#i was going to put descriptors or whatever

[television-overload]

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 21/34 - eggs benedict

[Read on AO3]

It’s strange, staying with Sheriff Adderly and his wife Ellen during this case in Vermont. If he had his way, he’d be checked into a motel instead of infringing on their hospitality, but he’d been given no choice. They even refused reimbursement for their troubles, which did nothing to lessen the feeling—however true or untrue it was—of him being a burden to them.

Ellen Adderly had pulled out all the stops for their guest, preparing decadent meals on fine china for every meal, claiming she’d have done it whether he was there or not. He has a hard time believing that. He can’t imagine living in such a way every day of his life. He and Scully barely manage to set out real plates to eat on when they order takeout at home, and he certainly doesn’t expect her to have a three course meal set out when he gets back from work. Besides the fact that she’s always at work with him, it’s just not something he thinks is necessary. Is that something she’d want to do? He doesn’t think so. 

The routine they have works for them, that’s all that matters.

But after getting a taste of his own personal brand of domesticity, it’s… odd… to see how others do it. He’d never have thought there were so many different ways to balance home life, much less enough that he’d start to form an opinion on them. His parents had been one way—not a particularly healthy relationship—and he and Scully are… well, they’re not really anything besides roommates, but that still counts, in his book.

Whatever they are, he likes it. Far better than this constant fussing, at least.

Mrs. Adderly must notice his discomfort, because at breakfast as she masterfully puts the finishing touches on his eggs benedict, she says “I get the feeling you're not used to anyone taking care of you,” and for some reason, that assumption grates on his nerves.

He takes a measured draw from his cup of steaming coffee, swallowing back his immediate retort.

“What makes you say that?” he asks instead. She probably hadn’t meant anything by it, but it still comes off as rude. He has someone to take care of him, thanks very much. Just not exactly in the same way as Mrs. Adderly insists on taking care of her husband… and apparently Mulder too.

“I’m sorry,” Ellen says, realizing her statement had come out somewhat offensive. “I just mean… I didn’t see a wedding band.”

She nods at his left hand sitting atop the table, and he follows her gaze to the bare ring finger.

“Do you have a significant other, Agent Mulder?” she asks.

Significant? Yes. Very. Other? That’s a good descriptor. Single, married, other. Yeah, he’d select other, if this were a multiple choice question. Although he’s pretty sure that’s not what she meant.

“I’ve– um…” he starts, wondering how best to describe his situation to this woman. “I’ve got a wife, actually.” He pulls out the ring on its chain to show her. “It can be dangerous in my line of work to have it on display,” he explains lamely before tucking it back into his shirt.

Ellen smiles. “Ah, well that’s good. Don't miss out on home and family, Mr. Mulder. I imagine with all the things you see, you need that refuge more than most.”

Her words hang in the air, a bit of sage advice from a woman he otherwise has very little in common with. But before he really has a chance to think about what she’s said, Sheriff Adderly makes an appearance, and it’s back to business. Ellen excuses herself to go check on their daughter, leaving the two of them alone to discuss the case.

Mulder remains seated at the table, staring down the sheriff with a knowing look. He’d begun to suspect—and now his suspicions are all but confirmed—that the man had been unfaithful to his wife, and it makes him feel sick. Here this man has it all; a loving wife, a sweet baby that they didn’t have to jump through a million hoops to get, and yet he’s willing to throw it all away for some cheap thrills.

He’ll never understand it.

The man is no more forthcoming about his knowledge of the case than he had been before, so Mulder lets it slide for now. The last thing he wants to do is show all his cards too early and spook him. He gives him just enough to leave him rattled. To let him know that he knows . 

He lets the unspoken threat hang between them until the sheriff folds, squirming away to take a shower, or so he says. 

He’s still seething in bitter disgust when Ellen returns, carrying her sleepy baby in her arms. It’s a well-practiced juggling act, Mulder can tell, as she goes about fixing herself a plate of her now lukewarm breakfast. With only one arm, she clearly struggles to transfer strips of bacon out of the pan, and Mulder gets to his feet.

“Here, let me help,” he says, joining her in the kitchen. What he’d meant was that he could help assemble her plate, but as he goes to reach for the spatula, he instead finds himself being handed a baby, and his eyes widen comically. “Oh, right,” he says, then plasters a forced smile on his face. Sure, this was what he’d meant to do all along. 

The little girl is heavier than he’d expected. Like a sack of flour, though with limbs jutting out everywhere. It takes him a moment to adjust, his hands holding her awkwardly beneath the armpits. 

“Hi,” he says conversationally, looking down at her like she’s a ticking time bomb that could explode at any moment. The baby just blinks at him, a blank stare on her face. “Okay,” he mutters to himself, lifting her to his hip and returning to the table. He makes every effort to not look like this isn’t the first time he’s held a baby in—well, basically forever, but he’s not sure he succeeds.

Ellen smiles across the table at him and digs into her meal.

“Do you have children, Agent Mulder?” she asks, “You and your wife?”

It still makes his heart flutter to hear someone refer to Scully as such, but he supposes that to Ellen, it really is that simple. Scully is his wife, that’s all she knows.

He’d always thought conversations like this to be so dull. ‘So, Dave, how’s the ol’ ball and chain? Kids staying out of trouble?’  But, now… 

Well, it’s different now that he actually has something to contribute to the discussion.

“Yeah, actually, one on the way,” he says, giving a self-conscious little smile. 

He’s never told anybody about this other than Skinner, but he supposes there’s no harm in telling this random woman in Vermont. It almost makes him feel… normal. Like he can relate to other people over the simple fact of his impending fatherhood. A shared human experience. A milestone in his life that doesn’t involve aliens, ghosts, ghouls, or any manner of cryptozoological entity.

“We’re adopting,” he further explains. “Only a couple months left till the birth mother’s due date.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Ellen exclaims, smiling up at him over her bowl of fresh fruit. “You must be so excited!”

“Very,” he says, looking down at the drooling baby on his lap. “We never really thought it was possible. That we’d ever—” 

He pauses, the shrill tone of his cell phone breaking into their conversation.

“Speaking of my wife,” he says, flipping open the device. “Hey, Scully. How’s the stakeout going?”

Her voice crackles over the other side of the line, drawing a genuine smile out of him. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t ask that, Mulder, so that I can give you the good news I just received.”

His stomach does a flip. “Good news?”

He pictures her nodding, sitting in that grimy, cold room surrounded by surveillance equipment, somehow brightening it with her smile. “Krista called and we had a little chat.”

Mulder looks up at Ellen from across the table, where she’s watching him with a knowing smile. “Oh?” he says.

“Mm-hmm. And you know what she told me?”

Scully is extra cheeky this morning, huh? He misses her horribly. This is the last time he’s letting Skinner split them up for a case. After this, no more. He’s putting his foot down. What are they going to do, fire him?

“What did she tell you?” he asks, turning to instead stare at the floorboards, giving himself the illusion of privacy despite the constant watch of Mrs. Adderly.

“She told me the sex of the baby. Would you like to know?”

His heart thumps in his chest suddenly, its rhythm erratic. This, he hadn’t expected first thing in the morning. He hasn’t even finished his first cup of coffee yet.

“She finally found out?”

“Yeah, Krista said she was a lot more cooperative at this appointment than the last one,” Scully explains.

Mulder freezes.

“She?” he says, his voice raspy with awe. “It’s a girl?”

He hears Scully release a shuddering breath before her voice comes back, with all the telltale signs of happy tears that he’s come to recognize in the last few months.

“It’s a girl,” she confirms.

It’s a girl. He’s gonna have a baby girl.

“That’s– that’s amazing, Scully! That’s… wow!”

“I know,” she says. “I’m– You’re not disappointed, are you?”

“Disappointed?” he asks, furrowing his brow. “Why would I be disappointed?” 

Disappointed is the absolute last thing he’d be feeling right now. Elated is a better word. Maybe a little scared, but he’ll get over it.

“I don’t know, I just thought… You know, you talked about coaching little league, and I’m sure you want someone to watch basketball with you…”

He laughs. He can’t help but laugh. “Just because you don’t like basketball doesn’t mean other girls don’t,” he says matter-of-factly. “And have you seen girls softball teams, Scully? They’re brutal. You try getting hit by one of those giant neon yellow ostrich eggs at 50 miles an hour. I volunteered to practice with the girls once in high school. Almost lost an eye.”

“But what if she doesn’t like sports at all?” Scully asks, and he’d bet good money that she’s chewing on her lip right now, the way she does when she’s worried. “What if she’s on the chess team or plays the violin or the piano?”

Oh, Scully.

“Then I’ll learn all the names of her concertos and cheer her on at every chess tournament,” he answers simply. “Look, Scully, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you and I are both gigantic nerds. I think we’ll be prepared for whatever she’s interested in when she gets older.”

She . They can finally stop talking about her in abstract terms. A girl. A daughter.

“Your mom’s gonna flip,” he says when she doesn’t respond. Margaret Scully has a grandson, but no granddaughter. He can just see the little plaid dresses, frilly socks, Mary Jane shoes, and giant velvet bows in their future. She’ll be spoiled rotten.

“I can’t wait to meet her,” Scully says, sounding wistful. 

“Me too,” he agrees. “When I get back, we’re going out shopping again. I think maybe this time I’ll be able to hold it together in the clothes section.”

That earns him a laugh.

“I’m willing to bet it will go the same way as last time,” she teases back, and she’s probably not wrong. Just picturing this baby, a little girl like the one he’s holding now, has him emotionally on edge.

“I– I’ll talk to you later, okay?” he says, glancing up at the clock. “Let the thought of warm baby snuggles keep you from freezing your butt off.”

She sighs, the annoyance of her less than ideal assignment returning. “Thanks for reminding me, ” she intones.

They stay on the line a moment more, waiting to see who will be the one to hang up. Eventually he hears a soft click, and he smiles down at the phone in his hand. Goodbyes have never been necessary between them. Maybe that’s just another way they’re weird, but he likes it.

The baby in his lap gurgles, and he sets his phone on the table to turn his attention back to her. He sees her differently now, with the knowledge that he has a little girl on the way too.

“You’re going to be an amazing father,” Ellen says, eyes shining as she watches him.

Mulder feels his cheeks beginning to burn. “Oh. Thanks.”

“No, really,” she says more insistently. “You seem to care a lot already. And wanting to be involved… Well, that’s everything. Your wife is a very lucky woman.”

“I’m the one who’s lucky,” he says, and he truly believes it.

He’s the luckiest man on the face of the Earth.

~~~

wife guy / girl dad mulder says you get another chapter :)

Chapter 22/34 - pizza boxes

The sound of keyboards clacking fills the dimly-lit room. A greasy bag that once held at least a dozen cheap tacos from the place across town sits atop a stack of empty pizza boxes, not that the inhabitants of this particular abode pay much attention to that kind of thing. 

“Hey, here's something weird,” Langly says, looking up from the computer monitor, the unnatural light of it reflecting off his glasses.

“What? Is it Krycek again?” Frohike asks, crossing the short distance to lean over the other man’s shoulder. “What’s that little rat up to now?”

Langly adjusts the bright, warm-toned desk lamp to minimize the glare on the screen.

“No, just something strange in my sweep of government records,” he says.

“Mention of a virus? Shadow government stuff?”

Langly shakes his head. “It flagged a document mentioning Mulder and Scully's names.”

This bit of information piques Byers’ interest from across the room. “What agency? Homeland? DoD?” he asks, joining the other two at Langly’s computer.

“County court in Annapolis, Maryland,” Langly reads off the screen. “Dated December 24, 1999.”

“Open it!” Frohike demands impatiently.

It takes only a few seconds to hack the database, which is a little alarming. What would the public think if they knew how insecure county records are? But that’s a concern for another day. 

The document slowly appears on screen, and three pairs of eyes take in the information all at once.

“That's… unexpected,” Byers says.

“Married? Since when?” Frohike exclaims.

Langly looks up at him with a condescending glare and smacks the older man in the stomach. “Since Christmas, idiot, haven't you been paying attention?”

“Not that, stupid,” Frohike says, quick to respond with a slap to the back of the blond man’s shaggy head. “Since when are they an item? Did I miss something?”

“You seen a rock on her finger lately? I haven't,” Langly comments.

“Get Mulder on the phone, that little sneak owes us an explanation!” Frohike snaps, pointing a finger at Byers.

The phone rings a few times before it connects, the voice of their friend coming through on speakerphone.

“Now's not a good time, boys,” he says. There's some kind of noise in the background, someone speaking, but they can’t make out who it is. It doesn’t sound like anyone they know. 

“Mulder!” Frohike yells into the phone. “What gives, man?!”

“Yeah, bro, we'd have thrown you a bachelor party if we'd known,” Langly adds.

A sigh crackles through on the other end of the line, and Mulder murmurs something indistinguishable to someone before finding somewhere quieter to talk.

“How'd you find out?” he asks, sounding annoyed.

“Your marriage license record came up in one of our regular sweeps. No other threats, by the way,” Byers answers.

“Except maybe Frohike,” Langly jokes. “He might want to challenge you for her hand.”

Byers snickers.

“Shut up! I'm happy for them,” Frohike says, glaring at his friends.

Langly rolls his eyes. “You never stood a chance.”

“There's an explanation for this, I swear, now's just really not a good time,” Mulder says, insistent.

“What's there to explain?” Frohike asks. “You guys fell in love and got married without telling your best friends. No big deal.”

He’s not genuinely trying to guilt trip Mulder, but it does sting a little that they hadn’t said anything to them. Maybe just a little tiny guilt trip. A guilt excursion, if you will.

“It's not… really that simple,” Mulder says, his words hesitant.

“What do you mean?” Byers asks.

“I know you didn't knock her up, obviously, so what more is there?” Langly says, as delicate as a brick to the face.

“Well,” Mulder says, “I kind of did, in a manner of speaking.”

“Scully's pregnant?” Byers asks. This is shocking news. It should be impossible! “But—”

“No, Scully's not pregnant,” Mulder quickly corrects before the conversation can spiral out of control more than it already has. “But… we are expecting, actually. Hopefully.”

“IVF?” Byers asks.

“Not IVF. We tried that last year though, you're a little late to the party.”

Jeez, what haven’t they missed? Maybe the real conspiracy is whatever the heck is going on with Mulder and Scully.

“Then, what—?”

“We're adopting,” he says, interrupting them. They can almost hear his smile over the phone, all goofy and care-free. “There's a woman that selected us to adopt her baby when she’s born, so… I'm actually at this class for new parents with Scully right now. I should probably be getting back. Don't want the teacher to flunk me.”

“Wait wait wait,” Frohike says. “Adopting? How long have you guys been… you know?”

“Well we only started talking about it back in November. It's honestly moving pretty fast, but we're excited.”

“Not that,” Frohike says, waving his hands in the air. “You and Scully!”

“Oh,” Mulder says awkwardly. “Um, we actually aren't. A couple, I mean. If that's what you're asking.”

Frohike’s jaw drops. “You're kidding.”

“No, I'm not.”

“But you're married!” Langly insists.

“A formality.”

“The IVF!”

“Favor for a friend.”

“Yeah, right!” Frohike says with a laugh, sharing a disbelieving look with the other Gunmen.

“You love her, don't you?” Byers asks, sincerity breaking through his friends’ incredulity.

“If you're just gonna harass me, I'm going to hang up.”

Okay, so he’s done sharing for now. They’ll just have to try to get more out of him later.

“Mulder… what are we going to do with you?” Frohike asks, shaking his head.

“Listen, guys, I've got to go. We're learning how to change a diaper and I'd really like to not make a fool of myself, if at all possible.”

“Wait,” Frohike says. “Tell Scully congrats for us. We're happy for you, Mulder.”

“Yeah, we just think you're a complete idiot too,” Langly adds bluntly.

“Thanks, guys. We're really happy. Sorry I haven't been around, it's been crazy.”

Well, now at least they know why Mulder has been missing their poker nights and D&D lately.

“Don't worry about it, Mulder. Just—maybe tell us what's going on next time?” Byers suggests.

Mulder puffs out a laugh. “Sure, next time I marry my partner with the purpose of adopting a child, I'll let you know.”

Frohike points seriously at the phone, despite the fact that Mulder can’t see it. “Watch it, buddy, you're already on thin ice.”

“I'll talk to you guys soon,” Mulder says. “Oh, and if you're ever looking for me, I'm staying at Scully’s apartment now, by the way. I gave up my apartment.”

“Dude…” Langly says. There's something seriously wrong with those two.

“Alright, I gotta go. I'll tell Scully you say hi.” And with that, he hangs up, leaving the three amigos to take in everything they’d just learned.

“Aren't a couple…” Frohike grumbles, repeating his words. “They're a couple of idiots, I'll tell you that.”

Byers nods his agreement, and Langly shrugs. 

“Lucky kid, though.”

~~~

Lovely tag list ♡: [if you would like to be added or removed, let me know!]

@today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @agent-troi @angegova @baronessblixen @calimanc @captainsolocide @clo-thespin @cutemothman @danasculls @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @gillian-anderson-in-the-tardis @hippocampouts @invidiosa @monaiargancoconutsoy @msrafterdark @numinousmysteries @primrose19 @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @skylarksong @stephy-gold @teenie-xf @the-redhead-in-a-dress @vincentsleftear

#msr #txf #x files #xf fanfic #mulder and scully #my fanfiction #fox mulder #dana scully #of our own making #ooom #msr adoption fic #adoption

[twicethetrouble]

I'm going to start a Daily Posting fic. Help me choose what

Explanation. I've gotten out of the habit of writing daily. I do not like this. The best way i know to fix this (for me) is to write a fic that's soul purpose is for me to write a little bit each day and post that little bit immediately.

I plan on trying this again, but posting the little bits here daily and eventually posting it (edited and formatted properly) onto AO3. and since i'm posting it here first, you all get a choice of what this project will be. in the form of a poll. (b/c why not.)

and just to make it interesting, i'm only putting the weird document names (with fandom and basic vibe)

(all of these i have a varying amount of stuff written for them already but I will post that first before going from there)

#random stuff #polls #idk why i'm doing this #ok i know why #but still #i probably should have put something turtle related in there #but idk #i have the distinct feeling you all will just have me redo the poll with ongoing fic options #but so be it #i was going to put descriptors or whatever #but i don't really want this to turn into a popularity poll #so you literally get what each of my documents is saved as on my computer #not even like proper names #they're better than they used to be tho #i'm pretty sure the kiddo simmons one used to be called 'son of a bitch' or something #but i kept getting it confused with another of a similar name vibe #(either 'fking hell' or 'not another one damn it') #so i changed it

[blkkizzat]

ღ 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞!𝐂𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐨 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 ღ

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 𝐨𝐟 𝟐 (part 1)

18+ONLY MDNI

kizzatober series: Smooth Criminals

Kinktober Prompts: Clothed Male/Naked Female, Thigh Riding, Knife Play Synopsis: The university campus is being terrorized by a copycat Ghostface killer. As a popular sorority girl with a dumb jock bf, you are a prime choice to be his next victim especially given how he can't stop thinking about you. But you're no ordinary Sorority Girl bimbo, now are you? CW: AU college fic. blood obsession/hematolagnia, bimbo reader, murder, slight DV/SA mentions (from your npc jerk ass bf), unprotected sex, masturbation, LOTS of teasing/foreplay, slight age gap (roughly 21 vs 28) and dark content. NOTE: If death/killer romanticization related shit triggers you this is probably a fic to avoid because that is happening all through this bitch. I literally wrote a murder fluff smut fic lmfao. WC: 9.9 of 15.4k Lightly black fem coded (reader is an AKA lmfao) but no descriptors.

A/N: I had no idea so many people would be this hyped for Part 2. No really, I'm shocked! But It gets real here peoples! Lots of smut and dark shit below so please read the content warnings! I don't want no crying in the mentions and DMs cause y'all should know how out of pocket I am by now and I took it there lmfao.

If you riding with me still Thank You for putting up with my OCD bullshit and for all the support, comments and reblogs on Part 1! y'all real asf & ilysm

Enjoy!

Previously:

“Whatever, let’s fucking go Y/N. We have an important party to throw later.” 

Dean grabs your wrist and jerks you away with you barely being able to grab your bag. 

Your stomach twists and you are at a complete loss for words but manage to flash an apologetic look at Choso while you are dragged off. 

However when your eyes meet he looks right through you.

The expression on his face is stone cold and it sends a chill up your spine.

☠

Sigh. 

For the first time ever in your life you are miserable at a party. 

To say you had been excited leading up to today would have been an understatement. The initiation party after rush was one of the biggest events in the greek system and you had led the charge this year in planning the party.

Nevertheless, any cheerful enthusiasm you held had been trampled on by the disaster that had taken place earlier in the day with Choso. 

If getting out of going wouldn’t be more trouble than it was worth you would have faked being sick. It’s not like you hadn’t already stressed yourself into a headache.

Yet here you were suffering through, completely sober. Not even being able to bring yourself to drink away your problems.

How could you even pretend to enjoy yourself when your forced smile cracked as soon as the mental image of Choso’s icy expression looped through your mind?

Your chest got a little tighter each time you remembered and it frazzled your nerves.

Just about everyone and everything annoyed you right now.

Even the party: Hunter vs Hunted, one of your favorites, was soured. 

Typically the theme entailed girls dressed up as various exotic animals or woodland creatures and the boys dressed as safari game hunters or woodsmen. But this time around, no thanks to singular frat boy hivemind, they all got the bright idea to collectively cosplay as Ghostface.

Taking a new meaning on Hunter. 

They couldn’t carry knives on campus of course so they all carried around metal bats which they probably stole from the baseball team.

Sure, let’s all dress up as the masked serial killer while he is still on the loose. 

You rolled your eyes. 

The pilfered bats were a hazard waiting to happen too. You could only be thankful that the party was at Dean’s frat and not your own sorority so him and the rest of those idiots could fuck their own shit up once they inevitably got way too hammered and started swinging them around. 

You mostly just wished they hadn’t changed the plan without telling you. 

Then at least you could have dressed up in line with the horror theme and wouldn’t have had to wear this sexy Bambi costume which although skimpy, the fur parts made it way too hot to be wearing in a crowded party indoors. 

On edge and not being able to leave, you did the next best thing and sequestered yourself in the kitchen pantry. 

It was spacious and a lot cooler than the rest of the house.

You made yourself look busy in there by restocking snacks and making sure there was an ample supply of red cups ready to go around for the keg. 

When someone did notice you tucked away, you gave the best fake smile you could muster and made-up an excuse not to join in on whatever drinking game they were playing promising you would ‘catch up in a minute.’ 

Fortunately for you, most of your friends and sorority sisters were a bit too faded by this point to notice you missing and never joining in. 

Maybe a bit longer and you could slip out unnoticed? 

That was your plan at least until you felt Dean throw an arm over you from behind.

“There you are babe!”

Urgh.

The overwhelming ick and nausea you felt from him touching you rivaled your worst hangover. 

You immediately shrug him off.

“Come on babe don’t be like that. Get a freshman to take over.  We're gonna play rage cage.”

You threw Dean a wary look.

You try to tell him you aren’t in the mood but of course your selfish dickhead of a boyfriend ignores you.

Dean then proceeds to pull your arm and lead you out of the pantry through the kitchen. 

On a different day you probably would have just given in, easier to go along with the flow than cause an issue. Today however was different and the last thing in the world you wanted to do was play fucking rage cage with a bunch of horny frat boys who were just trying to get girls drunk enough to fuck.

“Goddamnit, Dean I said no!”

Your tolerance had boiled past its limits.

You forcibly snatch your hand back, knocking some empty bottles over on the counter in the process which come crashing down to the floor shattering into pieces. 

