."

Perhaps there was a part of me that was curiously on edge. It wasn't fear, but as he began to take apart his zipper I could feel the apprehension rise. He didn't take his eyes off me. Carefully watching for my reaction as he pushed his levi's down. Beneath the fabric of his white boxer shorts I could make out the line of his cock. He gripped it tightly, giving it a little shake as he released some of the tension.

"It's not fully hard yet." He explained, "Do you want to touch it until it is?"

I swallowed thickly, the lump in my throat somehow bigger as he kicked off his jeans and scrambled up the bed to lay back down at my side.

"Show me how you like to be touched." I said, letting him guide my hand over the bulge, almost like the fabric between his flesh and mine was a slow introduction to how he liked it best.

"Just wrap your hand around it." He instructed, watching as I coiled my fingers around the shaft. "Yeah, just like that. And then squeeze it a little. And move up and down slowly."

The pulse quickened immediately. A rush of blood taking him to a solidness I hadn't expected. And it made me wet. I could feel the crotch between my thighs grow moist, and he noticed it too. Tracing the line of fabric that had darkened in colour, breathing heavily as he ghosted a feather light touch over my mound.

"I'm trying to take it slowly, but I need to have your body free of these..." He pulled on the waist of my panties, moaning softly as I continued to move my hand precisely the way he'd told me to.

"We're always trying." I mused, rolling onto my back so that he could take my underwear off. "Trying to be good. To work hard. To do what's right. Why don't people ever try to do what they want, what they need?"

"Oh, they do." He replied, peppering my breasts with kisses as he unclasped my bra and threw it down with the rest of my clothes, his body above me as I looked up at him. "They just don't talk about it."

The way he slid down my body, taking my panties with him, I couldn't bear it. " Oh...I guess that makes sense."

His head snapped up from covering my stomach in soft little kisses. His hair already knotted up and fucked.

"For instance, right now all I want to do is make love to you. But that's our little secret. Nobody else gets to ruin this for us. This is ours. Between nobody but me and you. Ok?"

I barely noticed that he'd rendered me naked. I laid there without a stitch on, his body lingering above me as I watched him move back. He was so beautiful. I couldn't take my eyes away from how his stomach moved as he breathed. The way his messed up hair sat at his shoulders. Even his thighs were making me feel like I'd never really been alive up until this moment. I'd just existed through out a series of events that had brought me here.

"You have no idea how possessed I am by you." He told me, sliding his hand down behind the waist band of his boxers as his eyes closed a little. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you bewitched me."

There was humour in his inflection, enough that it drew a breathy little giggle as he pulled out his cock. He let his boxers fall to the ground, observing me as I laid on the little nest he'd built for us.

"It's got a hold of me, too." I confessed, "Whatever this is. I'm a part of it."

It seemed to be enough that we were both entangled within this spell. He stood there gently stroking himself as I parted my legs. Letting him enjoy the view, taking in the sight as I watched him right back. He seemed to know the pattern of his own touch, letting his cock stand as he rounded a palm over his balls and left a shimmery trail at his bellybutton as his tip leaked.

"I don't want to wait anymore, Jake."

There were such things as ghosts. Not the people who had once lived and had died, but the versions of ourselves that had been and were never more. I felt like a ghost as he coveted me. My thighs welcoming his body between them and the rush of arousal that flooded every nerve ending was like lightening striking the earth.

I didn't quieten myself for Jake. For him, I did not enter a room as if I were not invited. For him I opened up, offering him my heart and my virginity; the two things perhaps the greatest gifts I had to offer him. And there was no confusion over what it meant to him. He laid down on top of me, holding his weight just enough so that I could feel his intention and taste his breath. The softness of his approach in direct contrast to the unrelenting hardness resting at the unopened door.

"Can you feel that?" He asked quietly, his lips brushing against mine. "It's all for you, Bonnie. All of it."

I knew he was mine the moment he shifted. His weight rolling down, hips dancing forward. And I was a vessel on calm seas. He didn't take his eyes from mine as he slowly entered. The tip just sitting in the tightness, stretching me out and making me wince a little. But it wasn't unbearable. I placed my hands around him, keeping him tethered. Ensuring no part of him would retreat if my expressions betrayed me.

"Ok?" He checked, moving a subdued kiss across my cheek bone, sweeping his lips across to where his whisper entered my ear. "Does it hurt?"

"Just keep going." I urged, certain that the burn and the ache would subside, "Don't stop..."