Your words and movements dripped with so much aggression you surprised yourself, Dean and the people around you who had turned to see what the commotion was. 

”No? No? You’re really telling me no Y/N? After you’ve been acting like a fuckin’ bitch all day since I crashed your make out session with that freak.”

Immediately self-conscious, your eyes darted around the crowd of people that had now turned their full attention toward you.

You hated confrontation and never wanted to be that couple fighting at a party.

Ducking down quickly, you begin to pick up the shattered pieces of bottled glass on the floor. 

The pounding of your headache against your temples grew feverishly and the harsh fluorescent kitchen lights started to make you feel faint, you hoped Dean would just let this go if you backed down. 

“Look, we’ll talk about that later, ok? Just please don’t be an asshole Dean, I really don’t feel good right now.” 

You pleaded with him, quietly trying to quell the situation. 

But true to his infamous asshole nature, Dean wasn’t going to let you off so easily. He wanted to humiliate you as he felt you humiliated him in front of his friends earlier with that nobody loser.

”Now, I’m the asshole?” Dean questioned to his frat brothers smugly.

“Hey, maybe I am for having a girlfriend like Y/N, who would slut herself out for a grade in front of the entire quad!” 

Dean had all but yelled that last part out. Your drunken clown of a boyfriend didn’t care if he caused a scene at your expense.  

Now you had the full attention of everyone in the kitchen. 

You took a shaky breath as you stood up and felt the crunch of broken glass beneath your heels.

An unfamiliar sensation of rage rises within you.

It really wasn’t in your nature to be angry even when you were upset, you mostly just cried but now you were pissed to say the least. 

He has some fucking nerve. 

Especially when you knew no one starting on the football team studied at all and were all automatically passed through whatever easy bullshit major they signed up for.

“Dean–”

You start yet pause for a moment, trying to keep your cool.

“–you know how hard I study.”

Twisting the proverbial knife in your back to wind you up further Dean continued.

“Yeah, Y/N That's what’s so pathetic about it. You get Bs. That pussy ain’t even good enough for an A. I would know.”

Collective gasps, snickers and whispers arose from around the kitchen. Word had spread of your fighting as more people gathered in the doorway.

Typically this is where you would have run off crying. However, you were exhausted mentally and emotionally. You had already cried for a good hour today while getting ready. 

The only emotions you had readily available to tap into was the hidden well of resentment and ire you held for Dean.

“And how would you even know what good pussy is Dean? You can’t last longer than two pumps, is it not all the same for you?”

You snapped back. 

Your fists had formed into a tight ball.

You are so enraged you can’t even feel the prick from the broken glass bottle still in your hand puncturing your skin.

How long has it been since you stood up for yourself? 

You can’t remember the last time you even fought with anyone like this but it felt good seeing the smug look on his face fall as his friends around him jeered and laughed.

“I know how to settle this Y/N.”

Dean mused as he yanked one of your sorority sisters nearby toward you.

“How ‘bout we ask Aaliyah then, eh? She got more than 2 pumps last weekend after you left the party to go chase after Ghostface–”

Your head snaps to your AKA sister in question, Aaliyah, who looked like she saw a cursed spirit as all the color drained from her face. Her eyes shamefully hit the floor before they met your gaze. 

She couldn’t even look at you which only further solidified Dean’s accusations. 

So Dean himself confirmed he’d been cheating on you? Cool. 

With your own Sorority sister, who you considered one of your besties since you both rushed together? 

Even better. 

Blood slowly trickled out of your hand to drip on the floor from how rigidly you held onto the glass but the small red puddle went unnoticed as your whole vision was already saturated with the color red when you looked at Dean who hadn’t even finished his disrespectful tirade. 

“–Although on second thought, it was probably an excuse for you to go suck off that loser freak TA of yours right?”

More heckles erupted from the crowd around you and you don’t think you have ever hated someone so much in your life as you hated Dean right at this moment. 

Sure you were upset with Aaliyah but your fury was purely focused on Dean. 

He had some nerve to start so much shit earlier over an almost-kiss when he was fucking your good friend behind your back. 

“And how fucking out of her mind was she then, huh Dean? Would she even remember? You pathetic piece of shit...”

You get directly in his face. 

“...that limp dick of yours fumbles orgasms like you fumble passes. That’s why we lost the big game last week. And guess what? That's also why we’re now OVER!”

Dean’s bulky build towers over you but he might as well have been 3 feet tall to you as the razor edge of your words eviscerate him.

“So who’s the fucking loser now Dean?”

Everyone in the room was stunned into silence by the venom dripping from someone they had never even heard raise their voice before.

You don't notice anyone else's reactions though as suddenly you became hyperaware of the large fractured piece of bottled glass cutting into you. 

Your eyes flickered back to Dean as your hand twitches.

For a fleeting moment you felt an inkling urge to drive the glass in your hand directly into Dean’s smug ass face.

Yet whatever dark fury burned in you was instantly snuffed out as you felt a flood of cold bitter beer splash down on you from Dean’s red solo cup. 

”Why don’t you cool off for a bit dear,�� Dean cooed at you, mocking you and your now ruined Bambi costume as he and the frat boys around you started to roar with laughter.

That was it. 

You were done. 

Dean had succeeded in humiliating you. 

Any contention or further will to fight within you had dissipated the moment you were doused in beer. 

The glass in your hand drops onto the ground as a dull ache radiates from your wound that continues to seep blood onto the floor.

“I hope you realize this is the last time an AKA will grace this sorry ass frat for a party. I’ll see to that. Enjoy the rest of your night fellas!”

The icy air of your words contrasted with the perfect pageant smile you gave them and it unsettled those around you especially as they all notice the blood gushing from your hand. 

The crowd immediately parts as you leave. No one dares utter a word to you as you exit the party through the side kitchen door. 

You can feel your phone go off as you get a flurry of group texts and missed facetimes. Most of your sisters weren’t even in the kitchen to witness the scene.

You respond to the group chat to tell them just to stay and enjoy the party and turn your phone on ‘do not disturb.’

You just wanted to be alone. 

You’d deal with the fallout tomorrow.

☠

Choso wore a twisted grin hidden under his Ghostface mask.

The hunter vs hunted party meant a perfect time for him to hunt. 

Leaning against a building Choso was shrouded in the dark cover of shadows far removed from campus lights.

Old habits, he mused. There was really no need for him to hide at all tonight. 

He could actually walk around openly as Ghostface now without causing alarm seeing as how most of those fraternity morons were dressed up like him tonight. 

This made things even easier. 

Choso scanned the area for his next prey. 

Someone, anyone alone would do. 

Choso had been itching to spill blood since he had the enticing inclination to slash your boyfriend’s throat earlier.

Currently he wanted nothing more than to see a violent geyser of blood spurt from his next victim. Having it be a shithead frat guy would only sweeten the kill so he had stalked close to frat row for his latest victim.

There.

Seeing movement in the distance, a lone figure, Choso cautiously advances trailing in the shadows towards them until they come into focus under the street lights.  

He nearly does a double take when he recognizes it's you.

Shouldn’t Miss-Perfect-Social-Butterfly be having the time of her life right now with her cretins being crowned queen of the frats or something?

Choso thought bitterly. 

That is, until he got a good look at you. 

You were wet and shivering as you failed to sniff back the tears pouring down your face.

Despite his desire to stay angry with you, his jaw involuntarily clenches as he had never seen you this upset before. 

Something had happened.  

Choso confused look turns deadly as vision travels down to see you nursing the hand you cradled to your chest. He recognizes blood running down your forearm to stain your already soiled costume.

A territorial urge swelled within him, not knowing you had inflicted your own injury. 

You were his prey. 

It was unforgivable for someone else to spill what was his to enjoy.

Choso immediately concluded the cause of it was Dean.

Boyfriend or not he would gladly gut that motherfucker at the drop of a dime. 

He hadn’t forgotten how roughly he had dragged you off earlier. 

And more importantly how you had let that asswipe drag you off. That honestly had fired his temper more than anything. 

A storm of conflicting feelings, Choso yearns to see more of your blood splattered on the ground as much as he secretly covets to have you writhing underneath him.

Should he approach you? 

No. Not yet.

Although, he would never have a more perfect chance than now to kill you if he was ever actually going to go through with it.

Securing his knife on the inside of his robe, Choso silently propels himself after you. 

Never falling too far behind, he vigilantly watches you from a distance as both your protector and predator.

☠

A warm shower was just what you needed but you were pissed you had to wash your hair 3 times to get the smell of Milwaukee's out, which proved insanely hard to do with one functioning hand. 

You could have killed Dean. 

No actually though, as you remembered the dark seething compulsion you felt. 

You weren’t sure what had gotten into you earlier.

Pushing those thoughts to the side though you focused on the gash in your hand, it was pretty gnarly. 

You were just thankful the first aid kid in your sorority house had enough gauze and tape until you could get to the campus nurse tomorrow. 

You probably needed stitches as any sudden movements had the fragile skin of your palm bleeding again.

Returning to your room in a comfy pink cotton bra and thong you throw your towel over a chair.

You start to reach for your fluffy robe when you see Choso’s black track jacket on your desk. It still had the small coffee stains on it from earlier but you opted to slip into it anyway.

Truthfully, you lied to him.

You hadn’t just been carrying it around waiting to give it back to him.

You had worn it more times this past week than you would willingly admit to anyone. 

You even took it on purpose instead of your actual jacket this morning not actually thinking you would run into Choso but when you had seen him, you knew you wanted him to see you in it.

With a sigh of frustration, you dove face first into the pillows of your bed as you curled into his jacket. 

It was your only comfort at the moment. 

Your mind wanders and you can’t help but think of how better a boyfriend Choso would have been to you.

Dean would never let you wear his jackets, no matter how cold you were. He said you were too air-headed and would ruin or lose it. 

Not that he wasn’t right, you definitely were accident prone.

But that's why it had meant so much to you when Choso, not even your boyfriend, had given you his own without a second thought.

You only hoped he didn’t hate you now. 

Not that you could blame him if he did.

Even you hated you a bit for even being with a jerk like Dean in the first place no matter how convenient you thought it had been for you. 

How could you even face Choso in class next week? 

Despite your heart crumpling when you thought of Choso’s cold intimidating gaze being cast upon you again, you admittedly had never seen a look that intense before from anyone. 

It was also impossible to forget the ravenous look in his eyes when he was so close to kissing you. 

He looked as if he would devour you whole. 

God, everything about him was so sexy.

His strong jaw set firm, his eyes dark pools that sucked you in even from memory, his lean muscular body.

You wish you had realized how bad you had been crushing on him sooner. Before everything got so fucked up. 

You fidgeted as an ache developed between your legs.

Turning your head to the side you used your bandaged hand to gently push his jacket collar into your face. 

It still smelled like him despite how many times you’ve worn it this week and despite the faint smell of old coffee from earlier.

Squirming on your bed, you tried in vain to keep your legs from sliding against each other creating more friction as your body became increasingly hotter. 

A shameless whine escaped your lips as you huffed his woody masculine scent in and out. 

Your legs rubbed together more eagerly. 

Shit, you were so horny. 

Still laid flat on your belly you lifted your hips up for access as a manicured finger pressed into your clit toying with yourself from the outside of your pink cotton thong.

Choso was so meticulous, so knowledgeable in everything he did you were sure he knew how to make you cum. 

You were desperate for him as you remembered what it felt like when he caught you from falling last week. 

How good would his sculpted chest feel pressed into you now?

Would he look at you with the same want that flared across his features when he had gotten a glimpse of your panties you had intentionally put on display for him? 

You didn’t miss how it matched the look he gave you when he nearly kissed.

“Choso…”

You moaned out loud. 

You could feel the wet spot your teasing was earning you spread over your thong as your cunt continued to drool over your fantasies of him.

Craving more you lifted your ass up higher while your fingers fumbled to slide under the flimsy fabric.

“A-ahhh s-shit Cho– F-fuck!”

You panted as you sunk two fingers into your cunt. You worked to diligently pump them in and out of you as you pressing your palm down firmly over your swollen clit. 

Your face buried itself deeper in his jacket as you gasped and your warm breath pushed back against you as you imagined it was his own tickling your neck.

All your senses screamed with want to be consumed by him and you pined for the feeling of his cock stretching your wet cunt instead of your slim fingers that weren’t cut out for the job.

“F-fuck C-Choso.. Mmm, let me cum.” 

You practically sobbed when you glided a third finger into your pussy, two wasn’t enough to quell the craze that had overtaken you.

Ironically and unbeknownst to you, Choso (who had hidden himself in your closet during your shower), was mere moments away from losing his own goddamn mind.

Wholly entranced, he listened to you wantonly call for him like a sweet siren song and watched utterly fixated on the way you fiercely finger fucked your pussy like it was his own cock.

All the while in his jacket sniffing the sweaty soiled material like some filthy fucking pervert.

Fuck!

When he had followed you back to the sorority house he had finally resolved to kill you, but now he was at a standstill as there was no plausible way this was actually happening in front of him.

The obscene ASMR of your cunt sloshing rang in his ears and your legs quivered obscenely with you approaching your orgasm. 

Your desperate thrusts caused his oversized jacket to ride up to your hips revealing the way your ass bare ass jiggled when you drove your hips down and pushed your digits up deeper into your core that waited greedily to suck them in.  

You chanted out Choso’s name with urgency straining your voice as you climaxed. The bed creaked from you now humping the mattress while riding out your high.

Shit you were fucking sexy. 

Thought you'd just been toying with him for fun all this time...

Until now.

Choso’s grip on his knife tightened as adrenaline surged through his body. 

He could feel the blood pumping through his dick. 

He wanted to fuck you. 

Badly. 

Give you what you’ve both been needing all this time. 

Choso fully bricked, suppressed a hiss through clenched teeth as he palmed the bulge in his pants but remained otherwise still.

He can’t imagine a positive reaction if he burst out of your closet as Ghostface nor could he just take off his mask and pop out of your closet as your TA like he was some fucking creeper.

This was pure agony. 

You never failed to find some way to unravel him.

Choso was so tense, his body coiled so tightly, he couldn't control his thigh involuntarily twitching and his knee recoiled against your closet door.

He cursed himself for the millionth time at the lack of control he had around you, he had never had to restrain himself so much around anyone else.

Ecstasy was etched on your features as you looked around puzzled from where the noise came from.

However, the even louder boom of the front door slamming shocked you out of your blissful daze and stole your attention away.

You sat up quickly and wondered if your sorority sisters were back already.

You glanced at the clock.

10:32 pm.

It was still much too early for them to leave.  

But who else could it be? 

You groaned and reluctantly hopped off the bed, zipping up Choso’s jacket fully to hide the slick between your legs and went out to greet them so you could avoid them coming into your room and return to your solitude as quickly as possible. 

You were tired, frustrated and still horny as hell. 

You only wanted make yourself cum hard enough you could fall asleep and end this miserable ass day.    

☠                                                   

“Girls~! You really didn’t have to leave so early~!” 

You call out to your sisters.

It was a little late for a show of solidarity if that's what they thought they were doing.

You rolled your eyes. 

But it was eerily quiet as you received no response. 

That’s odd.

Walking down the hall you froze once the view from the top floor opens into the foyer below and you see the front door wide open. 

Not a single soul in sight or to be heard. 

“Girls?”

Fight or flight senses kick into gear altering you to the possible dangers below. 

You might be a bit of a ditz but you studied enough forensics and had seen enough scary movies to know how this shit usually ended.

You turn back to run to your room to call someone but stopped as you noticed your phone on the entryway table by the door. 

Crap.

Steeling yourself you slowly inched your way towards the staircase, stopping at times to lean over the banister for any signs of someone.

“This isn’t funny girls! You know I’ve already had a really shitty night!”

But only the hollow sound of wind whipping through the door answered you as it swayed on its hinges. 

This was an older house.

Maybe you didn’t close the door all the way in the beginning? 

No one in your sorority house ever locked the doors, which now you considered probably wasn’t the greatest tradition to keep up while you were at home all alone and a serial killer was on the loose.

You crept down the stairs trying to silence any creaks as best you could.

“I swear on a stack of Vogues if this is a prank you all of you whores will all be on campus clean-up community service duty for the rest of the semester!”

Still nothing but silence as you reached the bottom of the staircase.

The lights were on in the entire house. From what you could tell the den and living room areas surrounding the foyer were empty. 

You sighed. Maybe it was just the wind.

You close the door and this time make sure to lock it as you clutch your phone and turn to scamper back upstairs when you feel something grab at you from behind.

“Want to die Y/N?” 

You let out a screech as you whip your around to see a figure you recognize as Ghostface reach for you as you stumble backwards into the den. 

Tripping over your own feet, you fall back landing on your injured hand and knocking your head against the edge of a coffee table.

A roar of laughter erupts as you groan dazed from the floor.

“You really are a clumsy ditz, babe.” 

Puzzled and near concussed, you blink through blurry vision to see Dean pull off the Ghostface mask as he crouches down to your level and leans on his metal bat tauntingly.

Pain blossoms sharply in the back of your head and you can feel the puncture wound on your hand open and saturate your bandage.

“The fuck are you doing here Dean?” 

You glared up at him through your one good hand that covered your face as you struggle to get your bearings back. 

You couldn’t catch a fucking break tonight.

“Still being a huge bitch even though I came all the way over here to say sorry, eh?”

Dean hummed, brow raised as he chuckled.

“I thought a little fright would put you in a good mood, Y/N.”

“Nice way of apologizing Dean. Insult me, scare me half to death and give me a concussion.” 

You knew this man was not sorry at all.

Someone sober enough had probably informed Dean that you did have the power to essentially kill their fraternity’s social life, cucking his entire house for the foreseeable future. They likely sent him to make things right with you ASAP. 

But even with all that on the line your tool of an ex was such a huge dick he couldn’t even do the bare minimum to give you a decent apology like an actual human being (not that you would have accepted it).

“I see I was right about one thing though.” 

Dean got your attention as he pointed down at the moisture running down your legs.

You immediately pull Choso’s jacket down further to cover yourself. 

You couldn’t give a fuck what he thought at this point. You’d confess to fucking the entire Forensics department if got him out of your face.

“Sure Dean, think what you want okay? Just fucking GET. OUT.” 

You felt dizzy from the pressure thrumming in the back of your skull.

“Yeah and if I say no whore? Then what?” 

Dean slid a clammy hand over your knee which sent another wave of nausea through you, your head spinning.

You squeezed your eyes shut as you tried to stop his hand traveling lower before you suddenly noticed Dean’s body being ripped away from you entirely.

The scene that followed occurred in a whirlwind as your head felt like it would explode trying to focus on anything.

Your eyes strain to keep up with the action only registering fractions of it through your blurred vision. 

You see…blood?

Is it yours?

No. It’s flowing from Dean’s shoulder.

Another person?

No

…Ghostface?

Yes.

Your double vision struggled to pinpoint exactly what was happening as Dean and the masked Ghostface fought for dominance, somehow ending up back in the foyer. 

Dean was barely able to keep the large hunting knife from sinking into his chest.

Was this even real?

Were you really about to witness a Ghostface crime scene in action?

Were you next?

You felt like you were witnessing it all play out through someone else’s body as your mind floated off and you felt more disconnected. 

Your awareness faded in and out.

There was no doubt, you definitely had a small concussion. 

“Y/N!”

“Y/N!”

“Y/N!”

Your head snaps up as you finally hear Dean shouting your name although it sounded like you were in a fishbowl.

He had somehow gotten leverage and evened the odds with the killer as they both now had a hold of the blade’s handle.

“Y/N! Pay attention you ditzy ass bimbo! Don’t just sit there looking stupid, get the fucking bat.”

You scanned the floor around you. 

Sure enough, there was the scuffed metal bat shining back at you resting by your knees.

Your injured hand grazes it and you see a red trail of blood smearing across it as the cool smooth metal soothes your ruptured skin.

“Y/N, what the fuck are you daydreaming about?! Get your ass over here!”

You grip the bat’s handle, ignoring the pain to use it and the coffee table as leverage to push you up off the floor.

You sway on your feet as your blood pressure drastically drops from standing too quickly. 

Your head feels light. 

Your body feels light. 

Surprisingly too, even the large heavy metal bat now feels light in your injured palm. 

“Fucking finally, Y/N!”

Dean yelled as he saw you on your feet.

“It’s not like I’m trying to fight off a killer here or anything dumb bitch.” 

Dumb bitch?

Oh yeah, he means you.

God, Dean was fucking annoying you just wished he would shut up sometimes. 

You couldn’t even think straight. 

What were you doing again? 

Right, the bat. He told you to bring it to him.

You wanted to sit down again. You were so tired.

You couldn't rest though as Dean’s voice was ringing in your ears. 

You just wanted him to shut up more than anything so you willed yourself forward. 

“Give Dean the bat, Give Dean the bat.”

You lowly repeated in a mantra like state.

Your vision was spotted with black dots swirling like the pain in your head.

GiveDeanthebatGiveDeanthebatGiveDeanthebat

You gripped the handle in both hands.

You were going to give Dean the bat.

“Y/N! Goddamn bitch move your lazy fuckin–”

C-R-A-C-K!

The slick sound ricochets throughout the entryway and reverberates in your ears.

C-R-A-C-K!

You feel warm droplets of moisture spray on you.

C-R-A-C-K!

The bat and Dean’s motionless body both simultaneously hit the floor with a thud. 

You closed your eyes.

You felt… relief? 

Like you could breathe again as the hazy veil that had shrouded your thoughts lifted and the throbbing in your head slowly receded. 

You weren’t sure how to describe what you were feeling but it was some mix between euphoria, exhilaration and… freedom?

Well, you were finally free of Dean for good now.

You couldn’t help but be amused by that thought as you wiggle your toes in the warm red liquid that pooled around them. 

A child-like giggle resounds from you. 

Was this post nut kill clarity?

Catching a glimpse of yourself in the hallway mirror you noticed blood and chunks of brain matter strewn all over Choso’s jacket. 

You wouldn’t be able to go without washing it now.

You frowned at the thought of his scent being washed away as well as you unzipped it, checking to see if the stains seeped through the lining too.

You had made such a mess. 

Quick movements out of the corner of your eyes reminded you of the fact you were not alone.

The actual Ghostface killer stood mere feet away from you, his intentions clear as he visibly heaved and extended his knife out to the side approaching you.

You sighed exhausted. 

“I’m not going to be able to blame this one on you, am I?”

Ghostface shook his head, confirming what you already knew.

☠

Choso felt his own adrenaline reach a frenzied peak.

He approached you with the animalistic stature of a predator who was sizing up another. 

You were a killer now, no longer simply his prey.

Proving as much as eyes showed no remorse for the life you had taken.

Yet given what he had walked in on just minutes ago and how distraught you were leaving the party, there was nothing for to mourn anyway.

The only emotion your shown was concern for the on coming threat of him as you backed up to keep from his advances. 

Heh, that could just as easily be him right now bleeding out on the floor.

He mused as he side stepped Dean’s body to stalk closer towards you.

Choso smirked, he was only disappointed he wasn’t the one to kill him.

Although he couldn’t deny how beautiful you looked creating your own work of art.

A bit abstract and not as precise as his own methods. 

Nevertheless, Choso continues to be amazed by how his cute and clumsy little undergrad just showed him a darkness he had only previously recognized in himself. 

Choso watches you back away until your ankles hit the bottom of the staircase.

Your feet and hands were slick with blood and you couldn’t find your footing on the steps nor support yourself on the railing so you were forced to scooch up the stairs. 

Yet given your injury even that proved difficult for you.

What would he do with you now?

“W-We’re even right? You saved me, I saved you.” 

You tried to bargain as you saw him crawl up the staircase after you.

Ghostface cocked his head to the side considering your words as he reached you and stopped your escape with a strong gloved hand digging into the flesh of your hip. 

Ghostface suspended himself over you covering your frame entirely and his metallic blade glared in the light as if it would pierce into you at the slightest whim. 

Were you going to die like this? 

Despite the danger you couldn’t help but be a bit turned on.

Especially as Ghostface’s touch reminded you so much of–

“Did you get off on killing your boyfriend Y/N?” 

Ghosface taunted, speaking for the first time.

“...or were you already this fucking wet from fantasizing about someone else, hm?”

Your eyes widened.

Your mind raced too fast to reach a succinct conclusion. But you were disappointed to hear a voice box distortion instead of the actual person's voice beneath the mask.

Your flurry of jumbled thoughts are paused when you feel the cool caresses of the flat metal side of his blade drag across the skin of your stomach leaving goosebumps in its wake. 

Your chest heaved slowly with steady intensity as your breath shuddered. 

“Are you turned on now Y/N?”

You look away from Ghostface as he taunts as you. You feel more self-conscious considering who you think is under the mask.

Just how fucked up was it you were turned on from murdering your boyfriend in cold blood to save a serial killer who might have been the guy you had just been masturbating to who was also the serial killer Ghostface and very likely about to kill you now? 

Very. 

Very fucked up was the answer.

You would have been ashamed if you could bring yourself to care.

Choso’s jerks your face back to him as the hand with the blade parts your legs. 

The lust in your eyes and your drenched cunt were all the answers he needed.

“AHH!”

You cry out as you feel the smooth metal come down to slap your clothed pussy hard and slide against your lips. 

You fight the urge to close your legs. You can’t or the sharpened edges of the knife would stab your thighs.

You bite your bottom lip to the point of drawing blood. 

This does not go unnoticed by Choso as he brings his gloved hand to your lips to soothe the bite. 

His soft leather covered thumb hooks past your lips to guide your mouth open, exploring your mouth as you openly moan. 

“Tsk, Tsk, we can't have you breaking skin and wasting more of that pretty blood that belongs to me.”

You shiver at his words dripping in possessiveness and your mouth encloses around his thumb, sucking as your tongue still squirms under its pressure.

A strained hiss comes from Choso and his eyes roam down to admire the slime trail of sticky fluid your clothed cunt dripped his blade.

Before Choso can get a peak at your pussy your hands fly down to cover yourself. 

Amused, Choso gently removes his hand from your mouth to palm your inner thigh as his thumb slick from your spit rubs circles into your flesh.

His coaxing has you spreading your legs wider as he brushes up against the hands covering your cunt.

“Show me Y/N.”

He breathed out.

You pouted and shook your head.

“Is my little slut a liar then? I recall you telling me you didn’t mind if I saw your panties.”

Your suspicions confirmed you gasped in realization but Choso could no longer control himself as his hunting knife returned to your body to trail up your stomach this time the pointy edge hovering over your soft skin.

Your stomach sucks in to create distance between the blade and your skin causing your chest to push up through your arms but it's exactly what Choso had wanted.

Whoosh

With a swift slash through the air his blade slices your bra in two and its straps fall back down your shoulders laying bare your breast and hardened nipples to the cool air.

Exposed, your hands instinctively move from you core to cover your tits.

You see Choso pull back from you to sit up fully.

No longer touching you as he opted to imprint into his memory the imagery of your wet puffed pussy glistening through the soaked and now nearly transparent thong which clung to your lower lips like second skin.

He shifted his mask as the voice box moved from over this mouth.

“Y/N” he sighed.  

Hearing his actual voice had you whining with need again.

Choso couldn’t keep his hands off you for long as he grasped hold of your thong and slipped his fingers between the fabric covering your cunt.

Choso rubbed the sticky moisture on the thin fabric between his thumb and forefingers while his knuckles bullied into your clit, causing your toes to curl.

“Mmm C-Choso.”  

Your hands went from simply covering your tits to messaging them, pulling on your nipples, as you couldn’t hold back the sounds from the pleasure you felt from him touching you.

Shit. He wanted to ruin you.

Choso’s knife returns to your throat applying soft pressure dangerously close to breaking skin.

“So tell me what you want then, Y/N?” 

Choso knew you wanted him but he wanted you to say it. 

He needed you to admit it to him outright before he could really believe it.

His knuckles had stopped teasing your clit and your body trembled as you bucked your hips into his hand and pouted.

“I want you to hurry up and decide if you’re going to fuck me or kill me before my sorority sisters get back Choso!” 

Choso smirked under the mask. 

Becoming a killer turned you into a bit of a brat.

But he knew how to handle you.

Heh, fair enough.

Driving the knife into the staircase behind your head he pulls you up, swapping positions and seating you on his thigh.

He pulls his soiled track jacket off of you and you shiver as the cold air hits your back. 

“Mm, Fuck me Choso”

You sighed longingly, arms encircling his neck.

“Mm, Should I though?”

Choso questions out loud as you melt deeper into him from his hands roaming your body.

One settles on your hip under the band of your thong and the other peels you back by your hair so Choso can see your eyes blown out fully with lust.

“Or should I make you wait like I’ve been waiting ever since you first stumbled into class in that slutty green skirt?”

You cried out and our tongue lolled out of your mouth when he yanked your panties roughly by the front, pulling the material between your pussy lips.  

Your clit was cradled in the steamy fabric and you clutched the front of his robes for stability as your eyes rolled back.

“Do you know how much you made me suffer thinking about that pretty pussy of yours? How many times I fisted my cock? How much blood I spilled to forget the way you looked in those slutty outfits?”

Choso's own desire was apparent in his raspy voice.

You shake your head and tears spill as he pulls the fabric tighter over your clit. 

“I-I w-wanted you too” you sniffled out.

“Then prove it.” Choso breathed out huskily.

“I want that needy cunt of yours to beg me by fucking herself real nice on my thigh like she did on your mattress earlier.”

You could have combusted as he admitted he had in fact been watching you from your closet but you couldn’t help but obey his orders.

The frantic way your heart pounded in your chest couldn’t trump the unbearable arousal between your legs.

You braced yourself on his shoulders as you began to rock your hips on him.

“That’s it baby.”

Choso encouraged you as you heard a loud rip and realized he had cut away your thong when you felt him snatch the material right off of you.

Your plump pussy lips parted when pressed onto his thigh and you felt the rough material of his heavy robes directly chafing against your clit. 

Surrendering to pleasure you circled your hips to grind down on him as Choso started bouncing you on his leg.

The impact of your weight forcing your clit down while his thigh pushed up into you shaking.

“S-shiiiit D-daddy!”

You cried out arching back. 

Choso could have busted in his pants completely untouched when he heard you call him daddy. 

You didn’t know how much you had him wrapped around your perfectly manicured fingers. 

He would kill every single one of those bastard frat fucks on campus on a whim if you asked him to.

He would do anything for you.

Choso's muscular thigh flexing underneath your cunt felt amazing but your hole was screaming to be filled as it gaped around the phantom thought of his cock penetrating you.

“N-Need more. S’not enough Daddy”

You beg, whining into the mouth opening of his mask.

Your breath enters through the material as your hot tongue presses against the cloth barrier hungrily. 

His own tongue responds in kind, entangling with yours through his mask and you moan deeper into the opening.

You feel so good yet are still frustrated that you were naked while you couldn’t even see a sliver of skin from him still in his full Ghostface attire.

You move to lift up his mask when he stops you, breaking the makeshift kiss.

“Now, now Y/N.”

Choso playfully chides. 

“Can you think of nothing but my dick? You’ve forgotten so quickly this is still a crime scene?”

You panted as you looked over your shoulder and spot the gruesome remains of Dean’s lifeless body and half bashed in face. Blood stained the foyer rug and pieces of tissue splattered on curtains, walls and even the fake plants.  

Right.

You still had no idea what you were going to do about that situation but Dean was already dead. He wasn’t going anywhere.

Honestly you felt as if you might die as well if you couldn’t get Choso’s dick inside of you soon.

Your hips never stopped grinding down on his thigh as you returned your attention to him.

You knew if Choso couldn’t even kiss you, he couldn’t fuck you either as those same rules applied to both potential sources of DNA. 

“S’fine.” You pout.

“I-I had your jacket, y-your DNA could c-come from that.”

Your injured hand came to cup the slide of his masked face and your other rubbed the outline of cock over his jeans, feeling the precum soil through them despite the thickness of the fabric. 

Blood from your hand smeared onto the pristine white Ghostface mask as you pulled your foreheads to touch.

“I’ll admit Dean was right, w-we w-were sleeping together...”

Choso chuckled.

“..and get me expelled for sleeping with a student on top of a motive to connect me to your victim?” 

He gave your ass harsh smack. 

Your cheeks clenched and your panting grew more ragged as you chased your high against him. 

“Y/N you gotta think with that sexy little head of yours not that needy little cunt if you really want me to fuck you. I know you’re smart. This should be easy for you.”

You groaned. 

Thinking was virtually impossible right now. 

You wanted to give up and resort to begging again but Choso calling you smart (something your recently deceased ex never did) and now rubbing your thighs encouragingly, had made you so happy you wanted to make him more proud of you. 

You reluctantly stopped your hips, ignoring the fiery ache shooting through in your cunt but you wanted to cum from his cock not his thigh.

You closed your eyes and exhaled a shaky breath.

Focus Y/N, you willed yourself.

Focusing became harder to do though when Choso became impatient and had nuzzled his masked face into your chest.

His mouth latched to your nipple through the black cloth, swirling his tongue and grazing his teeth against your bud causing it to swell.

“Oh!” you smiled sweetly down at him and his abs tightened as he held you closer to him.

“We get rid of the body! Clean up and make sure there's no crime scene to be found!”

“That’s correct,” Choso praised you as if you answered a question in class correctly.

 “Now, most importantly, how exactly will we get rid of the body, Y/N?”

“We…w-we..”

Your fingertips grazed your lips and you bit a nail as you pensively considered your options. 

You looked like you were thinking so hard on this.

So fucking cute.

“Come on baby, tell me.”

Choso was the one begging you now while he lifted your hips just enough to pull up his robes and position you to straddle his dick straining against his jeans. 

You were so close to the answer. He knew it would come to you and he wanted to be inside of you as soon as you got it.

You clasped your hands together and gave him one of your pageant winning smiles he grew to love. 

“We make a kill room!”

“Smart girl” Choso said as he lifted his mask and his lips came crashing down on yours.

☠

“Shit-Shit-Shit!” 

You cried as you lower yourself onto Choso’s cock. 

You had begged and pleaded him for this but Choso was so much bigger and longer than you expected. 

You never had a problem taking dick before but not only was Choso huge he had 3 rows of top and frenum ladder ball piercings on his long veiny cock that dragged against your gspot when you tried to force him inside you.

You still had about an inch to go and his fat cockhead was already pressing against your cervix.

“Fuck baby you really been keeping all this good pussy from me?”

Choso spread your cheeks to assist you down on his enlarged length but your walls vice gripped his cock preventing him from guiding you down further.

Choso grunted, he was going to cum fast if you didn’t ease up.

Pulling you back, he captured your lips again devouring them as he violently pushed his tongue into your mouth in a sloppy kiss, dominating you completely. 

A tremor shot through your cunt as your hips jerked and your legs quivered.

“My slutty girl is so sensitive she came from just kissing?”

Choso teased knowingly pulling back to allow you air and lapping at the drool from the corners of your mouth.

It wasn’t just a kiss. 

Without the hindrance of a mask Choso’s kisses felt like he was eating you alive and set your body ablaze.

Your orgasm came with enough intensity to loosen your walls allowing you to finally sink down to the base. However your legs were still vibrating and unable to support you riding him.

You fell forward into the crook of his neck. 

“C-can’t D-daddy” you babbled into his neck drooling.

Choso wanted to tease you more. He wanted to goad and praise you enough so you would ride him in earnest until your perfect pretty face sobbed for him to fuck you but time was of the essence now.

You both probably had a good hour and a half left before the cops broke up the party and members of your sorority started heading back. 

He needed to finish you quickly and he silently promised to take his time with you later.

Rising up, Choso positioned his arms under your thighs to keep you seated on his cock as he walked up the few steps to reach the landing in the middle of the staircase. 

Placing your back carefully against the wall he glides his hands over your sweat and blood laden skin to lift your legs onto his shoulders. His grip settles onto the fat of your ass and he marvels at how his fingers sink into them.

Choso allows you time to get adjusted to the new position as he now held you in a standing mating press.

“Ready?”

You nod and Choso takes that as his greenlight to rigorously fuck you into the wall with such vigor you felt it quaking behind you.

There was no possible way you could have ever been ready for that though and your hands dive into his hair tugging at the roots under his man buns as if you intended to scalp him. 

Your reactions fuel his cruel thrusts as Choso greedily drinks your guttural screams into his mouth. 

They sound more heavenly than any he had heard before even from his own victims.

Slamming you down on his cock, Choso manhandled you like you weighed nothing to him.  

His piercings and engorged veins continue to scrape the walls of your core with every stroke as you gush around him soaking his robes.

Choso wanted more of you.

He didn’t think he would ever get enough.

You felt so fucking good he could fuck you like this for hours and he cursed the dwindling time he had before he needed to remove himself from the warm comfort of your mushy cunt.

The hallway echoed with sounds of his hips sadistically ramming your body further into the wall as well as the sloshy vulgar noises his cock tore from your tight creamy cunt.

“S-so c-lose Cho–” 

Were the only words you could croak out as your cries become lodged in your throat.

The pleasure you received being folded between Choso and the wall had you salivating like crazy. Drool was pooling in your mouth faster than it could dribble out down the sides. 

You locked eyes with him. 

The wild glint in them was so primordially feral you can’t believe you ever mistook the restraint he tried to maintain around you for shyness. 

Frankly, there was nothing timid about him. 

The cold confidence of a true killer radiated off of him and into your core as each of his thrusts felt like they were stabbing into your womb.

Your whines turned into horse croaks as you desperately gasped for air.

Like a killer he showed you no mercy as his long cock shifted your guts up and into your lungs.

Choso was quite literally murdering your cunt.

“Yeah Y/N? Is my girl gonna cum all pretty like on this dick?” 

Too cockdrunk to reply, your pussy readily spoke up for you as your walls clenched and spasmed. White stars flood your vision as your body vibrates against him as you cum hard, gurgling his name.

Choso’s hips stuttered and his moans increased as he fucked you through your orgasm and chased his own. 

He knew better than to cum inside you, he wasn’t wearing a condom and didn’t even know if you were on birth control. 

But your cunt was like a drug to him so Choso resigned himself to cleaning you up after as he gave one last thrust, injecting you with his hot seed that scorched your insides and sent you spasming all over again.

It took a few minutes for Choso to catch his breath but he gently released your legs down to touch the floor as he pulled out of you.

You groaned immediately at the loss after being so full as you still tried to regain your own steady breaths.

Not missing a beat, Choso moved with reverence as if he was worshiping your form from the kisses he peppered down your chest and belly.

“Eyes on me baby,”

Choso ordered, glancing up at you. 

You nodded your breath hitching once he reached below your belly button and he threw one of your legs over his shoulder again.

He shamelessly breathed in the scent of sex wafting off your pussy.

The musky mixture of his cum and your juices combined with sweat and blood entered his nostrils and sent his eyes rolling back into his skull.

You shuddered. 

You wanted to feel his mouth on you more than anything but you knew you couldn’t both remain like this in the open hallway for much longer.

Seemingly forgetting all concerns of time, Choso’s thumbs lightly ghost over your battered pussy lips as he slowly peeled back the slippery folds.

His chest swoll with pride seeing how much of his cum you had taken inside of you. 

Choso's tongue salaciously darted out to catch the drippings that seeped out of your messy little cunt.

Despite your concerns, you can’t resist bucking up towards his face as he brought your hips off the wall towards him. 

“Be patient princess, let me enjoy this.”

Choso open handedly spanks your pussy, landing a direct hit on your clit which has you shaking as your squirt spritz onto his face.

His thick tongue rolls out of his mouth like a man starved licking his lips at the feast before him

“Goddamn, I already love her so much”

He cooed into your cunt while looking up at you with puppy dog eyes.

“Go out with me, yeah Y/N? I’ll treat her right. Just let me have a taste of her everyday.”

You almost came on his face again from the utter display of depravity he was showing you, not missing the fact he was so pussy drunk he was technically asking your cunt to be his girlfriend instead of you. 

To be fair you were both way past the point where he needed to ask you out anyway as he was an accomplice to your homicide and soon-to-be cover up.

“Okay Choso, I’ll be your girlfriend,”

You grinned at him.

Choso thanked you by gently placing a kiss on your clit before nose-diving into your folds like a mad man between your legs.

Seeing how sensitive you are it wasn't long before he had you thrashing on his lips from the nasty way he heartily ate your cunt out.

The suckling, bubbling and squeaking sounds of him inhaling your pussy nearly had you at your peak again.

Yet you were snapped out of your pleasure when you heard the grandfather clock in the hall ring signaling it was midnight. 

Fuck what if the party got broken up earlier than expected?

“W-we don’t have time for this Choso.” You plead anxiously as you pry his head out of from between your legs.

The sounds of the clock chiming and the sight of Dean’s body still laying in the entryway made you more nervous with every passing minute it remained there.

His eyes narrowed dangerously on you as he nuzzled his nose back into your cunt hooking it under your clitoral hood.

“Oh? My sweet girl gets one kill and thinks she knows better than me what we have time for?”

His expression dares you to pull him away again as he drags the flat of his tongue lazily over your clit.

“Please Choso…”

Choso relents as he feels you tense up more, he wouldn't be able to enjoy himself unless you were.

“You trust me right Y/N?” 

“Yes”

You breathe out as his fingers play with your puffed pussy lips.

“Do you have the key to the basement?”  

You nod.

“And you know exactly where the supply closet is, baby?” 

You nod again.

“Perfect. This won't take long at all then.”

Choso assures you as his confident words calm your worries.

“So now just relax princess and let me take care of you. This isn’t my first clean up job babe…”

You weren’t sure if Choso was talking about your cunt or the dead body, but you didn’t doubt he was experienced in both.

“Give me 15 minutes to see how many times I can make you squirt on my tongue. Then we can finally make that dexter kill room you like so much, yeah?” 

You nodded once more and Choso wasted no time drowning his face back into your cunt.

You sighed contently.

He was already the best boyfriend you ever had. 

© ʙʟᴋᴋɪᴢᴢᴀᴛ 2023. ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ. ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ, ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴏʀ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇꜱ ꜰɪᴄꜱ, ᴅʀᴀʙʙʟᴇꜱ, & ɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ. ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀʟʟ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʙʏ ᴍᴇ ᴜɴʟᴇꜱꜱ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀᴡɪꜱᴇ ꜱᴛᴀᴛᴇᴅ. ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ

A/N: How was that? Did I do our emo kang justice? Lmk! (y'all better lmk cause y'all busted my balls for days over this lmfaoooo)

Also ding dong Dean is DEAD thank fuck. Whew I made that man as horrible as possible so you could kill him. Tbh, I would kill a nigga just for pouring Milwakees in my hair alone, that shit smells and tastes like cat piss lol.

Also here if y'all wanna see a cute lil pixivi I made of me bimbo!reader x Ghostface!Choso.

You know the original idea for this was actually based on a fic I was writing where Choso, Yuji and Sukuna (all brothers) all transfer to your university and bimbo!reader (no bf this time) clearly likes Choso but his oblivious emo ass has no idea and keeps being a dick to you cause he thinks you are just making fun of him. LOL! I may in the future still end up writing a version for that since this ended up going in a completely different direction with Ghostface thrown into the mix.

Y'all this fic was way too fuckin long. I know theres likely errors/redundancies still so I will comb through it later and I may edit/reword somethings too but general content will stay the same. Tbh, what took so long is the last scene cause I decided I cannot write a smut fic with Choso where that man isn't acting completely deranged and unhinged over the taste of pussy. He's munch, he can't help it.

Reblog for Ghostface!Choso to be your personal munch, but likes and comments are appreciated all the same!

Next up on Kizzatober, Werewolf!Toji from Thrilling Ghouls! (PWP)

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[bunicate]

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ 𐙚 ₊˚ BOUNDED TO. belphie x fem reader

warnings ꒱ྀི incest. mild dub-con. blowjob. minor hairpulling. jealousy. sis-con belphie. repost / 18+

“luci says you’re not supposed to come in my room anymore.”

you kept your position on the bed. you lay on your slightly exposed belly with your back facing the door. you didn’t see the point in directing your gaze behind you when you were expecting this very moment to happen.

it’s been a few days since your last exchange, and it was only a matter of time before he’d seek you out once more. still, you maintained your weak show of defiance.

belphie chuckles dryly, amused at your attempt.

"well, for one, luci isn’t even here," he sneers.

he recoils at the nickname, annoyed at how sweetly it rolls off your tongue while he spits it out of his. jealousy hangs off the fringes at the mention of his elder brother, and it’s only quelled when he remembers his access to you. it dampens his anger, though only by a bit.

“and why am i not allowed here? did you tell him all the dirty things i did to you?”

you tense up at the words he utters, saturated with taunt, and your face begins to warm.

he watches as you become rigid, knowing that memories from just a mere few nights ago were running around in your head, and he took that as his invitation to keep going.

“did you tell him how i sucked your fat little cunt until you squirted?”

and incoming—you chuck a pillow at him with your demonic strength hoping that it would somehow drive a hole through his head for being so crude.

“shut up! you said you wouldn’t make fun of me for it."

belphie smirks as he catches the pillow with ease and he tucks it under his arm.

regret settles in the pit of your stomach, but more importantly, embarrassment.

you recall that night in such vivid detail. he parted your folds, in awe at the puffy thickness. he sucked at your chubby mound, flicking his tongue against your lips until he delved in deeper, warming your hole with his mouth. he used such sensual descriptors, calling your cunt succulent and sweet until your cream coated not only his tongue but the entire lower half of his face.

you feel ashamed that even recalling the event begins to arouse you. your thighs squish together without your permission, and you hope it snuffs out the remaining desire.

"it's nothing to be embarrassed about. it was sexy—cute even.”

belphie teases, and you audibly groan.

he was different from beel in many ways, and you questioned how he could be the twin of such a sweet and friendly glutton until you realized the extent of belphie's insatiability.

he would never admit it, but he inexplicably craved you. his utter desire to pull you apart and put you back together for his own pleasure. he wanted you all to himself, which struck you as odd.

he’s mean; he teases you, pulls your hair, calls you names, and then, when you’re on precipice of exploding, suddenly you’re his ‘darling little sister.’ he'd whisper praise against your lips, making you forget why you were mad in the first place. he’s mastered riling you up and talking you back down, but it was exhausting—he's exhausting.

you settle on ignoring him, preferring to kick your feet back and forth on the bed while you busied yourself with whatever had your attention.

he lowers his head to peek underneath your oversized shirt and perversely looks between your bare thighs before locking the door behind him.

he walks towards your relaxed frame, remaining a good distance away but close enough to peer over and glance at what had you so occupied.

“are you mad at me?” he questions, tossing the pillow to the side.

“when am i not?”

you shrug off his pathetic attempt to ease your anger, as you are used to his patterns by now. you hum the measly tune playing and tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, refusing to look at him. “what do you want, belphie?”

“who says i want anything? can’t a big brother hang out with his little sister?”

you scoff.

“nice try, but we don't 'hang out' and no, co-napping doesn't count.” you lock your phone and put it on the nightstand.

“just tell me what you want.”

his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek.