He let out the most delicious sound as he slowly continued to enter. Moaning softly, his breath warm against my cheek until he was entirely within me. And I could feel his groin rub against my thighs, soft pubic hair against my mound. And there he stayed, leaning up on forearms so that he could get a better look at me.

"I'm not going to fuck you, not yet." He explained, his palms coming to rest against my temples. "I just want to commit this feeling to memory."

I'd never felt more full. Almost like he was nearing the inside of my stomach, the pain and the sting of was worth all the misery of wondering what it would feel like. Because it simply wasn't how I could have ever imagined it.

"I love you, Jake." Was all I could fathom to say, staring up at his intense brown eyes that couldn't seem to look away from me.

He mouthed the words back to me, resting his forehead against mine, breathing a little harder as I clenched my pussy around him. The action was somewhat involuntary, as the inevitable burn began to lay waste to a feeling that was entirely new. With every flex he moaned again, and the melody of it drew a throb from me that almost demanded movement.

"So... tight..." He fought against it, keeping his cock nestled inside me, making a home for it as he buried his lips against my jaw and whispered sweet words that made me fall in love with him over and over again.

He would have stayed like that forever. And I would have kept him there for eternity. But the need and the animalistic urge to thrust was one I hadn't been prepared for. The way my body felt the rigid pull back was a delight. And the slow push back inside was delicious and my senses were spilling over with every thrust, every touch. Every breath and every kiss. Every word spoken and every soft moan. My mouth filled with his tongue, my fingers digging into the soft flesh at his waist. His cock slammed into me, fucked me and made love to me so softly at first and then when I couldn't stop myself from crying out he let himself take it a little harder, a little rougher until we were moving in unison.

"You feel so good, Bonnie." He told me, breathless between kisses, "I claim you..."

"I claim you, Jake..." I panted it, my voice coming out like a desperate whine that didn't quite sound like anything I'd ever spoken like before.

He seemed to like it. Bringing his mouth down to my hard nipples and clamping his lips around them. He sucked so gently, keeping his rhythm so perfectly I could feel my body start to vibrate. Overstimulated and ascending to the stars that he had promised me.

And yet, I had a feeling that he was nowhere near to being done with me.

To be Continued...

@caprisunsister @thewritingbeforesunrise @takenbythemadness @katuschka @its-interesting-van-kleep @lvnterninthenight @writingcold @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @edgingthedarkness @velveteencatch @lyndz2names @nina-23-45 @itsafullmoon y @char289 @dancingcarbon @gvfpal @violetstarcatcher @wetkleenex-gvf @jazzyfigz @gvfmarge @ignite-my-fire

#greta van fleet #jake kiszka #josh kiszka #fanfic #greta van fleet fan fiction #gvf #fanfiction #gvf fanfiction #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka x reader #sam kiszka gvf #sam kiskza #sam kiszka fanfic

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thelordofgifs · 1 year

Text

In light of recent interesting discourse about Beren and Lúthien's Silmaril theft, and the Fëanorions' priorities in the lead-up to Nirnaeth and after, I started wondering how things might have changed if B&L had managed to steal two Silmarils rather than one. Would pulling the Union together be harder with only one jewel left to draw focus in Angband?

Then as soon as I thought about it some more, I realised the most inevitable path diverged earlier than that.

Then I started writing a fic, got 400 words in, and realised I wanted to actually figure out what happened first. So here's a half (or potentially a smaller fraction) of a sort of bullet point fic/plan/thing, which may or may not get properly written up later. First I need to work out where to go from here.

Angrist was forged by the greatest of the Dwarf-smiths in the master-workshops of Nogrod. It cuts two Silmarils from Morgoth's iron crown before the blade snaps, and Morgoth stirs in his enchanted sleep.

Beren passes one Silmaril to Lúthien, and they run for it.

Carcharoth still meets them, snarling, at the gate. Beren still holds out a Silmaril to ward him off. His hand still gets bitten off.

But when the Eagles come for them, and Lúthien clambers sobbing onto Thorondor's back, she clasps a Silmaril in her hand.

The Eagles bear them towards Doriath, and the Treelight undiminished shines out over Dorthonion and Gondolin.

In chilly Himring, Maglor is shaken awake from nightmares of fire and smoke by his eldest brother, who drags him out of bed and towards the window. "Look! Is that not a Silmaril that shines now in the North?"

Maglor recognises it, of course. Moreover, he recognises the size and shape of Eagles in flight, even at a distance. Recognises, too, that as often as not they bear doom itself upon their great feathered backs.