“is that any way to talk to your big brother?”

he reels back some of his attitude hoping it comes across as playful. he didn’t want you to be too upset because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to calm you back down. thankfully, you didn’t seem angry—just bothered, and somehow belphie hated that more.

“you’re only older than me by like a month and that’s not anything to brag about.”

he sucked his teeth. always eager to remind him that, while he was older, it was just barely –as if he cared.

“doesn’t matter. i’m still your big brother.”

there’s a brief moment of silence before you sigh. “whatever you say.”

you're appeasing him; it's like you didn’t actually believe it yourself. his annoyance spiked, and you enjoyed it. it was nice to give him a taste of his own medicine for a change, and see him so worked up , especially over something so trivial.

“look at me when i’m talking to you.”

you choose to play coy and ignore his demand until you're suddenly startled.

the bed abruptly dips as he settles on top of you.

you finally turn around to protest, but he barely gives you a chance. your bewildered eyes meets his firm gaze. his mouth connects to the spot just under your ear, his breath fans your skin, and a shock travels down your spine, resting in your lower back.

his hands weaves around you and digs into the sheets, trapping you against the bed.

“don’t be like that.” his voice is much lower and more inviting, but still authoritative.

he takes his other hand to lift up your shirt to your surprise. he admires the cute and skimpy pajamas and how the shape of your slit was visible as you futilely kicked at him.

embarrassed, you reach to pull your shirt down.

“b-belphie! stop !” you shriek.

he snickers at your expression. his lean and languid body drapes over you as he burrows into you. his nose and lips caress your skin, inciting goosebumps. it prods you lightly, making you shift from being abashed to giggly.

you can’t stop the laugh from bubbling up inside; you bite your lips to muffle them, but when he licks at your neck, you can no longer hide it.

“that tickles,”

“yeah?”

the skin around your eyes wrinkle and your body twitches from his teasing.

“if that’s the case . . .”

he moves too quickly for you to process. his knees settle on either side of your hips, his chest to your back, while his hands pin your wrists down. you’re so used to seeing belphie so idle that his agility catches you by surprise.

his mouth latches on the back of your neck and begins to plant spit-covered hickeys on your skin.

“n’more marks . . .” you whine, but he doesn’t listen. he hoped lucifer would see them.

if there was one thing he hated more than lucifer, it was the relationship you had with him.

you were different around each other. the lucifer he knows is cold and calculating, except when he speaks to you. It’s gentle, reassuring, and sickeningly tender—it's disgusting. he babies you, and you lapped up his affection like a puppy.

belphie supposes he shouldn’t be surprised. you’re the youngest and the only girl—the only sister—and you’re lucifer’s favorite. you're docile and soft-spoken around him and lucifer treated you like you were as fragile as a quaint flowers. he’s always careful— worried that if he were too rough, he’d pluck you from the ground and you’d wilt.

you were a demon; you could withstand much more, but the avatar of pride didn't care.

he didn't care that you were spoiled, bratty, and foul-mouthed, and maybe lucifer was blind to it. he couldn’t realize that about his precious sister when he was too busy fucking her.

dinners were especially tortuous. he wonders if you can feel him staring daggers at you when you obediently take your seat next to lucifer and proceed to give him all of your attention.

he hates how you play with your hair and cross and uncross your legs, like you’re nervous. what could you possibly be talking about with him that turns you into a fidgeting mess?

why should he even care? he doesn't care; actually, it didn't matter. you can pretend all you want; he knows what type of girl you are and the naughty things you likes

belphie's teeth scrape and lightly prick your skin to prove a point —it’s not deep enough to bleed but just enough to bruise and hear your mewl. he’s so close that his lashes gently feather your cheek. the smell of your hair and faint perfume lingering cause belphie to become feverish. it annoyed him to see how his body reacted to yours.

his cock pulsates against his pants, and he presses into your behind. you’re soft and pretty and sweet enough to taint.

“I need you to do something for me, baby sis.”

he struggles to ask. he didn't want what you believed to be about him to be true. he's only around you when he needs something, but he swears you are a drug. he can’t help the tent in his pants and how aroused he gets when you’re angry and pissed off at him.

you twist your neck as much as he’d allow to look at the demon behind you.

“w-what?” you stutter, too focused on the way his hips grind against your ass.

your shirt rides up, but this time from his movement. you can feel his eyes burning on the skin of your butt, and you couldn’t pull the fabric back down to hide.

"you know what i want.”

belphie leaves a trail of kisses on your body. tugging down your collar, he nibbles on your shoulder.

“I need your pretty little mouth,” he whispers right by the shell of your ear. his nose digs into you, tracing vertical lines while he inhales your scent. “i want to feel it around my cock.”

you tutted.

"we can’t anymore. we’ll get in trouble.” you wiggle against him, attempting to shut your legs to ease the throb in your lower region.

“we won’t.” he promises. “I just need to cum in my little sister’s throat.” he eyes the length of your neck, eyes hazy like he was imagining it. “i need to fuck it.��

you blush profusely at the demand. “nuh-uh” was your defiant reply.

in response, belphie unpins one of your wrists and instead tangles his fingers in your hair to pull it. your head is thrown back from the force, and you cry out. “hurts..”

yeah, of course it does. he wonders how angry lucifer would be if he saw how he roughhoused you.

your plump lips are slightly parted, and your eyes are glossy. he looks between the two of them.

with an open mouth, his lips find yours to press a sloppy wet kiss. he couldn’t resist you, and he wouldn’t even try to.

“we won’t get in trouble as long as you don’t tell anyone, okay?”

he knew someone would notice the number he did on your nape, but you didn’t need to fret about that, at least not now. he loosens his grip on your strands while his hips still move at a slow pace, cock-humping your backside for his gratification and to encourage you.

“b-but—”

“but nothing. you’re going to suck me off because i’m your big brother and you love me, right?" the exalting feelings you possess for him can’t be questioned, but you remain hesitant. you know it’s wrong, and yet you nod anyway.

“ i love you so much, belphie.”

he smiles at your obedience. you’re always more likely to listen when your cunt is weeping for him. he didn’t have to see it to know that you’re soaked.

“good.” he pats the side of your cheek.

you study him with glossy and affectionate eyes. your lips are pursed and trembling like you want another kiss. he’s learned how to read your silent pleas, and so he grants you another peck.

“love you.” you say it again, but with the innocence that belphie craves. you hope he melts at the sound of your voice, but he doesn’t. he crumbles.

“love you too. i love you so fucking much, you have no idea,” he mumbles it against your soft lips, his orbs staring deep into yours with such desire and fondness. he kisses you once more and then twice, rubbing your chin softly.

“my perfect little sister isn’t that right? you're going to do what your big brother says.”

and his mouth is hot against yours. his tongue, used to such venom, felt sweet for a change and it makes you wet.

your back arches as he continues to kiss you. his tongue caresses the roof of your mouth; it's messy and audible, and you croon at the sensation. you felt sensitive; even your nipples brushing against the cotton of your shirt were enough to draw out tiny squeaks.

“big brother...” you mewl it against his mouth, and belphie fucking groans.

“f-fuck.” he’s zipping down his pants.

“i'm so fucked up. you have no idea how fucking hard that makes me.”

he spanks you on your ass and removes his body from on top of you. he lays on his back, crossing his arms behind his head to rest on your pillows.

he’s relieved when your dainty hands pull down his pants and his cock springs free. slender and long, tilting slightly with thin veins on the sides, a rosy pink tip coated in a thin layer of pearlescent white.

your mouth puckers and sucks on his leaky slit for a few seconds before you bury him in your throat. the friction is familiar, and the burn forces you to produce more spit. your drooling mouth deepthroats him, suctioning around his shaft with your tongue flicking on any vein it comes across.

you keep going even as his cock kisses the back of your throat. when he hears you gag, his hand rests on your head to keep you still.

“I want to feel you choke, baby. cmon suck it.”

bucking into the vice that was your mouth, your hair fans out around his thighs. belphie thinks to tug on it when he wants to fuck your face even harder.

“gonna empty my cum in my little sister’s throat,” he groans gutturally just as soon as your lips touch his coarse hairs. your tears threaten to spill.

he calls out to you, continuing to hump your warm mouth.

“call me big brother again.”

you look up at him with that precious, messy cock-sucking face as you swallow around him.

you try to straighten your back , attempting to remove his length from the slick opening of your throat, but the firm hand on your head keeps you still.

“say it.”

you feel a wave of anxiety. you try to keep the drooling from overwhelming you, but it doesn’t stop. you swallowed around him reactively, aware of how much he was stuffing and stretching your mouth. you’re careful to prevent yourself from choking as you struggle to speak, but you gag a few more times.

“b-bwig b-bwother.”

filthy ribbons of spit and cum drip for your mouth ruining your clothes and sticking to your chest.

your tiny mouth struggles to take him. it’s far from perfect, it’s sloppy and messy, but belphie thinks you never looked more beautiful.

#૮꒰ ๑´ତ `๑ ꒱ྀིა #kinda abrupt ending oopsie :< #tw:incest #belphie x reader smut #belphie x reader #belphegor x reader #belphegor x reader smut #obey me smut #obey me #obey me x reader #female reader

[secretwritingspot]

Sleepless Nights - Rough Ending

Pairing: OPLA Sanji x Reader

Rating/Content Warnings: R/X/18+, whatever you wanna call it this is FILTH. Reader is stated a woman in this (AFAB + words like "women" and "girl" used) so keep that in mind if it messes with dysphoria at all for you, and feminine descriptors are used. Maybe some somnophilia if you squint (since the whole premise is being fucked to sleep lmfao) but other than that it's pretty straightforward rough smut. Oh and unprotected sex. Wrap it before you tap it, freaks <3

Summary: the "rough" ending to Sleepless Nights, Sanji puts the reader to sleep...less gently.

Disclaimer(s): ...a little soft OKAY HEAR ME OUT- sex-wise, absolutely rough and filthy. As promised. However this is Sanji we're talking about, inventor of romance and only man ever. So there are a few soft bits (esp. at the end) but trust me, it's still plenty rough. You'll see.

"...I'll put you to sleep, love, on one condition," He coos, his voice a mix of sympathy and amusement as he strokes your cheek with a smirk.

"Anything."

You don't even think before speaking, desperate to sleep, to be touched, to be able to think clearly again once the fog of arousal and exhaustion clears from your mind.

And, well...hearing you say that to him in that breathy, desperate sort of voice- it does things to him.

He chuckles and grabs your chin lightly, touch firm despite its gentleness, and tilts your head up to look at him, leaning closer to study your face. He loves that you're this vulnerable in the moment. How he's got a clear advantage. His eyes sparkle as he leans in close to you, voice low and demanding.

"I'm in charge. If I tell you to jump, you ask how high. Got it?"

Your face flushes a brilliant pink at his words and your lips part softly in surprise, eyes widening a fraction as you look at him. He really- he wants- him? Despite your embarrassment, something about his gaze demands eye contact, and you can't make yourself look away. You swallow thickly, searching his face for any sign of joking and finding none. Slightly dazed, you nod your head.

His smirk only grows at the response as he seems to relish this moment. The way it feels when you're so vulnerable and trusting, the way your pretty eyes meet his, it's perfect.

He's going to enjoy this.

He leans forward until he's only inches from your face, his breath hot on your skin as he speaks with a whisper.

"Good. Be a good girl and get on the counter. Now."

Your skin only flushes further as you nod, not really able to do anything other than agree. Sanji is usually so...Sanji - doting, gentle, a bit of a pushover - but this, this is not that. This Sanji is practiced and precise, put together, in charge. This Sanji has no reservations about giving you what you want, fucking you so hard you pass out.

The unexpected sternness of it flicks a sort of switch in your brain and you obey instinctively, hopping up onto the kitchen counter behind you and looking to Sanji with wide eyes and a warm flush, as if waiting for him to tell you what to do next.

He watches you, grinning as you willingly hop up onto the counter. You look so soft and adorable. So innocent. He'll fix that.

"Spread your legs." He commands, leaning in close and taking a deep breath, the scent of your skin spreading throughout his every pore. His tone is low and husky, voice taking on a slightly more intimidating timbre. "Keep your arms by your sides," He instructs, slowly running his hand along your side and down to your hip, where it takes a firm grip.

You gasp softly when he doesn't even wait for you to comply, instead gripping your thighs firmly and pushing them open himself so he can stand between your legs. His tone leaves no room for debate and you find that your hands stay at your sides instinctively, firmly planted on the counter. He really didn't think you'd be the type to follow directions, but it's a pleasant surprise. The new position is better for access to you in every sense, but it also provides him with a better view. With your legs spread like that he can see your panties- soft, white lace. He nearly groans at the sight, because of course the most innocent fucking person on board would wear lace, of course you would.

He's never been happier about a cliche in his life.

He lets his eyes wander with a smirk, the blatant heat of his gaze making you flush in a mix of embarrassment and lust. He can't help but admire you, his grin growing a little wider and his eyes narrowing as he takes in the sight.

"So innocent," He mutters teasingly, "and yet..."

Your breath hitches sharply when he leans forward and traces two of his fingers over the moist patch of your panties teasingly, amused at how wet you already are. You can't do much else but grip the edge of the counter tightly, knuckles white as you try to keep your hands at your sides and to yourself like he instructed.

He won't deny that he finds your struggle entertaining, trailing his fingers all the way up your body from your panties, up between your breasts, over your throat, and eventually to your face, grabbing your jaw firmly.

His touch on your face is unexpectedly harsh, though you can tell it's calculated just enough to not hurt you, and he tilts your head back towards him slowly, his other replacing the first to tease you over your panties.

"Such a cute little thing you are..." He whispers, leaning in close so you can feel the heat of his breath on your face as he speaks.

"Open." He commands lowly, tightening his grip on your jaw just just enough to make a point.

Your eyes widen in surprise but you obey, opening your mouth. He wastes no time before harshly pushing two of his fingers past your lips, pressing down on your tongue in little circles. He's a gentleman, after all- he's not going to try to open you up without something to lubricate his fingers better.

He grins as you open, and he can't help but admire at your willingness to trust. You're truly just a good girl beneath that innocent exterior. Your mouth feels so soft and inviting. Your face shows such innocence even now, but your eyes betray you as he slides his fingers into your mouth, and he can see the raw lust in your eyes. He can't help but smirk at you, how perfect you look like this, all doe-eyed and obedient. He's going to enjoy this, his words a pleased hiss.

"God, just like that, sweetheart. Look at you, so eager to drool all over my fingers. Christ, you're perfect."

You whine at the vulgar words, flushing a pretty pink that extends to your ears. The sound is muffled but he can feel your throat vibrate around his fingers and good god, that's hot.

There's no warning before he pushes you flat onto your back until it's flush with the counter, the movement firm and quick and almost harsh if it weren't for the hand he places behind your head protectively to keep you from hitting the counter too hard.

"Good girl. So, so good. Stay right there, sweetheart," He murmurs softly, his lips close to your ear as he speaks in a soft, gentle voice.

It's a dizzying contrast from his actions.

As soon as you're laid out on the counter, flat on your back with your legs spread, Sanji's grin grows wider. His other hand, the one that was holding your head in place, moves down towards your chest.

You gasp in surprise when he pushes you down and immediately starts to grasp at your tits, so desperate he doesn't even take your shirt off, groping you through the fabric. His other hand, the one with his fingers still in your mouth, pulls out to shove your panties out of the way frantically and run his now wet fingers up your slit. The sudden feeling makes you gasp and you grasp tightly at his shoulder.

He can't help but groan softly at the feeling, clearly enjoying the sensation of your nails pressing into his shoulders, the suit stopping them from digging in too much.

"Christ, the wetness, sweetheart. You're so wet," he whispers, moving his hand up your shirt to start pulling it up, his other hand still on your neck to keep you pinned down.

As if the filthy words weren't enough on their own, he's purring them directly into your ear, nipping at the lobe and your neck as if he can't help himself, a hidden sort of desperation you're sure matches yours, even if he won't show it.

"Sanji-"

You can't do much else but whine, face going pink as your eyes squeeze shut. Your breath hitches in your throat and his teeth are everywhere- finding your ear, your neck, your jaw while his other hand doesn't hesitate before shoving two of his fingers into you. He grips your neck just a little bit tighter to keep you in place as he starts to whisper into your ear again, his tone low and hushed.

"Does it feel good, love?" He asks in a quiet growl, his tone low and predatory. He keeps moving his hand along your body, the other setting a harsh pace of thrusting into you, no buildup as he hammers his fingers insistently into your sweet spot.

"Tell me how it feels."

"Perfe- ah- perfect, Sanji, it's-"

You ramble in response, words interrupted by gasps as you cling to his shoulder, fists clenching and unclenching on repeat as you try to process all the sensations he's forcing out of you.

"Feels- feels s' good-"

"Is that right, sweetheart? You like the way this feels?" He asks, his voice now low, a harsh whisper, tone dripping with lust as his fingers thrust insistently into you. He leans down and nips at your neck again, harder this time, before whispering into your ear again. "Christ, you're a loud one, aren't you? I have other tricks up my sleeve, too. Would you like to see them?"

You can't do much else but nod with a whimper, eyes squeezed shut as you cling to him. Everything feels intense and heady and your lower belly feels like it's on fire. Ordinarily you would flush pink with embarrassment when he mentions being loud, but you're too overwhelmed to focus on it much right now.

With his wandering hand, he grabs your chin and tilts your head back to look at him, expression wild and predatory as he leans closer.

"Good girl. Then stay with me, sweetheart. Until I'm done with you."

You nod your head wordlessly as he pulls his fingers out of you to unbuckle his belt, chuckling darkly in amusement at the way the loss makes you whine, clinging to his shirt needily.

That's another thing about this he likes, he's decided- there's a strange power in having you like this, completely bare and exposed save for a thin t-shirt while he's fully clothed, suit still pristine.

"Aww, what's the matter, sweetheart? Did you not want me to pull out?"

He coos, his smirk growing wider as you cling to him, his fingers running softly along your neck once again. "So cute. I guess that's my fault. Don't worry love, I'll fill you back up real soon."

"Please-"

Your voice is somewhere between a whine and a sob at this point, squeezing your eyes shut. Your breath comes in rushed gasps and your words aren't much better, quick and desperate.

"Sanji please, I need you to- please-"

He grins when you beg, finding it so adorable. You're such a sweetheart, and when a woman like you ask so nicely it's hard to say no. Besides, he's been eager for this moment since the first second he laid eyes on you.

"What do you need, sweet thing? Use your words."

You don't even hesitate this time, tripping over your words immediately. You need this, need him, need sleep, need something you can't even place anymore until all you know is that you need.

"Fuck me, Sanji, please just- please."

You beg, words an almost incoherent mumble. You're too far gone to care that you're begging, that it's needy, that you sound pathetic right now. You just need him to get on with it, give you what you want. And god, is he more than happy to, shoving his trousers down past his thighs as quickly as he can physically manage.

"God, you're such a sweetheart." He groans in response, his grip on your chin tightening as his eyes roll back at the words, and he leans in close to press his lips against yours, his free hand still holding you down as he kisses you.

It's rough and desperate and messy, all teeth and lips and tongue, biting and nipping and sucking like he's curious, shoving his tongue into your mouth like he's exploring- all of it with a sort of feverish fervor that betrays that you're not the only needy one here.

"I'm going to destroy you..." He promises as he pulls away, biting at your bottom lip one last time as he lines up and pushes himself into you.

"Ah-!"

It's one, fluid moment- no pauses to adjust, no time, no slow prep or sweet words like you'd expect from someone like Sanji. It steals the breath from your lungs and cuts you off with a strangled gasp, the sudden stretch making you whimper as you cling to him, nails digging into his forearms through the fabric of his suit as you desperately try to ground yourself.

"God yes, love, you're so tight, and those noises..."

He groans into your lips, fingers stroking along your neck gently as he speaks, despite the power behind his touch still holding you down. He looks down at you lovingly as he leans in to peck your lips softly, a small moment of the gentleness you're accustomed to from him.

"You're amazing, sweetheart. Beautiful. You're mine. You know that, right?"

You nod your head emphatically as even his sweet words aren't interrupting the rough pace that he fucks into you, still mumbling praises and mindless babbling pleasure as his cock bullies your insides.

"Yo-urs, yours, always yours, promise-"

You gasp when his hand suddenly goes to push you back down until you're lying flat on the counter, giving him a better angle to pull out experimentally before pistoning his hips back into you, hard.

"That's a good girl. You're mine, angel. Completely. Do you understand? I own you." He murmurs softly, his grip tightening slightly on your neck.

You just nod, seeing stars from the angle, the immediate speed and harshness to his pace- this is the last thing you'd ever expect from him, but it's exactly what you need, you need him to keep going until your brain leaks out from your ears and you finally, finally pass out and get the rest you need.

He slows his movements to a halt with a sudden look of concern on his face, both hands moving to cup your cheeks and wipe away the wetness there - when had you started crying?

"Hey hey hey, love, are you okay? I need you to stay with me, sweetheart. I need you to stay conscious for me."

He starts to worry that he's doing too much, pushing you too far. He needs to make sure you're still coherent enough after this to tell him what you're thinking.

Needs to know you're still okay.

Still, as well-intentioned as his actions are, they're the opposite of helpful. You whine pitifully when he slows down, new tears of desperation starting to prick at the corners of your eyes.

He's so damn thoughtful, and it's perfect, and you love that he stops to ask, but right now it's so frustrating you just want to scream.

"No- nonono please, Sanji please, please keep going, 'm okay, please-"

Your words are a rambling whine, begging as you blink your eyes back open to look up at him, big and pleading as you try to make him understand how desperate you are for this.

"Wan' you to knock me out, Sanji, please. Put me to sleep."

As soon as he sees the fresh tears his expression softens, pouting at you with adoring concern and stroking your cheeks softly with the pads of his thumbs.

"You're sure?" He asks gently, voice intentionally soft and whisper-quiet. "Are you completely sure that's what you want, sweet thing? I'd hate to hurt you more than you can take."

In the small moment of respite, you feel a soft smile blossom on your face at his words.

Just the phrasing of it - "more than you can take" - it's an acknowledgement. An acknowledgement that even like this, he knows how strong you are. Knows that, to an extent, you can take being hurt. Maybe not all he could give you, maybe not all the time, but the acknowledgement of your toughness is there and it makes something warm flutter in your chest.

"I can take a lot more than you'd think," you reassure him eventually, a soft whisper that's all the answer Sanji needs.

Though the words aren't exact, the meaning is obvious- 'I can take it'. You truly want him to fuck you unconscious, make sure you sleep soundly for at least the next 12 hours.

The trust in it makes his heart swell and his lips pull back into a smile, starting to understand what it is you so desperately want. He's not going to do any damage, would outright refuse to do anything that might seriously hurt you, but if you want it rough then that's what you'll get.

"Alright, sweetheart," he reassures softly, his hands wiping the last stray tears from your cheeks before they resume their initial position, holding you down with one on your hip and one on your throat. "You'll be out soon. Just close your eyes, angel."

You nod your head, shooting him a quick look of thankfulness before closing your eyes, letting him hold you down as he sets a punishing pace with his hips, drilling into you as hard as he can manage. Fresh tears trail down your face as you grasp at his suit, whimpers getting more breathy and desperate by the second as you babble.

"Sa-sanji-"

"Oh, sweetheart. So fucking gorgeous when you cry..." He whispers in a harsh growl, voice dripping with lust as he continues on his pace, holding you down while he pounds you into submission.

With his other hand, he reaches down to toy with your clit, swiping quick circles over the bundle of nerves. It feels like he's shooting lightning directly into your veins and it's not long before you cry out, digging your nails into his suit jacket as you tighten around him. It's like nothing he's ever felt before, perfect in every way as you come around him. He keeps pounding into you, both to chase his own release and because he intends on keeping his promise- he's not stopping until you pass out.

"Oh god, sweetheart, you're about to make me lose it." He groans, a desperate and almost animalistic sound that betrays how close he is.

Everything comes to you in waves as your mind starts going blurry around the edges. You know that you finished, that Sanji keeps going, whispering something to you (you're too far gone to have any idea what, but the assumption of how filthy it probably is is enough), but he's still going, not just with his thrusts but with his fingers abusing your core and suddenly you're coming around him again, or at least you think you are.

You're not sure of much at all anymore.

The past 48 hours all seem to hit you at once, exhaustion like nothing you've ever felt before. Your mind clears to an almost normal state and then fizzles out again in waves, coming back for a few seconds only to fade before you can catch it enough to put together a coherent thought. You're not sure if you're still making noise at this point, but if you are you're sure it's completely gibberish, nothing but teary babbling.

"There it is, sweetheart. You've got nothing left in you now, do you? That's a good girl. You're so perfect, love." He coos sweetly, almost apologetically as he comforts you through his continued abuse of your cunt, now desperately chasing his own relief.

"So beautiful," He murmurs quietly, almost to himself, nuzzling his lips into your throat in a show of tender desperation as he continues his praise like it's an instinct.

The last things you remember feeling are him nuzzling the side of your neck as his hips twitch and falter in their rhythm, and then an explosive warmth. Warmth flooding every inch of your insides as he stalls and stays inside you while he finishes. Wether it's overstimulation or some odd kind of comfort it's that that does you in, and everything goes hazy as the world around you fades to black.

When you wake up the next morning-

(actually, you wake up at 2 in the afternoon)

-it's not in your bed.

But for what it's worth, it's not on the counter, either. And it's warm. The space between your legs suspiciously clean, the sheets tucked up to your shoulders, your hair distinctly less greasy than you remember it being.

When you wake up the next morning, there's Advil and a glass of water on the nightstand, a pair of your lounge clothes folded neatly on a chair by the desk. One of your stuffed animals has been (lovingly) kidnapped from your room, and now rests right next to you in this bed that is not yours, the only other occupying force on the nightstand a scribbled note that you're sure is emphatically apologetic for leaving you. The sheets are far too expensive and the pillow smells like cologne.

It's the best sleep you've had in your life.

#vinsmoke sanji #sanji x reader #opla sanji #opla sanji x reader #opla #opla x reader #sanji x you #opla Sanji x you #opla x you #one piece #one piece live action #one piece x reader #one piece x you #opla x y/n #opla sanji x y/n #sanji x y/n #sanji smut

[dejwrites]

( 𝟽𝟽𝟽 ) ⸻ pretty mouth, pretty girl !

before reading please be advised of the following — female reader, female antomy described, reader is black coded (descriptors included), modern au/non curse au, usage of spit, titty fucking, established relationship (reader & choso are dating), this fic belonged to another character but i gave it to my pookie, enjoy !

The coolness of the silver rings that decorate his fingers touched his lips as he was in deep thought. He liked you. Correction, he was pretty sure he was in love with you.  He liked the way your tongue licked the wrapping paper when you two smoked in your favorite spot after a joyride on his motorcycle. He liked how you lathered your lips in whatever lip gloss was in your miniature purse that could only fit a piece of candy and probably about two other things. He enjoyed how you talked—your voice like a sweet tune on a Sunday morning. He enjoys the sun bouncing off your brown skin, giving it a perfect glow—like a spec of gold was sprinkled on it.

 Choso enjoyed how your coils fell in your face after a successful attempt at whatever hairstyle that had his oversized t-shirt you wore the night before drenched in water and hair products. He loved that you got along with his brother Yuji Itadori; former flings couldn’t tolerate the pinked-haired male. But you, you seem actually to be able to have a conversation with him—so any stamp of approval from Yuji was huge for Itadori. He can go on and on—create countless Apple notes checklists about what he liked, cherished, and loved about you. But nothing beats the one thing that had his cock twitching in anticipation.

The way you looked up at him when you were on your knees.

Your plush, plump lips are swollen from kissing. Your knees are bruised from the wooden floors below your body—Choso forgot to put a pillow down. But he was sure he’d put a bandaid and clean up the bruises late on, but right now, he wanted to focus on you. Your pretty manicured hands holding your tits tightly together with his cock wedged in between them. The lewd, wet sound of the spit he hawked down on them and the lube he found me in his nightstand was like music to his ears. His burning ears felt so hot that he could have been running a fever.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Choso whined while his hips bucked upward several times. He wanted to touch you some more badly, but if he did—he’d come so quickly.

“Like what?” You questioned as your mouth gasped open just in time for thrust forward in between your boobs and your tongue to brush against the slit on his pink-shaded mushroom-shaped tip. Being sure to let your tongue briefly brush against the silver hoop that created his Prince Albert piercing.

“Shit, I can’t wait to fuck you after this.” He grunted through broken whines as he increased the movement of his hips. He was bucking so recklessly that it was causing you to fall backward just a bit.

Your hand grasped at his toned thighs to stop him briefly, “Slow down! You’re going to make me fall.” You glance up at him through your eyelashes, and instantly his cheeks fade to a crimson color in not only humiliation but the fact that he is about to cum.

“I’m sorry. I told you to stop making that fuckin’ face, and you just do it.” Choso says, his teeth nip on his lower lip. If he could, he would bite his lip off in embarrassment.

“I can’t help it that my face makes you about to come,” You respond before you grasp at the bottle of lube that is next to your body. You opened it, lathering it between your tits, and now grasped upon them tighter. “Now, you might want to hurry before the others come over for game night.”

Shit, Choso was thinking so much with his dick that he forgot about the game night.

He didn’t respond to your words. He went back to thrusting his girthy cock in between your boobs. With each thrust, you’re trying not to let the grasp on your boobs go. With each thrust, Choso’s beautiful eyes are staring down at you and how you look. 

This was the look he was talking about. The way your teeth dig into your bottom lip as if letting him titty fuck you was the most important task that you must concentrate on. Or that on some thrusts, your tits are spilling apart in one hand because you were so eager to rub at your clit through your panties—he already knew you were soaked. Chaotic sexual activities like this always had your panties soaked. So soaked that they stuck to your pussy lips briefly when he dragged them down your legs.  

His finger grasped at the wooden nightstand next to his bed to gain some form of balance as his thrusting continued. His head fell back in a temporary bliss, and he could feel his cock twitch in anticipation. His thick cock being wedged between your perfectly sized tits was driving him insane. His body heat increased with seconds, and he tugged the graphic t-shirt up and brought the ends of it in between his teeth so he could get a better view.

“Continue that; I’m about to come, baby.” Choso coos softly. 

He could feel his balls grow heavy, and he knew that he was about to release a heavy load. The way that you knew him, his soul, and his body so well—you knew it too. Your hands grasp tighter at your boobs, and you begin to maneuver your body to match Choso's reckless thrusting between your boobs. He lets out a dragged-out slur of your name before he's a coming mess. 

Thick ropes of cum shoot out the tip of his cock, similar to water squirting out of a water gun. His hand gripped his cock as he angles himself to paint his canvas. You, his stunning girlfriend. You wait patiently—no desperately for his cum. His cum that he lets shoots all over your pretty face. His cum that drips down on your perky tits—just adding on to the mess that decorates your chest. 

The sight of his white-shaded cum imprinting your face probably became his favorite look. Especially seeing the sight of you letting your tongue drag alongside your lips to collect the liquor that splattered on your lips.

Maybe the game night for tonight can be postponed. 

#choso kamo x reader #choso kamo smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #anime smut #black reader #x black reader #female reader #choso smut

[reputationbarbie]

duke oneshot pls 🙏 (not smut)

Agora Hills - duke dennis x reader

─⋆♡ an: based on this ask. for future reference if you have a request, specify smut or no smut like this person did or imma do whatever tf i want. y'all can't cap, i've been on a fucking roll this weekend. hopefully y'all like it. ★ ˙ᵕ˙ liv

─⋆♡ summary: you and duke are in an established relationship. he decides to surprise you and ball the fuck out.

─⋆♡ warnings: dual pov (the pov changes with the pink headers, the divider gifs just mean a bit of time has passed), language, all fluff no smut, softdom!duke (he doesn't like when the reader talks back), 18+ black!writer, alcohol, physical descriptors (brief)

⋆word count: 4.5k ⋆ masterlist ⋆

y/n

I jolt out of sleep, and the feeling of the cool air of the hotel room kicks on. Duke’s hand rubbing my leg makes me relax a little, and my eyes move to him, seeing that he's still right where he was when I fell asleep.

“Hey, baby. Time to wake up,” he says quietly, kissing me on the cheek, and then he returns his attention to his phone.

I yawn, looking up at him, recalling that he’s probably been working all night. He doesn’t look like he slept much, making me feel worse. “How long have you been awake?” He needs to prioritize his sleep.

Duke shifts, pulling me further up so he can rub my ass. “It’s 7:30 a.m., so 30 minutes. I already got up and showered,” he explains and I look up at his freshly moisturized skin.

I inhale his cologne and hum. He smells so fucking good. I grumble, annoyed at how early it is. He takes notice and spanks me lightly, and I gasp at his forwardness. “Duke, you did not just slap my ass,” I scold.

His laugh reverberates through his chest. “Yes, the fuck I did. Let me worry about you, not the other way around,” he matter-of-factly states.

I roll my eyes and sigh. “But I'm supposed to worry about you, too. It’s supposed to be equal.” I’m making valid points here.

Duke slips out from under me, standing up. He puts his hands up in defense, and he turns to walk into the bathroom and turns the shower on. I crawl to the end of the bed, stand up, and follow him into the bathroom where he’s leaning on the wall with his arm on top of the small door. Straightening, he extends his hand and pulls me into the bathroom. 

“Take your time, babe. Call me if you need me,” he instructs and leans down to kiss me before brushing past me and exiting the bathroom. 

My eyes watch him as he goes, drinking him in. I know he already showered, but some part of me wants him to just stand in the shower with me and hold me.

“Are you sure I look okay?” I ask Duke for the hundredth time in the last hour, holding his hand to stabilize myself as I descend the steps of the hotel.

He puts his hand on the small of my back when I’m grounded, and gently pushes me forward towards a truck near the entrance. “Yes, baby. You always look beautiful,” he responds, opening the passenger door, and extending his hand again so I can use it to climb in.

I slide into the seat and turn my head towards him, raising my eyebrows. “So that’s a no, then?” He rolls his eyes, reaching in to put the seatbelt on me. “I got it,” I snap, putting my hand on his arm. I fucking hate when he does the child thing.

Duke doesn’t say anything, just turns around to the two men who I hadn't noticed, letting me finish buckling myself. One is holding a big pastry box, and the other is holding two drinks. Duke takes the items from them, putting the box in my lap first, and then the iced drink into my hand. “I didn’t know we had security today,” I grumble. They slide into the back seat silently and I shift a bit.

Not that I mind it, I just know that the surprise will be public. “Where we’re going, we’ll need it,” he tells me before shutting the door.

As he jogs around to his side of the truck, I take a sip of the brown liquid, throwing my head back to moan as the drink washes down my throat. Bringing the cup up to my face, I look at the label that’s on the side. An iced vanilla latte with almond milk. One thing I love about Duke is that he always gets my coffee order correct. I smile and continue to sip.

Duke slides into the driver's seat, putting his drink in the cup holder. “You haven’t had your coffee, so I won’t spank you for that little attitude just a second ago.” He smirks at me and starts the truck.

Fuck. I am so fucked. I want nothing more than to straddle him right now and say fuck the surprise. But, there are two security guards in the back seat effectively stopping me from having any extra fun.

I look down at the box, noticing a giant donut with pink icing and lots of sprinkles. 

“That’s your hint, baby. You’ll probably get it before I even drive off.” He smirks again, shifting the truck into drive.

I gasp in realization: warm weather, huge pink donut you can only get at one place, lots of walking…

“You are not taking me to Universal Studios for the surprise.” I whip my head over to him, eyes going wide and excitement bubbling beneath the surface. I feel like my ability to function has left this vehicle.

Duke turns at me and grins, leaning over to plant a kiss on my cheek. “You’re damn right I am, baby. Now, eat your donut.” He puts his free hand around the back of my neck, and I feel my body melting into him. 

The biggest grin takes over my face as he starts driving. This is going to be the best surprise ever.

duke

My girlfriend is practically hyperventilating as I pull the car into the parking lot at Universal Studios. I turn to look at her, and she’s squirming and squealing in her seat. 

“Do we need to go through the five senses again, baby? Or are you good?” I inquire, fearing that I’ve completely jump-started her heart. Whenever she gets like this, we use the grounding technique so she can calm herself down.

She whips her head in my direction with the cutest smile on her face. “I’m good, baby. I’m just really excited.” She leans over the console to kiss me, and I know I’m going to be spoiling her for the rest of our lives.

She reaches down to undo her belt and I pull the handle, stepping out of the car. As soon as I open her door, I notice she’s looking over my shoulder. She’s seemingly weary of the two big men coming with us, so I lean in to speak into her ear. “They won't bother us, baby. They’re just here to make sure niggas don’t talk to you,” I reassure her before helping her slide out of the truck. 

She places her hand and mine and we begin walking towards the entrance. “It would be you they’re talking to and we both know it,” she says.

“I don’t know about that. They practically foam at the mouth every time you’re on a stream,” I tell her, lightly swinging our hands between us.

She scoffs, flipping her long her over her shoulder. “I think you’re forgetting about filming the vlogs. Women love being in that shit,” she complains.

I smirk and lead her over to the entrance–it took everything I had not to rent the park out for her today. “We’re not filming today. I’m focusin’ on you. And I love yo ass,” I try to reassure her jealous side.

She reaches her hand up and smushes my face together. “I love you too, Dukey,” she smiles before placing a quick kiss on my lips.

Once we get through security, I lace my fingers with hers again. “What do you wanna do first?” I place a kiss on her hand, feeling her shake with excitement.

She starts bouncing up and down, her breathing picking up once again. “Can we pretty please do Harry Potter stuff first?? Everything else if we have time. I really wanna come back for the light show! Oooo! Der, can we please go get Butterbeer and Lemon Sherbets?? And then we can ride the Incredible Hulk roller coaster! PLEASE, Please, please, please-” She's speaking so fast that I end up kissing her to shut her up. I can't get in a word any other way. 

She moans in my mouth, and I grip her ass, pressing her front to me. She’s so fucking hot when she’s passionate.

My hands fly up onto her shoulder to stop her incessant bouncing. “Yeah. One thing at a time, though.” I exhale. Her brain moves a million miles per second, and it’s impressive she’s been able to keep all those thoughts in her head since we got into the car and she found out where we were going.

Our private guide ushers us to the cart which drives us straight through the New York and San Francisco attractions. When she spots the Knight Bus, she begins bouncing again in her seat. “Duke, Duke! Let’s talk to it!” She has a twinkle in her eye as she cheers at me. 

The cart stops and the security guards get off before us. I extend her hand for her to slide out and stand behind me. Although I have a hat and sunglasses on, if anyone notices us, I don’t want her to be bombarded.

She tugs on my arm and I look back at her bug-eyed face, chuckling at her excitement. “Alright, baby. You want me to record you?” Leaning down, I kiss her on the cheek.

The pupils in her hazel eyes dilate. “Yeah,” she chirps and I pull my phone out of my back pocket, getting it ready. 

I film her, amused by her excitement. Then, my girlfriend does something that shocks the absolute shit out of me. “Excuse me, can you point me in the direction of Diagon Alley?” she asks the park employees in a British accent. 

Holy shit, who knew British accents were this hot? I have got to remember that for later.

The shrunken head turns in her direction, and I zone out. “Right through that broken brick, little witch.” 

It’s been stream after stream. 24/7 content. I’m fucking tired and I just needed a fun day with her. I black out as she finishes the rest of her conversation with the conductor and shrunken head. 

My baby girl waves a hand in front of my face and brings me back. “Dukey, baby…” she calls, and I snap my eyes in her direction.

I breathe in to center myself before smirking down at her. “I’m here.” My hand moves to her neck. “Just thinking about how a ring would look on your finger the next time you wave your fucking hand in front of my face.”

She blushes, and looks down at the ground, kicking her feet. “Duke, you know I don’t believe in marriage…” She lets her words trail off as we continue to walk toward the brick wall.

No, I most certainly did not know that. I reach down to yank on her hand, stopping her dead in her tracks before she can take out her phone and start recording for social media. 

“What do you mean you don’t believe in marriage?” I press, raising my eyebrow. Fuck, we haven’t had this conversation yet. I just assumed.

She tugs my arm, urging me to keep walking, but my feet stay firmly planted. “I mean, I believe in a life partner. It’s just that I see marriage as more of a business contract,” she explains, refusing to make eye contact with me. “Like, if anything happened to me or you, we’d have a say in each other’s affairs.” Shrugging, she turns to walk towards the broken brick wall without me.

I jog to catch up with her, putting my hand on the small of her back. Okay, so she would marry me. “So when I ask you to marry me, you’ll say yes?” I grumble, unsure of what her response will be. She’s the one I want. I want her to be my life partner, my wife, or whatever she deems appropriate.

She giggles, spinning around to kiss me as we enter Diagon Alley. “Duke, I’d marry you if you ask me.” Her breathing picks up again as she turns around and takes in the attractions. “Duke… DUKEY! DUKEY!” she shrieks, slapping her hands on my arm. “It looks so real!!” She begins bouncing up and down again, grabbing my face to turn it in the direction she wants me to look in, smashing it until my lips are puckered. If I asked her to stop, I don’t think she would. 

I'm too lost in my thoughts anyway. I’m going to marry her and give her at least 5 children. I wanna show her off to the world as long as I live. 

She tugs on my arm, pulling me out of my trance and further into Diagon Alley. Suddenly, we’re stopped in our tracks by a younger group of boys. “Excuse me, are you Duke?” one of them asks.

I look at Y/N for permission and she smiles and nods. “What’s going on my boy,” I link my hands with each of theirs and shake up.

A woman steps forward behind them with her phone out, already recording. “They’re so nervous to meet you,” she says behind them and I assume she’s their mom.

I become uncomfortable finding out she’s already recording before asking. Lady you’re fucking grown, you should know better. Before I can fume at the bitch, my girlfriend puts her hand on the small of my back. “Oh, he’s nice. You wanna take a picture with him?” she asks the group.

They collectively sound off yes’s and she stands on her tip toes to talk to me. “Here let me get out the way,” she says, knowing the fans probably don’t want her in it.

But I don’t give a fuck. She’s with me and the world should know that. I want to show her off every moment I get. “No, I want you in it,” I tell her, wrapping my arm around her and pulling her into my side.

“Baby it’s okay. Trust me,” she murmurs, pushing off of me and standing next to the mother.

She snaps a couple of pictures of me and the guys in different poses before lowering her phone and showing off her odd smile. If it weren’t for the kids and my girlfriend, I would’ve put her in her place. “Thank you,” I hear one of the kids say.

I shake up with him one last time, ruffling his curly head. “You’re welcome, big dog. Nice to meet y’all,” I say. 

“Bye, Duke!” another screams and it warms my heart. This is why the fuck I do this shit.

My eyes wander up and catch with my girlfriends. She beckons me towards her and I trail behind her as she enters Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and her eyes widen when she spots a purple pygmy puff. “Dukey, Dukey! I need it!” she squeals, jumping up and down. The security guard tries his hardest to keep up with her as she sprints across the room, picking it up and squeezing it in her arms.

I sigh and pull out my black Amex card, before grabbing her hand and slapping it down. “Get whatever you want, baby,” I mutter, closing her fingers around it.

Her jaw drops and she looks down at her hand, then back up to me. “You’re fucking with me,” she retorts, shoving her hand back in my direction with it open.

I close her hand again, and shove it back towards her, “I’m being for real. Whatever you want from here on out is on me.” 

She blushes at my words and I smirk, taking a step forward to kiss her soft lips. “I wanna spoil you, baby. I want you to be happy and enjoy yourself.” Hopefully, she just takes the damn card and stops arguing.

I spin her around and push her toward the cash register. She sets down the plushie and waits patiently for the cashier to finish ringing the item up. When the employee tells her where to put the card, she freezes as if the card will bite her. Cute. She feels bad for “taking” my money. She could ask me to buy her a private plot of land for her garden, and I’d have it done in seconds. 

I come up behind her, towering over her small frame, and help her push the card into the chip reader. When the pin prompt comes up, I don’t cover the code. What’s mine is hers–now and forever. The machine beeps, but she doesn’t move to grab the card. So I release her hand, leaning over until my lips touch her ear. “Pull it out, baby,” I whisper into her ear, and she shudders. 

Reaching to pull the card out, she silently smiles and thanks the cashier, before turning around and pushing both hands on my chest to pass me. I follow her out of the small gift shop into the street where she abruptly stops, whipping around and slamming the card onto my chest. I go to grab it when I notice her clenched jaw. 

“I know better than to talk back to you, Duke. But so help me god, if you do that again, I’ll piss in the store and make you clean it up,” she seethes, her face turning red.

Fuck, she’s hot when she’s pissed off. 

I throw my head back in laughter, sliding the card back into my wallet. Sage stomps her foot on the ground, grabbing my hand. “It’s not fucking funny, Dontavius,” she grumbles but pulls me into Quality Quidditch Supplies.

My eyes take a bit to adjust to the dark store. By the time they do, my girl is releasing my hand and going to grab a Slytherin backpack, whizzing around the store to grab more collectibles. I lean against the talking mirror for around 10 minutes before she comes up to me, sliding a heavy bag on my arm. Looking down, I see she’s grabbed a Slytherin tote bag and filled it with merchandise. 

“You said I could buy whatever I want,” she shrugs, turning around to try on a Slytherin robe. She’s correct, and she’s got me by the balls.

She struggles to shrug on the robe, so I cross the small distance to help her, pulling it on around her. I step aside and she looks in the mirror. “You look like a bright young witch.” The automated voice compliments her, and she jumps, startled.

A chuckle erupts from my chest as I bring my hand to her back, rubbing it to soothe her. “Not a fucking Gryffindor,” I tease, smiling at her, and bring her into my side. 

y/n

Three Wizard's Brews and some wand shopping later, I’m moaning while eating butterbeer ice cream. We’re waiting in line at King’s Cross Station with our Hogwarts robes on. I was proudly wearing my Slytherin ones. Meanwhile, I had to force Duke to buy a Gryffindor one and wear it just for me.

I scoop some of the ice cream up, holding the spoon to Duke’s lips. “Want some?” I ask with a childish grin on my face.

He leans down to take the spoon in his mouth, refusing to break the intense eye contact with me. I pull the spoon out of his mouth, and he swallows the ice cream. “It tastes sweet, just like you,” he murmurs in my ear, caressing my cheek with his hand. 

Hoping it stuffs the urge to whine down my throat, I shove the last spoonful of ice cream into my mouth. “Dontavius,” I finally let slip, shifting to lean on my left leg.

He forcefully grabs the back of my neck, and I look around at the other people standing in line, nervous that they’re going to see him dominating the shit out of me right now. Our bodyguards don’t seem to notice which is the least I can be grateful for.

“What did I say about whining, Y/N?” His voice is so deep that I swear I can feel the vibrations in my spine.

Standing on my tiptoes in an attempt to save myself some embarrassment, I whisper into his ear, “You said if I whine, you’ll bend me over and give me something to whine about.” I know Duke won’t let up on my neck until I say the words.

He quietly groans, and releases his hold on me, leaning down to kiss my forehead. “I’m proud of you. You’re learning. Don’t do that shit,” He speaks so sternly that I know it’s not a threat–it’s a promise.