(His father's jewel stinging his Oath awake, his brother's emaciated bleeding body wrapped in Fingon's cloak - they all mean failure.)

"Thingol's daughter and the mortal must have succeeded," he says. "What can we do?"

Maedhros and Maglor, you see, are Not Happy with the news out of Nargothrond.

That Celegorm wanted to force an elf-maid to wed against her will, after what they heard befell Aredhel—

That Curufin could turn against his favourite cousin, and betray him to his death—

"I am afraid," says Maedhros, "of what it will make us do. What it will make us become."

"We could ignore it," says Maglor, whose first response is always inaction. "Let it go to Doriath—" But it is hard even to finish the sentence, with the Oath choking his words.

And there is a bigger problem: Celegorm and Curufin, who are sleeping now (it is only Maedhros who can be relied upon to pace the fortress by night), will not do so forever. They have already attacked Thingol's daughter once - will they do so again, before she can pass into the safety of her mother's Girdle?

"We have to get to Doriath before they do," says Maedhros, and wonders when his little brothers became the threat to be outpaced.

"And then what?" asks Maglor, who never shies from difficult questions.

Maedhros gives him one of his quick strange smiles. "This is how it works, you know," he says. "Huan has turned from Tyelko. Tyelpë has repudiated Curvo. It turns you into the worst version of yourself, and then it strips away the best thing you have left."

Maedhros has ridden out to claim a Silmaril before, and lost all of himself in the process.

Maglor, too, has been offered all he ever wanted - his dearest brother, returned to him - and turned away for the sake of the Oath he renewed at his father's deathbed.

They are both afraid of what they could become.

They ride out from Himring anyway, swiftly and secretly, before the dawn.

Meanwhile, Thorondor sets Beren and Lúthien down on Doriath's southern border.

Huan comes to join them, and with the power of the Silmaril, Beren is healed sooner than he might have been, otherwise.

The Quest is fulfilled. Beren has no reason to stay away from Thingol's house.

Instead of wandering in the wilds, the lovers return to Menegroth, present a Silmaril, and promptly get married.

Thingol is very surprised (and overjoyed) to see them; the last news he had of Lúthien was that she had vanished from Nargothrond.

In fact, he's just sent out a couple of messengers, led by Mablung Heavy-hand, with a scathing letter to Maedhros Fëanorion demanding his aid in finding the princess.

North of the Girdle: "Hey, isn't that Maedhros Fëanorion?"

"Sure is," says Mablung, who was at the Mereth Aderthad.

"Hail, Mablung of Doriath!" calls Maedhros, who never forgets a face. "What news from King Thingol?"

Well, there isn't news as such. Just... fury.

Maedhros considers the merits of keeping his cards close to his chest versus the dire diplomatic situation he's currently in, and opts to share what they saw from Himring, and what it bodes for Beren's success.

He decides not to share that Lúthien was definitely with Beren, which he knows because his brothers attacked her.

Maglor is not sure how stopping to chat with an Iathren marchwarden is going to get them closer to a Silmaril, but he isn't in the habit of arguing with Maedhros.

Anyway, before the conversation can wrap up, a marauding werewolf appears.

Right. Carcharoth.

The Iathrim make the sensible call and scramble up some trees. Maglor follows a beat later.

Noldor don't climb trees very often. It isn't one of the skills Maedhros has had cause to practice one-handed.

Not that it matters, because he's frozen where he stands, eyes wide and bright and thoughtful.

This is unusual. Maedhros would not be the most renowned warrior of the Noldor if he were constantly dissociating in the midst of battle.

He saves the dissociation for after the battle, thank you.

The wolf is almost upon him.

Well, thinks Maglor, about time I did some saving for a change.

Maglor is not Lúthien. Does he need to be? He knows enough about madness, and enough about torment. He knows how to sing the suffering to sleep.

He drops down from his perch to begin a lullaby.

Carcharoth slows down when he sings, and comes to a momentary halt, and Maglor takes the time to hiss, "Nelyo, run—"

"They burned him," Maedhros breathes, still with that bright faraway look in his eyes that means he is half-lost in memory. "His hands were black and ruined. No evil thing may touch them."

The wolf lunges.

[I want to kill Maglor off here but I'm a coward. so.]

Carcharoth savages Maglor's leg and he collapses.

That brings Maedhros back to himself.

Mablung and his party aren't heavily armed. They were only meant to be messengers, after all. They get a few shots in at the wolf, who runs off, still maddened.