Shit, Shit, Shit. I’m so intoxicated by him right now.  

His hand comes up to rest on the small of my back, ushering me forward in the line. I look down at the ice cream cup noticing it's crushed. Duke notices too, and takes the cup from my hands, tossing it perfectly into the trash can a couple feet away. He brings my finger up to his lips and slowly wraps his tongue around it, making me quietly moan. I never considered someone could have me weak in the knees, fully clothed at that. But here we are.

We make it to the front of the line and I lace my hand in Duke’s again, pulling him into the train. I go to Cabin F, where a group of teenagers sit inside, and walk in to see there’s only room for one of us to sit. Turning around, I hear the girls giggling behind me when Duke bends down to get through the door. 

I put my hands on his chest, lightly pushing him. “Turn around, there’s no more room.” 

Duke turns to slide the door to the cabin shut, shutting the guards out right behind the door. He sits down in the space before looking up at me with dark eyes. He sets the bag on the ground between his legs and pats his lap. “Looks like enough room to me, Y/N,” he declares, shrugging like it’s no big deal. He used my government name, which means ‘sit the fuck down.’ 

I turn to bunch up the robe in the back and grab my wand out of my pocket. As soon as I have it in my hands, Duke grabs my waist, pulling me forcefully down into his lap. He peppers kisses on my neck and it's definitely not helping with the intensity of haze in my brain.

duke

Y/N’s screams on the drop of the roller coaster put me on edge. 

“Again, Dukey!” I turn to her and see that she's currently having the best adrenaline rush of her life. 

She’s now five wizard brews in, and this is the third time we’ve been on The Incredible Hulk Coaster. She kicks and swings her legs, grinning at me, waiting for the ride to come to a stop. I look at my watch, seeing it’s well past 8:30. Earlier, she said that she wanted to watch the light show on Hogwarts Castle in Hogsmeade, so that means we should start heading over there now. 

“Baby, you don’t wanna go back to Hogsmeade and watch the light show?” I all but beg, hoping this will get her, and me, off of this bitch ass rollercoaster. 

My girlfriend continues squirming in her seat until the ride stops. “Ooo, Ooo. Yeah, let’s go back,” she exclaims as the attendant lets us out. 

I get out first, turn to her, and lift her out of the safety seat. I set her down on the platform and grab her hand. The security guards keep some distance between us as we walk in silence for a little while, swinging our arms in between us. She spent the day experiencing everything this park had to offer. She’s had an endless amount of food, which I’m proud of her for. I’ve never seen her eat this much, and that eases my anxiety to know that she has a strong appetite.

She suddenly starts dragging her feet, walking slower than before. “I don’t wanna leave. And I’m tired, Dukey.” Her voice is so quiet that I barely hear her.

I stop walking, turning to stand in front of her. “You want a piggyback ride?” 

She yawns, nodding. 

Turning around to squat, she climbs onto my back. Once she’s secured, I continue the walk across the park to Hogsmeade. Her body goes somewhat limp, her head resting on my shoulder, and I know she's about to knock out. So, I walk into one of the shops and begin grabbing the souvenirs I know she wants. 

When I get up to the counter, I shift and pull my wallet out of my front pocket. “Is she sleeping?” I ask the guard at the register, just to be sure. Y/N is so quiet and her breathing is so steady, so I assume she is, but I don’t turn back to look.

The cashier accepts the cash I give him, typing the amount into the register. “Yeah, she’s knocked out,” He chuckles, looking back and forth between her and me.

The cashier hands the guard a plastic bag with the receipt in it. “Sometimes she acts like the fucking energizer bunny in human form. But the energy eventually runs out,” I remark, tucking my wallet back into the front of my jeans. 

“I feel you,” he snickers in response before we turn around to walk back out onto the cobblestone. 

When I get in front of the castle with a good view, I tap my girl’s thigh. She stirs before burying her head further into my neck, groaning. 

“Wake up, baby. It’s time to watch the light show,” I say melodically, trying to coax her out of her sleep.

She jerks on my back, tugging on my robe, signaling that she wants to be let down. “Thank you, Dukey,” she murmurs while sliding down my back. 

Y/N comes around to stand in front of me, standing on her tiptoes to kiss me. Then, she turns back around and leans back with her head on my chest, turning her attention to the show. Her eyes are wide as she watches the lights dance on the castle, amazed. She's watching the lights, but my eyes are completely on her, drinking in her beauty. 

When it's over, she turns back around and stands on her tiptoes to lace her hands behind my neck. "Dontavius Tony Dennis. Thank you for the perfect day." She kisses me sweet and deep, and I can taste the butterbeer on her tongue.

Anything for you, Y/N. Anything.

feedback

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[chatsukimi]

STREETRACER!TOJI x WEALTHY!READER ('my mother's blind in one eye and she can drift better than that') ⤷ genre: sfw, fluff ⤷ tropes: reader's bf is a btch, passengerprincess!reader, trustfund!toji, caring!toji, highschool!toji, jealous!toji ⤷ series (jjk men as athletes)

STREETRACER!TOJI who skips school to street-race. you've had an eye on him ever since testing reaction times in Physical Education class, introducing him to drift back in sophomore year. he was a natural.

STREETRACER!TOJI whose life revolves around the illegal sport, catching on so swiftly soon you buy him his first car. you tell him he gets to keep it if he can win in the races.

you're half convinced he'll call you one day to tell you your baby's on fire... literal fire. but he never does- it seems he respects the trust you put in him. and he wins on your bets, so you don't question it.

STREETRACER!TOJI who's always pawing for your colourful gambling tickets (his name purchased first) and you're always removing them from his sight: beggars can't be choosers.

whatever. he never wanted to befriend the rich kid anyways.

STREETRACER!TOJI who tells you to go away right before the competition when you come to check up on him. 'you're distracting me. where's your prissy prince?' when you look at your boyfriend in the stands, he scoffs.

STREETRACER!TOJI who narrows his eyes as your boyfriend slides into the driver's seat of the car you gave him, the car with which he won the race, and begins to drive around like a little kid. no technique whatsoever. he is suddenly reminded of a scene from the movie Tokyo Drift you once forced him to watch at the beginning of showing him cars: 'my mother's blind in one eye and she can drift better than that.'

well isn’t that the perfect descriptor for your boyfriend.

STREETRACER!TOJI who doesn't speak to you for a week after he notices a scratch on the car. he's in cold disbelief. one, that you would ever let an idiot close to a fine car like that. two, that you would trust that idiot to lead you around in a relationship.

i mean, seriously, how can a guy who parks for fifteen minutes and still crosses the line pick out what you want as a gift? how can a loser ever make you happy? he'll drive you carsick. toji's not sure how you haven't gotten so already.

STREETRACER!TOJI whose heart definitely does not flutter when he sees the dinner you’ve eft beside the vehicle after a race. you've left a note too: i know you're mad about the scratch, but congrats on the win. you drove really well. i've left a share of the cash in the centre console.

when he shows up in class the next day, he doesn't return your smile. instead, he stalks all the way up to your desk, silencing the rest of the class as he drags a chair to sit down next to you.

'i thought you didn't wanna associate with me at school?'

he shrugs. 'changed my mind.'

STREETRACER!TOJI who, when your boyfriend ditches last minute from taking you back to your countryside townhouse, shows up within ten minutes of you calling him up. he arrives. running.

you start to wonder if you should've introduced him to track and field and made a new Olympic gold medallist instead.

STREETRACER!TOJI who observes the v12 aston martin, cocking his head to the side.

you admit quietly, 'i... don't know how to drive' and he sighs, pushes you to the side, enters the driver's seat, then looks at you with an impatient stare.

'what are you waiting for? get in.'

you hastily enter the passenger seat, trying to unglue your gaze from the thickness of his arm around your steering wheel, the ease of his large stature adjusting the seat to fit, exhaling slightly when it works.

'trust fund baby,' you hear him mutter.

'hey!' you speak before you realise it. 'you're also my trust fund baby.'

his eyebrows shoot up, dark stare piercing the side of your face. what did you say? you bite your lip and prays for the seat to swallow you up. why did you say that? you feel him shift in his seat, inching closer until both his hands cage your smaller frame.

'say that again..'

STREETRACER!TOJI who drives you home all night, no breaks. you listen to music and watch the stars above the dark countryside trundling past. as the scene becomes monotonous, your eyelids slowly droops close.

toji notices, immediately speeding down by the side of the highway. he walks around the side of the car, opens the door, removes his leather jacket and gently places it over your sleeping figure. his breath almost hitches when you stir.

a tiny voice in his head yelps, whipped.

it's not even his own jacket. you bought him it as celebration for his first victory and he hasn't gone a week without it since.

STREETRACER!TOJI who carefully withdraws your phone from your pocket at the end of the trip, pressing a couple digits, raising it to his ear to leave a voicemail.

'hey,' he says, 'you're the guy who can't drive, right?' any sane person knows to never insult a guy's driving skills. toji pats the hood of the car as he speaks. guess he’s not so sane then. 'now i gotta say, i'm just looking out for you, yeah? stay away from my girl. she too expensive for you.'

STREETRACER!TOJI who dreams of a day he spoils you. a day when your bets on him come to fruition, when he can say with full certainty, 'bet on me, baby. put all your trust on me'

(extra: 'did you compare me to a car??' you listen to the voicemail toji sent to your ex. toji winces. 'had to get the point across. he can't be crashing and burning shit he didn't pay insurance for.' you cross your arms. 'and how are you sure you won't drive this thing off a cliff?' 'oh baby, cause i tokyo drift')

#toji x reader #toji x you #toji fushiguro #toji fluff #jjk #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff

[science-lings]

okay this has been going through my mind for days and I have to get my thoughts out before I explode

Disclaimer, this is not talking about a specific artist/person and would never condone or participate in anon hate or online bullying for any reason but especially this one. 

I get why people are mad about Link being portrayed as this buff, hypermasculine, tall guy. I am too (again don’t fucking attack people over it though) and it seems like such an infuriating way to change the character just to fit into some ideal of hypermasculine attractiveness or to make a ship fall into a more hetero lense by making him a decent foot taller than whatever girl he’s being paired with. 

The world of video games and action movies and every form of media ever is extremely saturated with male characters that are swole and manly and whatever other descriptors people are trying to push onto Link that don’t fit into his actual character. There are so many characters out there that already fit this male standard and having a clearly androgynous elf guy was like a breath of fresh air. 

Link was literally designed to be a character whose lines on gender were blurred, ‘a girl with a masculine touch or a guy with a feminine touch’ so that anyone could project themselves onto him. His physical design in botw/totk was specifically made to be feminine enough to wear a certain outfit to pass as a woman (which includes a nearly mandatory cutscene where he puts on the clothes and blushes after being called pretty, like you have to be blind to think that its an experience that he doesn’t like at all) and in totk there are a bunch of outfits made for Link that are blatantly gnc, ones that are practically dresses, include nail polish and lipstick, you can even dye his hair bright and vivid colors and that’s half way to giving him new pronouns. The whole reason Linkle isn’t included in more mainline loz games was because her existence would force Link into a gender dichotomy, if there's a clearly female version of the main hero, that means the main hero has to be a man, and they would rather abandon a potential reoccurring character than make Link conform to a gender binary. 

So pardon me when it feels disingenuous and even malicious for him to be morphed into these clear masculine ideals, where he towers over any female romantic partner (even when in canon he is regularly depicted as noticeably shorter than her) or even in m/m fanworks he’s really beefed up, perhaps to make the scene feel more gay or something. 

Perhaps it’s because his more twink-y/ femboy body type is so heavily sexualized (though obviously when people are sculping abs on him it’s totally not because they’re horny about it) and that’s an issue in itself that bothers me. But it’s just so tiring to see one of the very few popular main characters who is short and feminine and androgynous be molded into just another bland muscle-headed action hero over and over and over again. 

I’m not mad at the creators for portraying him differently than how I like him portrayed, I’m mad because we really do get so few characters like him in good popular media, and to be honest, I really like him the way that he is. I love that he’s tiny and has long hair and has the option to dress any way the player likes. It seems a little distasteful to make him taller than a female love interest just because that’s how straight couples have to be, there’s just never been a real straight couple where the guy is shorter than the girl, that’s just Impossible! (/s) 

#i doubt anyone read this all i just needed to get it off my chest and this felt like the best place to do it #again i don't think it's a reason to bully or even just say mean things to people over their portrayal of link #but i get why it's so frustrating to people #like... link is lowkey a hero for trans guys who aren't tall and aren't ending up as masculine as they had hoped #but he's still exceptionally capable and he's still there to be an image for people who see themselves in him #idk this is just a rant #rant #zelink #loz #botw #totk

[absolutekillswitch]

no alarms and no surprises (please)

pairing: luke castellan x thanatos!reader

tw: major TLO spoilers (honestly tho if u haven’t read it yet, begone), major character death, discussions of blood and death, Luke was reader’s first kiss, mentions of past manipulation, lots of crying, and also i made [REDACTED] take way too long to die for the sake of dialogue. Sorry. Also! she/her pronouns are used, but I tried to steer clear of descriptors outside of that so this SHOULD be woc friendly

word count: 3.4k

It was cruel, this end he was facing. Y/N had felt it long before she’d seen it, that deep intrinsic tug within her, that sixth sense that had begun to go haywire since New York had fallen asleep, since the final countdown for western civilization had officially started running. The tug that alerted her to a new death in her vicinity. The curse bore by the children of death, the chained god, to feel the string of fate being cut, to sense lost souls being carried to the underworld by their father. To mourn, but not to see. She’d never felt it as frequently as she did now, feeling like threads tugging her in countless directions, so much so that her aim with her sword was affected. She’d been coined the best swordsman back at camp, after the previous titleholder had vacated the position, but now, it was like she was jittery, like a newborn zebra with a sword in their grasp, trying to learn how to stand and fight all at once, her battle senses being overridden by the unavoidable emotional pain of the fact that every tug she was feeling, was the feeling of a fellow demigod dying.

But then she’d felt that one.

The strength of this particular tug wasn’t lost on her. It was stronger than any she’d faced yet— stronger than the tugs of those she’d slain herself, and stronger than the tugs of those who had been close to her, when they were alive. It was so strong that the metaphysical tug had felt like a real, physical one, like she was physically being pulled in its direction. The proof of it is the crude slash on her forearm, where the kid she’d been fighting back had gotten a lucky shot on her due to her presently distracted nature.

It had to have been him.

She wasn’t sure just who she’d been fighting, and in the end, she doesn’t think it really mattered all that much, if they were a former camper; a demigod, or if they were an armored monster, as with a wave of her hand, the ground rumbles, opening up under their feet, boney, decayed hands dragging them into the earth, only for the ground to close up on them halfway through their forced descent. Y/N didn’t even notice, nor did she really care. All she knew was that she’d put an end to her own fight, allowing her feet to carry her to his side, numbness flooding her body, with a whispered command to her undead soldiers,

“Protect them.”

She’s not even sure how she found him, exactly. She’d just always been able to find him like that. Now seemed to be no exception to the rule, as she followed what she would consider to be the string of fate to his side. The sight she sees when she does is an unwelcome one, however. There’s three of them— she sees Percy and Annabeth crowded around a figure on the ground. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who it is.

“Oh, Gods,” Y/N whispers, hesitating to get closer. She doesn’t know if she can. At the sound of her voice, Percy turns. He looks pale, eyes ringed in red. It looks like he’d been crying, exhausted, eyes wide, as if he were afraid he’d collapse if he even blinked. Y/N wouldn’t blame him, if he did.

“Y/N—“ He hesitates to speak, to try and explain, but Y/N doesn’t let him. She’s already marching over, ignoring the dread building in her gut, the tears in her eyes. And that’s when she sees him.

“Luke,” She whispers, the single word bordering on a gasp. Internally, she’s vaguely aware that this is the first time she’d used his name in years, preferring to call him by his last name, or traitor, at best, or whatever random curse she could think of at the time, at worst. She’d gotten pretty good at it, honestly— the coming up with insults to hurl at him every time they’d crossed paths since his betrayal. But now, all of that is gone. It seems that at that moment, Annabeth and Percy disappeared. It’s just them as she crumbles, falling to her knees before he can even protest. It’s him, not Kronos, she knows. They’d all learned how to tell the difference between the two, when Kronos had taken Luke’s face. Kronos had a colder air about him, eyes golden. Just pure evil that seeped into your bones, that seemed to change even the people around you. But this? This was Luke Castellan. Soft, soulful brown eyes, and a welcoming air about him. This was the guy who had been like all of Camp Half-Blood’s big brother. This was the guy Y/N had been in love with ever since she’d arrived at camp, even if she realized it far too late. Even if he was currently trying to get Percy to make her leave, not wanting her to see him like this. Never like this. Her eyes take stock of his appearance against her will. He looked just as bad as Percy did— worse, actually, given he was bleeding, Annabeth’s knife clattering from his hand to the marble below him. It makes her heart ache, the picture in front of her painted so clearly, even if she hadn’t been present to see it herself.

A hero’s soul, cursed blade shall reap.

They’d realized what the prophecy meant, clearly. Luke had to be the one to take Kronos— and to an extent, himself— out. And when Luke had done it, when he’d touched his own Achilles heel, Kronos had run. So now, Luke Castellan was dying. Alone.

Well— not alone.

She was still here. She always would be, even if he’d insist otherwise. He hated how she always had made him want to be a better person. Even now, as he lay dying, covered in sweat, blood, and ash. If she tries hard enough, she can almost pretend that they’re back at camp, that they’d had an extremely rough day playing capture the flag, that the pair of them are in the infirmary, making up ridiculous stories for the scars they’ll have as a result of their adventure, shedding tears from their short lived pain in the name of glory but laughing anyway as they stitched each other up, letting the Apollo kids deal with those who didn’t have someone to back them up like Y/N and Luke did— someone to dote on them, and someone to dote on in return. But it gets hard, keeping up this fantasy. They’re both far too battle-worn, both with eyes that had seen far too much, faces years older than they were the last time they’d seen each other. And in spite of it all, all she can find herself thinking is,

‘Oh, love, you grew up without me’.

“You shouldn’t be here.” Luke tells her plainly, his brown eyes fighting to focus on her through his tears that he’s fighting to push back. Had they always done that?

“Yet I’m here anyway. Deal.” She responds, brows furrowing, focusing on the wound in his side. Prophecies be damned, she won’t let him die. He sits up straighter, slumped uncomfortably against a marble wall at the sudden pressure to his side, the daughter of Thanatos trying to staunch the blood flow, trying to give him more time, tears clouding her own vision, hands shaking. She knows deep down that it’s all in vain, but she won’t let him go. Not like this. She’ll fight her father back herself, if she had to.

“Y/N…” He whispers uncomfortably, hating how blood spurts past his lips, onto his chin, as he utters her name. He’s going to die, he knows, he can almost feel the fates beginning to prepare to cut his thread, but there’s some things he can’t leave unsaid. “My— my heart, it was always yours. You know that, right?” He notices how she flinches, expression troubled. “Take care of it, for me. I know you’ll do better with it than I ever had.” It’s true— his entire time at camp, since she’d arrived, he’d stupidly ignored it. He let hate and anger and jealousy cloud his mind for so long, he never really appreciated what was in front of him. It was just unfortunate it was taking his death to realize that.

“Don’t— don’t say that, not to me,” she sobs, shaking hands still covering his wound, stupidly, naively, believing she could still save him. “Don’t make it sound like you’re dying. You’re not dying, damn it,” she still sounds determined, one hand leaving his wound to touch his face, holding his cheek, accidentally staining it with his own blood. “Don’t— don’t leave me here, please, I just got you back,” she pleads, glassy eyes blurring with tears. She thinks, honestly, that this is the first time she’s talking to just Luke, free of Kronos’ influence, since he’d stolen that lightning bolt from Olympus years ago. It’s the Luke she remembers, the one she so sorely missed.

He laughed quietly, reaching up to touch her fingers. Even now, as she was sobbing over him, unable to look him in the eye, she’s the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Her lips were so plump — as if made to be kissed, even in this moment of peril. “The gods might not want me, but I’m glad they’ve given you to me,” he whispered, squeezing her hand in his again. “I’m dying, Y/N. You can’t save me.” This makes her squeeze her eyes closed, shaking her head lightly, as if she isn’t listening. She isn’t, not really.

“No, nononono— stop that,” She cries, her eyes squinting shut in an effort to banish her tears, but it doesn’t work. “I’m— I’m the daughter of Thanatos, damn it, what good am I if I can’t do this? If I can’t keep just one person alive?” She seems to be talking mostly to herself, not giving up her mission on keeping him with her. Not after everything that’s been said, not with everything that’s being left unsaid. “I know this isn’t what I do, that I’m not a fucking sunshiney Apollo kid who can heal someone on a whim. But this is kinda my thing, is it not? Just… Just one. Please, let me save just this one. I’ll never ask for anything again.” She’s looking up at the sky— praying, it looked like, while blinking away her own tears. She couldn’t remember the last time she prayed to the gods for anything, but she was now. To anyone who would listen, though Luke gets the sneaking suspicion she’s talking to her father. The one she blamed, for being unable to save anyone. She couldn’t heal, the best she could do was sit by and watch.

Luke laughed again, but it’s humorless— and it was so cruel, to die when he could feel his heartbeat quickening as Y/N was so close, her lips so near to his, her eyes so lovely. He wished he could kiss her right now, in this moment, on the marble floor, with blood running over his fingers and the dagger still next to them.

“Y/N, promise me one thing?”

“Anything,” Y/N nods softly, her attention turning back to him. She hates how the simple act of saying her name still affected her so much, after all this time. Her tears were cutting through the grime on her face from a hard fought battle, covered in her own and the blood of others, trembling. Still, she finds it in her to make a promise to the dying boy she loved. “Anything. Just—“ she drifts off, nodding, knowing they don’t have time. Luke took a breath, his eyes fluttering shut. For the first time in his life, he genuinely felt like a young man. A teenage boy, holding his girlfriend's hand and wanting nothing but her to keep safe. For a moment, he can pretend. But only for a moment. His breath hitched, and slowly, he felt the life fading from his body — as if it was being drawn from him like water in a cup. He hesitates to speak, but knows he’s running out of time. He can feel it, being sapped from his bones. But in spite of that, he’s not… afraid. He isn’t angry. He almost isn’t even in pain. He thinks it’s her, that it’s Y/N’s aura as a daughter of Thanatos, that no one in her vicinity will feel pain, a divine remainder of her father’s power flowing in her veins, the guide to the underworld, before they’d meet the ferryman. A walking shot of morphine. He’s heard stories from his spies, about how when Camp would lose a camper during their fight with Kronos— with him—, Y/N would stay with them until they passed, holding their hand, telling stories, bringing them peace, so they would go out with a kind face. Much like she was doing now, for him. The Thanatos of the waking world, the guiding light to death. It’s much more than he deserves, and he knows it.

"Promise me.... you'll meet me again... at the River Styx," He whispered.

“I’ll find you in Elysium.” She promises softly through sniffles, brushing his hair out of his face, a forced soft smile on her own face. She wants him to go out peacefully, wants to remember her smiling, even if she wants to scream at the sky and cry until she couldn’t breathe anymore. She’d been pretty good at it, feigning calmness and serenity with the campers they lost on their own side. It made their passing easier. But this? With him? She doesn’t know if it does. He’d always been far too good at reading her, for that. “I swear it, on the Styx, that I’ll find you in Elysium.” She sounds sure of herself, that even after everything he’d done, he’d earned a hero’s afterlife. That’s what the prophecy said, after all, right? Somehow, she knows she, too, will find herself with a hero’s death. Life wouldn’t be so kind to allow her to die of old age. She’d die hard, with a sword in her hand, and anger in her heart. Luke's eyes flickered open to meet the softness of hers, of lips he wanted to taste, of skin he wanted to cover with kisses. For a moment, he allowed himself the luxury of mourning the future he could’ve had with this girl, if he hadn’t been so hellbent on his never ending quest for glory.

Kleos. The word feels like poison, now. Maybe it always had been.

"No —" He whispered, head shaking lightly, "I won't be in Elysium. I’ll go to Asphodel—" He choked. That's where he'd likely be, being punished for his treason. It’s the least he deserved, after everything he’d done. "— and then the Fields of Punishment. But promise me... that you will wait for me, at the River."

“No,” Y/N shakes her head, adamant. He should probably take her word for it— she’s the daughter of the god of death, after all. She had a sense for these things. “Elysium. I’m sure of it. You’ve earned it.” She promises, tone soft. She doesn’t mention how she’d never let her father live it down if anything else took place. She’d tear Hades apart herself, find his soul and bring him back, somehow. Like Orpheus and Eurydice, except she’d succeed. “Regardless— it doesn’t matter. I’ll always find you. No matter where you are, I’ll find you. I swear it.”

He laughed, and it was a sad one. He was so weak, so very weak, his eyes flickering once more, his hand squeezing hers as tightly as he could, wanting to burn her imprint into his flesh. "You are so stubborn, you know that? You always have been," he whispered. Images flash through his mind against his will— her face, always her face. When she’d learned of his betrayal, then later when he’d attempted to sway her to his side. When they would train together in the arena— camp’s two best swordsmen. When she’d have nightmares, constant images of the dead trying to use her, both for her powers and as revenge on her father, who they felt claimed them from the mortal plane far too soon, to crawl their way back to the world of the living, and how, terrified of closing her eyes again, she’d crawl into his bed with him, the only place she felt safe enough to fall back asleep. When she’d kissed him for the first time, on her seventeenth birthday. Because ‘most demigods don’t get to make it to seventeen, so I’m making seventeen count’, as she’d put it. Then, later that night, after his surprise wore off, when he had kissed her. It pains him to think about how he’d only been manipulating her, back then. Had he loved her? Sure, but his mission always seemed more important at the time. He’d do it for them, he’d told himself. The gods would regret every unclaimed child, and every claimed child resigned to the Hermes cabin because they weren’t born with the luxury of having a parent that had a throne on Olympus, one of the big twelve. For kids like Y/N. His hand slipped from hers, and he couldn't bring himself to close his eyes. Instead, he'd watch her, as if he could lock her into his memory. "Will you... will you stay here with me, until my life..." He couldn't finish the sentence.

“Until the very end.” She promises softly, her voice cracking with the effort not to cry. She’d almost given up on trying to staunch the bleeding, one hand resting on his face, brushing languidly, lovingly, over his cheek, just around the edge of his scar. She’s not sure what possessed her in that moment, as she leans down, placing a soft, chaste, yet romantic kiss to his lips. After all, he’d been her first kiss, it felt fitting that she would also be his last. As she pulls away, she whispers against his lips, “I love you, Luke Castellan.”

He was breathless, the kiss like a dagger to the chest, biting deeper than the blade that will end up taking his life. In a matter of minutes, his heartbeat would skip its last beat, and her face will be the last he sees, the last thought on his mind. His hand came up to the back of her neck, holding her as he whispered in return, "... I love you too." He managed only that, before his heart failed him. He was gone, and he didn't make a sound.

Gone with a whimper, not a bang.

The blood that fell from his wound was now staining the pristine marble flooring beneath them, the last remnants of life and love, of devotion and betrayal. Y/N hoped that it would stain forever, a constant reminder of his sacrifice.

Y/N felt his final breath fan across her face, and she knew he was gone. Her eyes remained closed, steady tears rolling down her face, their foreheads pressed together. She can feel him growing cold as she sobs. “No,” She whimpers, his hands, now gone limp, still in hers. “No, please no—“ Vaguely, she’s aware of the rumbling of the ground under her feet, a telltale sign of her powers coming out to play, a throng of undead soldiers aching to burst past the earth’s mantle, to await her command. Her face screws up into an expression of anguish, though she forces the feeling down, knowing that if she didn’t reel in her own emotion, her legion of death wouldn’t hesitate to grab every demigod in her vicinity and drag them into the earth, to take their place in the afterlife. Maybe they’d take her, too. Maybe she hoped they would.

The thing about being the daughter of death, was that when a soul left a body and you were near enough to it, you could feel them leaving the mortal plane, accompanied by her father to the underworld. She could feel it, feel him, Luke’s soul leaving his body. She always did, with the campers they lost during the war, but this one hits too close to home. It’s a startling, chilling, terrifying feeling, that only makes her sob harder, knowing the boy she loved was now in her father’s hands, and out of her own. This was always the hardest part. “Take care of him for me, pops,” she whispers, voice trembling, knowing her father was with Luke’s soul right now, the pair watching over her mourning over Luke’s body. As that realization passes over her, she sits up straight, a ragged scream of mourning threatening to tear her vocal cords apart. In the background, she’s vaguely aware of the voice of Percy Jackson speaking,

“We need a shroud. A shroud for the son of Hermes.”

Notes: and with that, we’re done. This was super fun! I feel like I could go on forever about Luke x Grim Reader (I’m calling them deadwings/grimwings), and if there’s enough of a demand, I just might. Feedback is obviously appreciated !! Drink some water, hug a friend, and don’t forget to pirate PJO 🫶

#JAZZ HANDDSS #happy Friday have some soul shattering angst #and for my next trick I’ll disappear into obscurity never to be heard from again #jk #unless??? #pjo x reader #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan angst #luke castellan x you #PJO angst #x reader #PJO imagine

[carolmunson]

the moon had turned to gold.

(soft!eddie x badatfeelings!gf)

and we're back folks. i'm going through it so i had to revisit my kids. the badatfeelings!gf set is a series of ramblings with no rhyme or reason, flow of conciousness. not from a 'you' perspective but 'she/her' has no physical descriptors.

tw: depictions and descriptions of depression (eddie to the rescue). because i'm sad!

Her eyes have been half closed for days -- wakes up and gets out of bed, makes coffee, reads the paper, gets back in bed for an indescerable amount of time. More coffee, hand fulls of shredded cheese, water from the side table that's been there for days. She hasn't been going into work, just in the dark of her room while the hum of the window unit drones on and on and on. He knocks, opening the door to darkness despite the warm glow of golden hour outside -- her black out curtains a bigger success than she expected. She's awake but not really, eyes glazed over watching snow on the TV she moved to her bedroom.

Summer blues she called it, summertime sad. The air is stale, he can tell she hasn't moved much this morning. She hasn't moved much all month. "Hi." Quiet and soft, rounded edges in his voice, "Bad day?"

She uses whatever strength she has to lift her arm out of the covers and give him a thumbs down. He lets a huff of a laugh out of his nose, "Yeah, I see that." Despite laying in bed all day her body is tense and he knows that maybe she'll feel better about moving when she knows the sun is going down. He thought this vampire sleep schedule shit would've been sexier -- but it's not. It hurts to see her like this, so tired from just waking up, so sick of just existing. He's seen her cry more than he has in the years they've been together. But at least she's like -- crying. She never used to cry at all.

He sneaks onto the edge of the bed, his backside and hips nestling in the dip of her waist over the covers, "Do you know what would be nice?"

"Hm?" she asks, body heavy while she flops over to put an arm around where she can reach. "Taking a shower," he offers, hand resting on her hair, thumb grazing her forehead, "You always feel a little better after." "Mhm," she nods sleepily. "I can put your jammies in the drier so they're cozy when you come out," he smiles, voice still soft, still rounded edges. Her lashes flutter before she looks up at him, glassy and glazed, half here half not. Zombie girlfriend, vampire girlfriend, monster girlfriend, sad girlfriend. She's so pretty, he thinks.

"Yeah," she nods.

"Yeah to the jammies in the drier?" he asks. "Yeah," she says, her voice is quiet -- meek. 'Yeah' was her first word of the day. "That," she nods again, deep breath in through the nose and it rattles at the exhale, "Shower, too."

He helps her up and hears the crack in some of her bones, the stiffness in her joints while her face contorts at the change in position. She's been in the same sleep shirt for three days, some field day shirt from college. Green socks on her feet, the tops shoved down her ankles, one nearly falling off. No crumbs in her bed at least -- he knows she's too anxious for that. But the dishes aren't done and the bag of shredded cheese is abandon on the counter. Mugs of varying fullness off coffee are sitting in random placeholders in the small apartment. Forgetful -- foggy.

"C'mon," he coos, pulling her in at the shoulders to take her to the bathroom. She's so tired from doing nothing that she can't help but keep doing nothing. He pulls off her sleep shirt and panties, he helps with the socks, turning the shower on to a medium heat. Forhead kiss, cheek kiss, cheek kiss. Poor baby.

"Do you need help getting in?"

She shakes her head no.

"What do you want to wear for PJs?"

She shrugs. He figured she would.

He pulls back the shower curtain and she gets inside, he waits for the inevitable sigh she lets out when the water hits her. He peeks in, her naked body not important the way it usually is -- its those eyes, half closed -- less sad, less sleepy. Contemplative, alive. Half dead lover. His ghoulish girl.

"I'll leave them in here for when you're done."

He knows he has time to clean up for her -- easy to get lost in the void when you stand in the shower and that's where she is. Here and gone and here and gone again. Tongue tucked away between her teeth -- he almost misses when she's mean. He misses her so bad, but he takes what he can get, even if it's putting sweats in the drier.

When the hot water runs out she emerges, wet hair dripping down onto the new t-shirt -- still warm like the sweats on her legs. Fresh linen scent radiating off her like her coconut conditioner. She doesn't even care that the rest of the house is warm and sticky from the air outside. It's fresher now, he opened the windows and did the dishes. Cleaned out all the mugs. Opened your bedroom door to let the coolness flow to some of the house, too make things less stale. He lit two candles, sugar cookie scented -- it's all you ever bought because that's his favorite.

"Thank you," voice still meek. Still under twentywords today. Eyes a little more open. He puts down the mug he was drying and tosses the hand towel over the faucet of the sink.

"S'no problem, baby," soft round edges, soft round boy. Patched vest left behind on the kitchen table chair, soft cut off t-shirt left behind. Tattooed arms outstretched to her in the sterile light of the kitchen, the sun is down now -- the stars starting to peek out of a dark navy sky.

She lets herself get pulled into him and it feels like it's happening in slow motion -- face in his chest, he closes in on her like a wave. The pressure is welcomed -- she's alive but barely. Biceps crush on her shoulder blades, her neck cracks -- reanimator boyfriend, zombie girlfriend. Living glass doll that feels better off dead. She falls into the hold while he sways with her, chin on her wet hair.

"Blue moon, you saw me standing alone..." he sings quietly while he sways, his own eyes shutting, "C'mon, sing it with me." He feels her head move in a 'no' on his chest. "It's your favorite," he argues, "It'll feel good." Another sigh -- the inevitable. "Without a dream in my heart..." He smiles at her voice, coming out a little stronger than before, he snickers before beginning again. "Without a love of my own..."

"Blue moon," they start together, he smiles a little stronger. She's doing her best so he doesn't push it when she doesn't keep singing. He peers down while he continues, her eyes are closed against his chest but she feels alive. Just safer. The kind of safe where she'll sleep good tonight, might even eat breakfast tomorrow.

"And then suddenly, appeared before me..."

He shakes her to the beat the song normally has, bum bum bum bum. She huffs a chuckle a the shimmying, smile stretching against the warm fabric of his shirt, the inhale like laundry detergent and summer heated skin. "The only one my arms will ever hold, I heard somebody whisper, 'Please, adore me'..."

"That's me," she interrupts, he pulls her in tighter, the sway stops slow. "Yeah," he sighs out, "That's you. Dropped right outta the sky." "Yeah," she says, head tilting up. The whites of her eyes glisten despite the redness creeping in at the edges. "I ordered pizza," he says, "Cause I know you didn't eat."

Her brows furrow, mouth souring.

"I know, I'm awful," he giggles, "Gotta feed the girl in your brain that isn't so sad -- that's my girl in there."

"M'still your girl even when I'm sad," voice back to sleepy meekness, she yawns.

"Yeah, you are," he confirms sweetly, plush lips pressing against her forhead, "Always my girl."

In the cool white green light of the kitchen they stand in damp solitude -- with a heave of her chest she starts to cry. He doesn't need to know the reason, just as long as she does -- as long as he's there to hold her through it. Alive girl. Fully alive in the darkness of another deep blue summer night.

And when I looked, the moon had turned to gold.

more badatfeelings here

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fan fic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #boyfriend!eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things au #badatfeelings!gf #baf!eddie

[depravitycentral]

I’m here to share. Uvo definitely loves face riding and would complain if you didn’t sit all the way down. I can’t be told otherwise.

Tw: dub-con oral, manhandling, implied that you're insecure about your weight but no actual physical descriptors used so anyone of any size can read, fem reader, MDNI

Oh absolutely.

To be honest, most of the time you won't even really have the chance to not put all your weight on him - the moment he decides he wants your thighs around his head, your cunt snug against his mouth, and your pretty tummy in perfect view, you're being manhandled and situated into how he wants. His hands are like iron as he grips you and pulls you flush against his face, the loud sniffing noise he makes and the groan that gets muffled against your folds making embarrassment creep up your spine. He's in heaven, truly, and while he wants to pleasure you and taste you, he'd almost be content to just lay there, smelling your musky, natural scent, and feeling all your weight pressing against him.

(He might even come from that - though you'd probably have to reach back and help him a bit. Don't worry, though - he'll do all the thrusting, you just have to make your hand into a pretty little hole - not nearly as pretty as your little hole, though.)

But for the sake of imagination, let's say you're in a situation where Uvogin isn't letting excitement get the better of him, and you have actual control over your body.

Firstly, while Uvogin doesn't force you into actual, penetrative sex, he does force oral onto you. Frequently. He just can't help it; you're so pretty and sweet and sexy, and he has a good sense of smell - good enough to almost, almost, be able to smell when you're aroused.

Even outside of getting to see your face screw up in pleasure and feel your body tremble and shake and writhe for him, he likes eating you out because it feels intimate, loving, and it's something he'd never do for a random hook up - or, at least, not to the extent, enthusiasm, or finesse with which he eats you. So it's an act driven by lust, yes, but equal parts love - which is why he's absolutely not letting you get away with harboring any insecurities.

He likes going down on you in other positions, but having you sit on his face is his favorite by far. When the mood strikes him (or he catches a whiff of something sweet, something heavy, something needy), he'll lick his lips, sending you that familiar grin while his eyes get a bit lidded, his voice low and sultry as he asks if you're feeling a little lonely over there, babe?

It doesn't really matter how you respond - he'll drop whatever he's doing, strip bare and plop himself down onto the bed, the couch, hell, even the floor, that same grin on his face as he tells you c'mere, I'm starving.

He's not very subtle when he brushes all his hair out of his face, getting comfortable and making sure his lips are wet, running his tongue over his teeth in anticipation because he can nearly taste you already.

And if you hesitate? Well, Uvogin's smile will falter a bit, his brow twitching, his voice just slightly more serious when you tells you to get that cute little ass over here, don't make come get you.

That'll get you edging over to him, standing above him and staring, playing with the hem of your shirt nervously because you know what he wants, but it still makes you a little unsure, a little apprehensive, a little insecure.

Uvogin's having none of it, rolling his eyes and pointing to his face, his smirk coming back in full force. Sit right here babe, you just sit down and look pretty and I'll do all the work.

Eventually, with a warning look sent your way, you'll relent, slipping down the shorts and panties over your knees and off your ankles, the warmth of the fireplace nearby making your skin tingle. You'll kneel down and carefully slot your thighs onto either side of his head, his hair brushes against your inner thighs and knees and tickling ever so slightly.

He's watching you the whole time as you shimmey upwards, those dark, smoldering eyes locking onto yours as your folds get closer and closer to his lips, spit already glistening on them as Uvogin's tongue runs over them again. You're barely even hovering four inches above him at this point and he's already practically salivating because he can already smell you, already see you and feel the warmth coming from between those lovely, soft thighs of yours.

Eventually you'll lower yourself down, feeling his breath (a little heavier than normal) blowing against your sensitive skin, your hands coming to rest awkwardly on top of your thighs. Uvogin hums below you, a hand coming up to squeeze and lightly grope at your ass, his fingers big and calloused as the rub against you.

Soon you'll feel him, his tongue running a teasing lick up your folds, the sensation making you suck in a breath and avert your eyes - he's still looking at you, forcing you to maintain eye contact, even though it's a little difficult to see him from this angle.

Those kitten licks turn into him lapping at you, his tongue wide and wet and warm, alternating between large, flat licks over the expanse of your slit, then dipping in between your folds to lightly thrust into you. His lips press against you, adding extra sensation and stimulation, and as he wanders further up, they latch around your clit while he suckles and licks circles over the little bud, making your breath hitch and your balance momentarily falter, your hands moving forward to catch you as your hips tremble.

You're so damn pretty, and with this new, slight angle change Uvogin gets an eye full of your tits, your nipples already swollen and hard, practically begging to be pinched and played with. His eyes flutter closed for a brief moment, and then he's pulling back ever so slightly, an ass cheek in each hand as he pulls and gropes. His voice is a little hoarse as he tells you with a twinkle in his eye to play with those tits babe, y'know I love when you make yourself feel good.

And you do - one hand comes up to lightly pinch at a nipple as he dives back into you, the hands on your ass pulling you down to meet him. The feeling of his tongue swirling along your clit and his chin rubbing against your folds makes you melt, but you're brought out of your reverie when you realize that he's pulling you down, and now nearly all your weight is resting on him.

Immediately you're trying to lift up a bit, to alleviate some of the pressure, but Uvogin only growls, tongue working at you with more fervor as he pulls down again, your hips effectively becoming a tug of war as you each pull.

Eventually he gets fed up, angry that you're distracting him from the lovely taste of you, and he pulls off your clit with a wet, suctioning pop noise that makes you bristle.

What the fuck, babe? What are you doing?

It's embarrassing to admit, but as he stares at you, one large hand moves from your ass to your chin, forcing your head to stay in place and maintain eye contact.

Your voice is small, unsure, ashamed as you tell him that you're too heavy, I don't want to crush you or suffocate you -

He cuts you off then, his grip on your chin tightening and an honest to god angry look settling into those dark eyes. What. The. Fuck?

You don't know how to respond to that, so instead you just bite your lip, your hand leaving your breast in favor of twiddling your fingers just to keep yourself busy.

Uvogin, meanwhile, can only stare at you incredulously. Are you kidding? You're worried about crushing him? Him, who's a whole head - at least - taller than you, easily weighing three times your body weight, and capable of lifting entire semi-trucks with ease? Are you kidding?

Shit, stop it. Stop looking like that. You're not gonna crush me. I can still breath, trust me, and even if I can't I'll let you know. Not that I would mind, though, suffocating on this pussy would be the perfect way to go.

His free hand smacks your ass at that, and you jump a bit, accidentally grinding your clit against the tip of his nose. He groans.

So quit it. Stop holding back. Sit down on my face, all the way. No more of this 'too heavy' shit - if I feel you pull back against I'll force you to stay down.

You can feel him grin against your folds. Even if the overstimulation makes you beg.

And with that, he's pulling you down again, forcing your weight down onto him and holding you steady, before moving his hands away from your ass to instead grope at your tits.

With some slight, short lived hesitation, you don't pull up, instead letting yourself put your full weight on him, and literally feeling the growl he lets out at that, the vibrations seeming to run from your toes to your fingertips.

Uvogin's good with his tongue - he's licking and slurping and sucking, the noises lewd and wet and vulgar, your cries and his hums and groans making your head spin. Soon the pleasure is making you throw caution to the wind, your full weight still on him as you grind yourself against his tongue, the wet muscle thrusting into you almost as deep as your own fingers can reach, your clit rubbing against his nose in a rhythmic, steady pace.

Uvogin brows cock up a bit - you're close, he can tell. With a renewed vigor, he works at that spot inside you again and again, careful to keep the pace the same but the pressure and precision higher, anything to get you screaming his name and feeling those thighs tense up around his head.

Everything smells like you you you - all he can breath in is your scent, and all the can see and hear and taste and feel is you, and Uvogin thinks he might ascend, your presence clouding all of his senses and making heat swell up between his legs and his muscles clench and his eyes water and oh fuck -

You cry out his name and clench down on his tongue just as something warm and wet sprays onto your ass. You're gasping and clutching at his hair, your orgasm overwhelming as he keeps up his movements, though they're a little strained and uneven as his own pleasure becomes unbearable.

Soon the high fades and oversensitivity takes its place, making you squirm and bite your lip, hips shaking and your thighs clenching over and over around his head.

But Uvogin can only stare - he's covered in your slick and cum all over his chin, cheeks and neck, but it just tastes too good to stop now - plus, you're looking at him with teary eyes and your chest heaving, and how can he stop now? He can't, not when you look this good, not when you taste this fucking delicious.

He'll keep at it for another two or three rounds, just long enough until he's temporarily satisfied, just long enough until you'll need his help to stand up on your own to feet. Just long enough until he's proven that you could never crush him - sometimes he can't help but wonder just where you get these stupid, impossible little worries.

He'll crush all those other insecurities while he's at it - it's his job as your partner, after all.

So really, just tell him.

#_lee thirsts #_uvogin #_hxh #yandere hxh #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere uvogin

[untitledmemes]

Hazbin Hotel Prompts

Part I An assortment of prompts taken from the series Hazbin Hotel on Amazon Prime. Adjust as necessary to fit pronoun and/or descriptor. In case of Multimuse, don't forget to specify which one/s. Reblog, please do not repost or add.