Maglor isn't moving isn't talking and there's so much blood—

(to be continued)

#silmarillion #my fic #bullet point fic #beren #luthien #maedhros #maglor #I think I know what happens next #but not what that leads to #I had to look at a map for this do you know how traumatic that was #anyway turns out bullet point fic is quite fun to write #maedhros and maglor have entered leithian and derailed it #maybe fingon will make an appearance too #who knows I'm tired #what even is this actually #cw blood

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gatorbites-imagines · 1 year

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can u do a spin-off with dom male x connor kent from the wally fanfic !! also i love ur writing sm u feed the male community so well 🫶🏼

Conner Kent/Kon-El x kryptonian male reader

I am literally so sorry its taken me so fucking long to write this request, tumblr has been a whole mess with my inbox and regularly doesn’t show requests and sometimes does show them, tumblr also likes eating my requests for some reason.

Reader has a human name and a kryptonian name, so I just picked one for him since it isn’t super important.

Conner Kent and (Y/N), Kon-El and Tor-Kez. A clone and a full blooded kryptonian. You had come to earth from another universe that had ended, and your parents had hoped you would live a happy life somewhere else, so you were dumped in this one. In the beginning many had been cautious of you, because you were young and too powerful, when you joined Young Justice, you had rivalled Superman himself in strength, and they had only grown as you aged.

Jor-Els AI had explained you were of a higher caste of kryptonian, the Kez clan known for their power and beauty. Conner had always felt lacking standing by your side, as he was nothing but a clone that Kal-El seemed to want nothing to do with. The Kez clan hadn’t shared the same opinion on clones as the rest of krypton, so in the beginning you had tried to befriend Conner and teach him about your shared heritage.

You had been young when you were sent away, so you had never learned much about compatibility, or the draw one felt when they found their perfect half. The two of you both felt drawn to one another, a deep need to be around each other ringing deeply in your chests and very souls. But Conner dealt with a lot of anger, and your relationship became short and snippy as you both butted heads quite a lot. It was like watching two young male lions snapping at each other and trying to lay claim on an area as their own.

As years passed you and Conner didn’t grow closer, though the want in your chest growing from just a need to be near each other to a deep gut warming lust. Your first wet dream was about Conner, and Conners mind always went to you when he was pleasuring himself. You were both addicted to the others scent, regularly stealing clothes and dirty laundry. You regularly showed off to each other during missions or training, like a pair of peacocks showing off their feathers in hopes of attracting a mate. It was Megan who made this observation to your teammates, which then ended up becoming a regular thing they said, that you two were peacocking again.

It was late when you returned from a solo mission, having been sent on it alone as you were strong enough to complete it without issue. You could hear that all your teammates were asleep, or most were, it seemed like Conner was still awake and his heartbeat was raised, but you just scoffed and tried not to think about why his heartrate was higher in the middle of the night. It was harder than you liked to admit to force away the images of Conner pleasuring himself and calling out your name.

As you neared the locker room to clean up and change, a scent caught your nose and the want in your chest grew stronger, lust immediately pooling in your gut. It was the most delicious thing you had ever smelt, lust and musk filling your senses and leading you like a dog on a leash. As you entered the locker room you saw what had drawn you like a man under a spell.

There was Conner, naked as the day he was taken out of his pod, seated on one of the benches you regularly found in locker rooms like this one. He seemed completely lost in his own world as he almost desperately jerked his hard cock, the action created loud slick noises as his hips jolted off the wood of the bench and up into his fist. In his other hand he was holding something to his face, huffing it like it was a drug he needed to live.

You were able to clear your want filled brain enough to look closer at what he was holding, and it finally clicked when you recognized the colours. It was a pair of your boxers, the very pair you had thrown into the wash the other day. The want in your chest seemed to unfurl like a flower, heat pooling in your gut as the crotch of your hero suit grew extremely uncomfortable.

A deep rumble echoed from your chest, your hands digging into the doorway enough to leave finger sized indents as you started panting through your mouth, trying your hardest to taste the way Conners scent had filled the room. Conners head snapped in your direction, his pupils blown wide and hair a mess. The hand around his cock hadn’t stopped moving, he actually seemed to tighten his grip and quicken it as he noticed you looking.

Conner made a rumble in return to your own, his own kryptonian wants seeming to overpower him the same way it had you. He keened loudly as you were upon him like a wild beast, picking him up like he weighed nothing and slamming him up against the lockers, which creaked loudly and dented under your shared weight. Your lips met in a wild wet display, tongues clashing and teeth biting. He gave some fight for dominance, but as you grabbed his ass and spread him open so you could grind your still clothed cock against his hole the fight seemed to melt right out of you.