“ Oh, shit. Did you hear all of that? ”

“ I enjoy your theatrics. ”

“ I just hope what I'm trying to do here will work. ”

“ Well hello there, you wayward sinner. Do you like blood, violence and depravity of a sexual nature? ”

“ Your last attempt at salvation starts here. ”

“ Thank you so much for making this. Seriously. Amazing. ”

“ Oh, fun. You had a little fun with it? ”

“ Sex sells, don't it? ”

“ I really don't want to exploit you in that way. ”

“ This body was made to be exploited. ”

“ I could keep goin' all night, baby. ”

“ Why do you think I'm here? ”

“ I like being forced. ”

“ I'm choosing to be here, and I think it's all stupid. ”

“ That's kind of the end of the road, ain't it? ”

“ Just because nobody made it out before, doesn't mean it's not possible. ”

“ There's just no way I could blow it, not this once in a lifetime chance. ”

“ It's a happy day in hell. ”

“ Ha! I fucking got you!. ”

“ So, I'm happy we got this opportunity to meet. ”

“ I need you to be less horny, if possible. ”

“ I ain't no actor! I can't memorize this shit! ”

“ So, anyway, we fucked and it was awesome. ”

“ Fucking love putting my name on shit. Shit's the best. ”

“ Alright, um, maybe we can try and fix it in post. ”

“ Seems like you're having a bit of trouble there, hm? ”

“ I wouldn't try that, my dear. ”

“ I don't care who or what you are. If you're staying here, you are going to make this work. ”

“ Awesome job, danger tits. Pound it. ”

“ Those are my people. You know that, right? ”

“ They had their chance and they earned damnation. ”

“ How does that feel? To know how little you matter. ”

“ Let me stop you right there, save us all precious time. ”

“ Did I hear you imply they don't deserve death? ”

“ It means we're all royally fucked. ”

“ We should just go down there now and destroy them. ”

“ Oh please, you had less than half a chance when you started all this. ”

“ Well, it's not like people are going to show up at our doorstep. ”

“ Now that's good television. ”

“ Whatever could be the problem, my dear? ”

“ Fuck my life. ”

“ I have a fire to put out upstairs. ”

“ Well, looks like you have everything under control here. ”

“ Take care of the piss baby. ”

“ That fucking slut walked out on me. ME. I fucking made him! ”

“ Which of these makes me look sexier? ”

“ What are you doing? You're not going over there. ”

“ Now that's why they pay you the big bucks. ”

“ I think he's had enough. ”

“ Thank you... For letting your guard down! ”

“ Can't let my new project fall into disrepair already. ”

“ That fucker is back! ”

“ You still pissed he almost beat you that time? ”

“ Things changed a lot since he left town. ”

“ Welcome home. I'm gonna make you wish that you stayed gone. ”

“ Did anybody miss him? Did anybody notice? ”

“ Where's he been? Who gives a shit? ”

“ You old timey prick, I'll show you suffering. ”

“ I'm gonna make you wish that I'd stayed gone. ”

“ How exactly are we supposed to stop it? ”

“ Who would want to use their last days not fucking and fighting? ”

“ I didn't come looking for a fight. ”

“ Aren't you supposed to protect this place? ”

“ I give you a week. Tops. ”

“ It's nice to have someone interested for once. ”

“ Never leave me again. ”

“ I definitely remember you now. ”

“ It's great, right? Keep going. ”

“ The only cool thing has is to say no to drugs. ”

“ I'm off to not have sexual intercourse before marriage! ”

“ You like me. You really like me! ”

“ You actually think you can change? ”

“ You slippery little shit! ”

“ I fucking knew there was something shitty about you. ”

“ Get your aggressively average body off of me! ”

“ This little bitch is a traitor! ”

“ Wait, you were caught? It hasn't even been a day! ”

“ The path to forgiveness is a twisting trail of hearts, but sorry is where it starts. ”

“ Why are you so lame? ”

“ You'll have to try better than that next time, ol' pal. ”

#rp meme #rp memes #rp prompt #rp prompts #rp starter #rp starters #memes #starters #prompts #roleplay meme #roleplay prompt #roleplay starter #roleplay memes #roleplay prompts #roleplay starters #sentence meme #sentence memes #sentence prompt #sentence prompts #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel 2024

[hornyhornyhimbos]

Happy By The Poolside

pairing: steve harrington x afab!reader

summary: while they wait for the annual pool party to start, steve knows exactly how to keep his lover happy by the poolside ☼♡

word count: 1,477

warnings: MINORS DNI (18+ CONTENT) oral f!receiving, fingering f!receiving, semi-public sex (sex by the pool), nicknames (baby, sweetheart), edancy appearance because i said so, allusions to steve jerkin it in the bathroom, no pronouns or reader descriptors used other than reader wearing a bikini, color coded speaker tags!

genre: fluffy, established relationship smut ♡

extra notes: did y'all really think i'd let fourth of july go by without slutty 'i <3 swimming' steve?

beta read by: @lcvingprentjss (love u sm)

masterlist | location smut prompts | ask box

it was hot. it was oh so hot. but it wasn't the 80° heat that had you feeling that way. no, what had you feeling that way was a certain brunette boy in big sunglasses and loose-hanging shorts.

you all but stared as steve emerged from the pool, blue swim trunks settled low on his waist, accentuating the trail of hair on his lower belly and the dips of his adonis belt. you practically drooled as he shook out his wet hair, beads of water flying about and landing in various spots on the concrete and your chaise.

he reached for the towel that he'd tossed at the end of the chair, a few loose droplets of of water falling onto your feet as he did so. you'd been happy right where you were, enjoying a magazine as the sun rays beat down on your body, fingers crossed that you'd have a tan after this, not a nasty case of sunburn. steve had been pouting half the morning, trying to get you in the pool with him, but you hadn't budged, saying you were happy by the poolside, waiting until the rest of your friends had arrived for the pool party.

still, even an hour after you'd sat down on the chaise, he wasn't letting up. "baby," he said, somehow managing to make the term sound conspiratorial, "are you sure you don't want to join me?"

you shook your head, putting this month's edition of cosmo to the side and taking off your sunglasses to meet his gaze. "everyone should be here soon. then you'll have plenty of time with me in the pool. it's not like dustin would ever let me miss the annual chicken fight."

he chuckled at your statement, but took your hand in both of his and gave you that look, the one he always gave you when he was determined to get you to do whatever he wanted. "come on, baby. please?" his bottom lip puckered out like a child in a candy store. "just for a few minutes?"

"nope," you answered, putting your sunglasses back on as the sun moved further overhead. "i only have so much time today to start on my tan. besides, they'll be here any minute."

in protest, steve pulled you up from the chair and tugged you toward the pool. "come on, at least dip your toes in."

you supposed you couldn't argue with his compromise. he walked around to the steps, slowly submerging himself in the pool once again, while you sank onto the concrete, dipping your feet into the contrastingly cool water. you chuckled as steve went limber, letting the small waves of water carry him through the pool. "you're missing out," he stated, like it was an absolute fact.

"i'm perfectly fine right here, my little fish," you teased. you kicked your feet softly in the water, watching as tiny ripples floated to join the bigger ones that carried steve. from this new angle, the sun was hidden behind his neighbors' trees, prompting you to place your sunglasses to the side and get a better look at steve: the once dark blue shorts now a beautiful cerulean, just a tad darker than the water he floated on, his normal wavy tufts now a sea of dark curls, the way his skin practically sparkled in the sliver of sunlight that wasn't hidden behind his neighbors' sugar maples. you watched as beads of water slid down his stomach, dragging along every crevice and line of his abs. you'd be lying if you said the sight didn't have you turned on.

steve must've noticed the way you'd been staring, forcing himself upright again and wading through the water toward you. unbeknownst to you, that little red bikini you had on was doing a number on him, his inner monologue and thoughts being driven by his little head at this point. he made his way over to you, placing a delicate kiss on your leg, looking up at you through water-matted eyelashes. "baby," he said, his tone teasing this time.

"hmm?" you hummed in response, afraid your voice would betray you if you said anything more.

his eyes flicked between your eyes and the place where your thighs squeezed together. you needed him, and you both knew it. "you okay?"

you managed to nod, the friction between your legs not at all aiding the want that had taken over your body. "i'm good," you said sheepishly, a blush creeping up your skin.

"are you sure? because," he paused, placing his giant palm on your knee and pulling your legs apart. he smirked at the wet spot he'd unknowingly created on your bathing suit. "you seem like you could use some help over here," he finished, his hand making its way up to your thigh.

the logical part of your brain managed to take over for a moment. "steve, people will be here any minute," you protested, despite the irrationally horny side of your brain that was currently fistfighting the logical side.

"then i'd better be quick," he said, his hands inching toward your bikini bottoms.

he left a space of availability in the air for any more protests you might have. after all, even though you were in a very established relationship, consent was always key. but you made no more argumentative comments, only approving moans and the occasional, "please," as he pulled your bathing suit down.

his lips met your clit with soft licks at first, giving you time to respond with just how hard and fast you needed it. your hands met his hair, tangling in the wet curls as you pulled him closer to you, letting out a soft moan as he suckled your bud.

he pulled your bikini bottoms all the way off, setting them aside on the concrete before meeting your pussy once again. your legs wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him closer to you again. his damp hair settled on the sides of your thighs, sending a shiver up your spine.

his tongue worked itself in heavenly figure eights around your core, while one of his hands met your entrance. he toyed at your hole with his fingertip, waiting for some kind of approval to continue.

you gave him exactly that, letting out a whine that sounded like an attempt to say, "please, stevie," but was nearly incoherent. he slipped one finger inside you, the sensation absolutely intoxicating.

he left a series of open-mouthed kisses on your clit, his digit continuing to bury itself inside you. he moaned at the taste, and the vibration had you inching closer to your release. your fingers curled into his hair while your toes curled into his back as his finger reached that sweet spot deep inside you.

the logical part of your brain took over once more as you spared a quick glance at your watch. "steve, they're gonna be here any second," you said through moans, hands pulling so hard at his hair that you were surprised you hadn't ripped it out yet.

"patience, baby, patience," he reminded you, immediately diving back into your cunt. his finger was accompanied by a second, his thrusts only becoming faster and deeper with every flex of the digits. your eyes had started to roll back and your toes had started to curl even harder. you were close, oh so close, and you both knew it.

the familiar rumble of eddie's truck trumpeted from what sounded like a few houses down. "steeeeve," you let out, ever so close to your orgasm.

his fingers drove impossibly deeper into your cunt, his mouth only parting from you to say, "cum for me, sweetheart."

as if on cue, your orgasm rippled throughout your body, pain and pleasure taking over all of your senses. a moan escaped your lips at the last possible second as the truck turned off outside the fence.

steve left one last open-mouthed kiss on your core before rushing to pull your bottoms back on. "you let them in while i go, uh, fix something in the bathroom."

you giggled, watching as steve padded toward the back door. surprisingly, you managed to compose yourself between the fifteen feet that lied between the pool and the gate, a smile making its way onto your lips as you let your friends in. "hey, guys," you greeted, moving to let the trio in.

mike entered first, while eddie and nancy stepped in behind him, eddie's arm tossed around his girl's shoulders. "you okay?" nancy asked, seemingly having noticed your wobbly legs.

"i'm fine," you answered. "just stood up a little too fast. got a little lightheaded."

steve chuckled as he closed the glass door behind him, making his way inside the house and heading toward the bathroom. if you thought that was lightheaded, just you wait until the after party…

-> taglist: @dungeons-are-too-cold @rupsmorge @writer-in-theory @esoltis280 @liberhoe @wifeyreid @serenity-lattes-reads

#imagine #imagines #blurb #blurbs #one shot #one shots #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington blurbs #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington one shots #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things imagine #stranger things imagines #stranger things blurb #stranger things blurbs #stranger things one shot #stranger things one shots #stranger things fluff #stranger things smut #fanfiction #hornyhornyhimbos

[weebsinstash]

I try try try try TRY (unless I'm intentionally being self indulgent) to not give Reader too many similarities or hobbies as myself

But oh my god an Author Reader, whether an actual author or a self published small time fanfic writer such as myself, really does have so much potential for Hazbin pairings and ideas

Like for example if you think of my poly radiostatic idea from before, then you would have Vox representing video, Alastor representing audio, and Reader representing the written medium/scripts symbolically, rounding out a perfect trio, with your skills inherently tying into both of their mediums while also being uniquely different

There's the obvious and juicy potential of porn author Reader catching Valentino's eye and him liking your work or seeking you out after reading something of yours online, OR you already being a cute lil employee of his and he's snooping on your laptop one day and finds loads and loads of kinky goodness he didn't know you had in you

I've even thought of Reader writing horror novels and other "normal books" and Alastor is absolutely thrilled by this, loves reading your works regardless of how skilled you are in terms of like the more technical things like prose or symbolism or whatever, and THEN he finds out you also write smut and he's just :) immediately wanting to put a stop to that. Oh honey you mean you... waste your time putting your name on such... filthy content to be read by complete strangers? Especially men? Oh no no no, he can't have that at all. Doesn't want you writing it, doesn't want you READING IT, unless it's "tasteful" enough, which, by his standards probably means the most vanilla, barely described missionary sex between two married individuals--

Maybe your skills and descriptors and visualization can directly translate into certain illusionary powers, either creating visions or temporary manifestations of things. You could sit and talk with Lucifer about all the different sights you've seen on Earth, going to parks with your dad as a kid, feeding the geese and their fluffy yellow goslings, allow him to feel the warmth of the sun on his skin, feel a lovely lakeside breeze...

You could tell all your Hotel buddies or new Hell pals about where you grew up, or places you've been, things you've seen, stuff you've done, and SHOW it to them. It'll make those who have died miss being alive and seek out your company for the nostalgia, and those who have never seen Earth all the more eager to talk to you and learn even more...

#hh #yandere hazbin hotel #yandere x reader #tbh i keep having self indulgent thoughrs of a reader who can still connect to earth internet but thats for another time #sinprompts #catch me out here hey vox you ever hear of Spider-Man. lets watch one of my favorite movie trilogies cbdkdbdb

[oonajaeadira]

I'll Leave a Light On For You

Fandom: Bloodsucking Bastards / Max Phillips

Pairing: Max Phillips x f!reader

Reader: Adult female. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n. (There is a little description, but it’s still you. Believe me, it will make sense. We’re dealing with the supernatural here.)

Rating: T. 

Warnings: Angst. Character death. Allusions to the atrocities of war and its lasting effects. Max is a vampire. Traumatic soul memory. Me assuming I know anything about French culture of the 1930s.

Summary: Max has reservations when it comes to love, and for very good reasons.

A/N: This is my entry for the @pedrostories Secret Santa event. While I played one selfish card in my hand and wrote something of a companion to Light Only Shows You Where the Shadows Are, this can still be read as a standalone.

To my giftee, the amazing and wonderful @artemiseamoon : First of all, I admire you so much and I was really nervous to write for you. But I looked among your generous prompt choices (omgs thank you for so many good choices) and was surprised to find Max as an option. I wasn’t going to choose him at first but then my eye caught “past lives” and something in me zinged. Soul mates, angsty romance, second chance at love… and I’ve been itching to write an angsty Max. I know you are a fan of soft and whump, so all those elements had a party in my heart and here we are. I really hope you’re having a nice holiday and a good time off. Happy Secret Santa, Arte. <3

What we’ve been told is that when you die, your life flashes before your eyes.

That’s almost correct.

The truth is…it’s not just your current life.

It’s all of them.

Max hardly remembers the fear, the pain, the cold of his draining. Even though he knew what was coming, bought into the cult, the human instinct of fight or flight is hard to dismiss no matter how well they’ve been prepped and it was to be expected. But it was a flash in the pan and once he came around to the undead side of things, those pesky human responses were all quickly forgotten.

For a time. Until he saw your light and–

Anyway. Human instincts. Pffft. Adorable. Trading the constant possibility of fear for that of glee, of rapture, of delight? Human instincts are trash. Not to mention their senses, poor suckers. The things they can’t see can’t hear can’t smell can’t taste? Tragic.

If only the feelings weren’t heightened too. It makes some things–some people–hard to ignore–

Feelings were something he could also have done without in his human life–the latest one anyway–and did whatever he could do to avoid.

It wasn’t until he died that he understood why.

As the life drained out of him and the delirium set in, there was a rushing sound, a pull through his soul like the drag of blood from his body, and he was laying, feeble, wailing, bloody and naked among the limbs of his mother.

But not the mother he so recently remembered, the one that showed her approval only when he provided her with some accomplishment worthy of crowing about to her society friends. No, this one was gentle, kind, held him and sang to him, lived her life for him until she died of fever when he was only five years old.

Max saw it all, from within himself and without, remembered the pull of his heart and watched the tears fall down his little face as they nailed his mother’s body in a pine box and put it in a hole at the top of a hill under a tree.

He always imagined he heard her singing to him in the grasses after that.

The world welcomed a new century, and not long afterward, he was a young man, looking to take over his father’s wine fields. But the chance was stolen when an archduke was shot. Max–Pierre, as he was called then–and all of the close friends and cousins he had were thrust into a great war. 

He was the only one to walk out of the fray. And when he came home, he found his father’s fields had been burned and that nothing remained.

That was a dark time. Ten years of looking back rather than looking forward. Ten years–it went by so fast–while he watched the world around him try to repair itself and find its footing again, not realizing that the roots of evil still grew beneath the soil.

He kept his head down and his hands working wherever he could.

But then he met a woman.

And she was Pierre’s life. Max’s life. Before he was Max.

It happened in the winter, just before Noël. And her name was Yaëlle.

Max remembered that before she even told him as he watched the story of this strange old life.

Yaëlle. It means “beautiful one.”

“It also means ‘goat,’” she’d said. “That seems more fitting.” She never thought of herself pretty, and perhaps she wasn’t fashionable and maybe she was stronger than she was dainty, with a weak chin and curly dark hair she couldn’t control. But the light in her eyes when she laughed–and what a laugh, like a little bird–the sway of her hips and the confidence in her carriage, her air of easy care and comfort caught his heart like a surly bear in the prettiest trap.

She’d simply been passing through the marché de Noēl, looking but not stopping, taking the kerchief off her head so the snow could land in her curls, when a child approached her selling buns in the shape of a cross and she gave the child a franc before sitting down at the statue of some cardinal or other in the center of the square.

She could have sat on any of the other benches, but she chose to plonk down next to Max. Next to Pierre.

“You want this?” she asked, offering the bun. “Not really my thing.”

How could she have known he was hungry? That he was lonely? That he was facing the market rather than the river because he was trying not to succumb to his inclinations, a pull to walk out onto the thin ice and let himself be taken by the stream?

He was instantly entranced by her. He felt himself smiling. Something shifted within. A destiny.

“You sure?” he asked.

She peered at him, scrutinized his whole self like she could see a glow around him and was looking for its source.

She found it in his eyes.

“Absolutely. I already ate three hand pies today. The last thing I need is more bread.”

He laughed for the first time in a long while. They talked. He ate.

On Christmas Eve when everyone was at the evening’s mass, she was there again, sitting alone, and this time it was he who had hot food and came to join her on the bench while the night was silent and cold and the stars were twinkling.

It was then that he learned why she was not in church–her folk did not observe Noēl. And she learned why he was not in church–he had lost his faith, that everyone he had ever loved was taken and there were not enough candles in the sanctuary to light for all of them.

“What if I lit one?” she’d asked.

“Who would you light it for?”

“For you. So you don’t have to sit in the dark.” When he was only silent, she said, “You fought in the Great War, didn’t you.” And when he looked away–when he shut her out–she continued. “My husband fought in that war. And he never could find his heart again. He said he loved me, but I don’t think he ever really did, not all the way. But I loved him all the way and when he put an end to his own life I thought I would have to do it too. Instead, I sat in the dark for a long time. It’s something I can see in a person. I can see you’re sitting in the dark.”

They stayed quiet for a time on the bench under the statue of the cardinal and when the church bells started to toll–signaling the magic of the empty square would soon be disrupted by the mass emptying into its streets–she stood and pulled her coat around her.

“My home is down that street, a little one with a red roof. It’s warm and I’ve plenty of hand pies--I made too many. I’ll leave a candle in the window until I’m asleep. You’re always welcome there, Max.”

And then she smiled and turned down the avenue where she’d pointed.

He blinked. Just before she reached the edge of the square he called out, “My name isn’t Max. It’s Pierre.”

She turned and gave a sly wink. “Good to know. I think once you get a belly full of my pies, you’ll let me call you whatever I want.”

He only sat long enough to watch the churchgoers file out of the holy service, many of them with people they loved, humming, happy, cheeks glowing in that way when one steps into a fresh cold world after being an hour or two soaking in the warmth. And once the square was empty again, he stood, gave only a fleeting look to the river, and then walked resolutely down Yaëlle’s street.

A little house with a red roof and a candle in the window.

He stayed for supper and came back many nights after.

And then one night he never left.

Max recalled the rest of that life with a lurking despair. While he couldn’t quite remember how it went, something in him carried it through to the life he’d just left…and he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was yet.

A few years of joy, of the greatest love he’d felt since his childhood. Like the mother he’d lost, another woman who was gentle, kind, held him and sang to him, lived her life for him until she couldn’t anymore.

They never celebrated Noël as the others did, but in their own way. For a handful of years they would go sit on the bench in the square and hand out pies to their neighbors and anyone who came to join them where they sat. They would listen to the singing in the church and watch the stars scintillate overhead. They would leave their shoes by the fireplace and wake up to find gifts they’d bought for each other with the little francs that they had. And they would never talk about what they would do in the future, because they knew it would be this and that’s all they aspired to and it would be a happy life.

And Max watched Pierre forget about the rot that still ran its roots through the soil.

And one day soldiers came to town when he was out in the fields and they took Yaëlle and some of the other dark-haired, joyful, bird-laughing folk about town and murdered them. By the time he returned for the evening, the soldiers had gone and left him nothing but a ravaged house and a body to bury.

There’s nothing he could have done, the mourning neighbors told him, the tide was rising. If he had fought them, they would have shot him too.

Pierre said that it would have been better that way.

Pierre stopped working in the fields when he started to hear his mother’s voice singing among the grasses again…now joined by Yaëlle’s sweet alto.

He had one more Noël in that life. He drank as much as he could take without falling over and stumbled out to sit on the bench in the square, weeping once the churchgoers had gone. He didn’t say a word, but Max remembered what Pierre was thinking then.

Love hurts too much. It is always taken. It’s not worth the trouble.

And then Pierre fell asleep on that bench and never woke up again.

There wasn’t much time between that first life and this one, maybe a few decades in the dark. Just long enough for a voice to reach him in the void–a voice he knew well and loved with his whole heart for only a short time–to say,

“That was a good first try, Max. Let’s give it another go, okay? Another place, another time, when it’s not so hard. I’ll leave a light on for you.”

____

Max’s life had been shorter this time. But he’d learned a thing or two and kept love at arm’s length. Sex was good and companionship was fine, but he wouldn’t invest in anything that could drain him in an instant and leave him destitute. 

Now power, that could fill the void. 

So when fortune smiled and he was given the choice, he swallowed hard and put his neck to the teeth, traded in his humanity for power that nobody could take away from him…and a heart that had no need for warmth.

He was wrong about that last point though.

And he didn’t even know it until he saw something that humans couldn’t see.

Heard something they couldn’t hear, a long ago and far away voice singing.

Smelled you on the wind.

Followed it to you–a woman, just another human woman–walking out of a bar along some street in the city.

And he saw a light glowing from within you.

You wore another face, another body, but all he saw was you.

Yaëlle.

Beautiful one.

He followed you that night, and several nights after. He was the reason that car swerved before it hit you, the reason you weren’t approached by that seedy guy at the club. He was the reason you kept looking behind you now and then and when you finally saw him–having dinner at the same restaurant, totally by coincidence, you on a friendly outing, him trying to charm a client into a contract–it broke his heart that you did not know him instantly.

He found he was surprised that he still had a heart to break. He’d been so fucking careful.

Max almost gave into the anger, the disappointment. Replayed the pathetic way Pierre let himself be brought down and tried to remind himself not to let himself be broken again.

But then he heard your voice in a way only those who walk in death can.

Let’s give it another go. I’ll leave a light on for you.

____

Heightened feeling is the one drawback of all this power. It’s one thing to latch onto a target, to fixate on some middle manager or accountant or IT specialist until there’s a good time to finally strike. That is an itch that can be satisfied with a well-timed, fear-seasoned, adrenaline-soaked kill.

But love sinks its fangs in and doesn’t let go. It sucks at something that can’t be drained, has no end, can never get enough. It can drive an immortal--a never-ending being of heightened existence--to madness.

There will come a day in the future when you’ll trust him for no good reason, when you’ll understand the monster he is and whisper under your breath against your better judgment, when you’ll invite him in. For dinner.

And he’ll come around again and again.

And then one day, he’ll stay.

And you’ll yawn ask him on the edge of sleep, “Why me? Of all these humans that you could easily enthrall and have without question, why choose this?”

Max will look at you in the darkness and see nothing but your light.

You won’t understand when he puts on a show of an irritated sigh and tells you, “You gave me another chance, sweetmeats,” but you’ll doze in his cold arms, absolutely confident as he is that nothing will ever hurt you again. Including himself.

And that night he’ll stay until you wake.

He won’t have you sit in the darkness alone.

_____

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