It was hard to tell how long you stood there humping each other, spit dribbling down your chins and covering Conners pecs and making them shiny and oh so enticing. Unable to resist you disconnected the kiss and attached your lips to his nipples, sucking at them like a starving baby finally given milk. His back arched and his thighs spread open wide, his weight only held by the grip you had on his ass. You couldn’t tell what language either of you were speaking, if it was English, kryptonian or something third, but he begged and keened for you. The want and need for each other was maddening, for it wasn’t just lust but something much deeper, so deep it felt like your souls were grasping at the other and intertwining.

Conner was soon thrown over the bench, his chest meets the wood, though he didn’t have much time to complain about your connection disappearing as you quickly found your mouth upon his hole. The noises Conner made couldn’t be classified as human, loud keens and purrs coming from deep in his chest, from an organ human didn’t possess, his hands gripping the bench hand enough to snap off part of the wood.

The crotch of your suit is soaked as you drip large amounts of precum in your briefs, your tongue running wet circles around Conners hole and burying itself in the tight pucker, spit running down the clone’s taint and down his balls. Conner can’t help but reach back and grab your hair, looking over his shoulder and arching his back at the sight you make, so deeply taken with eating him out and spreading him open.

A puddle of precum gathers under you as Conners length drips like a faucet, even without either of you touching it he feels like he’s about to burst. And he does when you sink two fingers inside him, Conner letting out a loud wail as he spills all over the floor, the puddle between his legs growing even larger and messier.

A loud pleased growl rings from your chest, the scent of your partner being satisfied only making you feel hotter, the want in your chest brightening even further. Quickly finishing in stretching Conner you scamper to your feet, not even feeling patient enough to take your suit off in the way it meant too. The sound of ripping fabric is heard as you tear your suit from the neck and down, the material catching around your knees as you push it down.

Conner moans as the smell of your musk and lust hits him, his hard length giving a spurt of arousal as his need for you grows even stronger, he wants you in every way, be it love and lust. Grabbing your length around the base you lead it to his hole, shivering in anticipation as you push it inside, groaning from deeply in your chest as the feeling of rightness fills you at being with Conner like this. The man under you moans, his eyes rolling back as he pushes his hips back to get you in further.

It takes a while for you to bottom out seeing as you are kryptonian, it means you are very big in a way that would make it hard for anyone to take you, but not Conner, its like he’s made for you. Your balls rest against his taint and Conner looks over his shoulder at you, his face flushed and sweaty in a way you wouldn’t normally see on a kryptonian.

Leaning down you place your hands on either side of him, digging your fingers into the bench to grip, and start thrusting. Had it been any other time you two might have thought of staying quiet, but the feeling of perfect and right that connects you being like this muffles the world around you. Your lips meet in a wet kiss as your hips speed up, the bench creaking in complaint at your powerful movements.

You both cum like this, Conner spilling even more on the floor as you fill him up until its dripping out of him, and mutually you moan loud enough it wouldn’t be a surprise if it woke all your teammates. But neither of you could care, as a bond between you snaps in place, new heat washing through the two of you as you flip Conner over, his legs wrapping around your waist and his arms wrapping around your neck as you start thrusting anew, loud slick noises filling the locker room once more as you use your own spend to ease the process.

Neither of you could tell exactly how long you were at it, as kryptonian libido is no joke. All you knew was that at some point the bench broke under your combined super strength, the lockers were dented beyond saving from doing it up against them, and the wall had finger shaped holes from where Conner had grasped at it as you filled him again and again.

You were both a shaking mess as the heat finally seemed to dim, leaving only a deep love thrumming between you. The two of you found yourselves on the floor, Conner cuddled up in your arms as you kissed and purred at each other, the want in your chests seeming more settled than ever before, it felt like everything was as it should be. Conner had asked if this meant you were boyfriends now, and you just chuckled and told him you sure hoped so. He only had time to jump on you and kiss you in joy at the knowledge you were together, when you both heard a loud shriek and sound of disgust.

Glancing at the door to the locker room you only just caught glimpse of Wally speeding away, and you soon heard him crying out in disgust to the rest of the team that you two had turned it into some kind of kryptonian mating dungeon. You both flushed with embarrassment, sharing one last love filled kiss before you quickly got to cleaning up as best as you could, though there wasn’t much you could do about the damage. It would take some explaining to do, but you hoped to avoid talk about just what you two had been up too, from Conners snickering you knew he thought the same, the knowledge would probably scar your teammates.

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