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honkytonk-hangman · 1 year

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Hold The Line

Platonic Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x OC/Reader

Summary: Jake presses his lips together as he lets out a sigh. He leans forward on the railing again, eyes once more following the little boy who was quite happily playing by himself in the sand. “I just thought that Baby Goose deserved to grow up knowing his dad.”

Warnings: mentions of burning in, jake thought process centric lol

Notes: this is a companion piece to my fic Meet You All The Way, focusing on Jake's friendship with reader and most importantly his duties as Uncle Jake. its not overly necessary to read that first, this does kinda function on its own, but probably read that first hehe

Masterlist

Jake is hit with intense dread the moment Rooster steps foot in the Hard Deck that night. Maybe that's why he reactively starts doing his best to get under the other man’s skin as much as he can, as fast as he can. Jake jabs and pokes and thoroughly pisses Bradshaw off to the best of his not insignificant abilities, but even when he succeeds, it doesn’t do much to stop the pervasive unease that gnaws at him.

Not that he really believed it would. It doesn’t even make him feel any better either, in fact it makes him feel much, much worse.

Things hadn’t always been this way. They had been, for a long time, but the past couple of years or so Jake’s relationship with Bradley Bradshaw had softened, somewhat helped along by his friendship with a certain Dr Lamb, who just so happened to be Bradshaw’s wife, as well as the mother of their kid, a kid that Jake loved just as much as, if not more than, any of his actual family. Stuff like that tends to bring folks together, no matter how resistant.

But Jake hadn’t expected to see Rooster back in San Diego along with the others, the enormity and riskiness of the mission seemingly apparent only to Jake, even if he lied through his teeth when his colleagues mentioned similar concerns, if only to try and tell himself this one was just like the others. In the back of his mind though, Jake knows the Navy doesn't make a habit of building special mission squadrons of their top 1%. It was too risky, if something went wrong, all your top aviators could burn in, leaving you with the other 99% that weren’t chosen for a reason.

Which is precisely how Jake knows this mission is bad news. Sure, it had to be done, but from a pilot’s standpoint, any time the plan allowed for error, for casualties, it was a bad plan. If every member of the special squadron needed to be the best to ensure the mission was completed, despite the fact that some of them were not expected to make it home, then that told Jake everything he needed to know.

Honestly, Jake didn’t think much about burning in. He knows that kind of hubris usually ends poorly, but the fact is, he was good at his job, one of the best, and everything he ever bragged about was something he could back up. It's partly why many people disliked him. The only thing more annoying than unjustified confidence was completely justified confidence.

The other part was that more often than not he was playing the jerk just to get a rise. The fact is; Jake had flown many missions he’ll never be able to talk about, missions that had been dangerous, missions he’d been lucky to just make it out of, let alone live to continue flying. None of them had him worrying the inside of his lip so badly he’d only realise he was doing it when his whole lip was swollen and sore, and he'd taken to fiddling once more with toothpicks just to stop himself from causing even more damage.

By the time they’ve been introduced to the mission instructor, Captain Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell, and they’ve gotten an idea of exactly what they would be training for, Jake is at his worst, toothpick not exactly helping people soften to him, his constant barbs more pointed than he would generally be okay dishing out. Even Javy was keeping his distance, sitting in the row of chairs behind his closest colleague and longest friend, instead of in one of the two available spaces beside him.

Jake knows why too.

For once, it’s not about him, though with the way he’d been carrying on you wouldn’t know it.

Jake would never wish to lose any of his squadmates, let alone any of Dagger, most of them people who had come to know and who had put up with him, eventually even accept him. That was a feat worth protecting in and of itself as far as he’s concerned. But Jake had never found himself so fixated on the safety of one squadmate, nor with their grasp and awareness of the realities of their mission, and for the first time in his career feeling, Jake feels properly powerless to do anything but watch Rooster continue to sit on his perch, where he would almost certainly become target practise for a SAM.

The only thing Jake is able to do is push, and needle and either convince Rooster to get his shit together, or be harsh and direct enough in his criticism that even Maverick won’t be able to deny it.

Either way, the outcome is the same: an innocent kid doesn’t lose his father.

He knows that the likelihood of remaining close to Rosie or Goose in the aftermath of his behaviour is extremely low, and if he was acting out of anything except repressed fear, he might’ve chosen to go about this whole nonsense in a far more measured and reasonable manner. But Jake had never been a fan of measured responses, his need for control too much for him to do anything but the most. As the weeks go on and the mission begins to hang dark on the horizon, Jake decides that he could live with never seeing the Bradshaw’s again after all this. As far as Jake is concerned, if it meant that two people who meant more to him than members of his actual family wouldn’t end up burying their husband and father, then what other choice did he have?

Things start to shift and change slightly when he overhears Phoenix asking Rooster about his history with Maverick, and Jake realises exactly who they are to one another, or at least who they used to be to one another.

Something along the lines of Maverick more or less having been Rooster’s adoptive father up until he’d applied for the USNA, after which Rooster had cut Maverick from his life completely. Jake realises then that Maverick, Rooster’s apparent father figure throughout most of his life, had no idea about Rosie, which meant that he had no idea about Goose.

Jake considers breaking out the big guns, exploiting this clear vulnerability, hitting two birds with one stone as not only would Rooster be rightfully furious about his family being brought up and used against him, but he’d also have his little secret revealed, and have to deal with that fallout. It was cruel, and Jake isn’t ashamed to admit he considers it for several days, sitting on the idea, mulling it over, picking his exact angle, choosing the one that would hurt the most and cause the biggest emotional fissure, something even their superiors wouldn’t be able to let go as simple pre-mission tension, something that would end up with Rooster dismissed from this posting, and sent back home. Hell, Jake could even be dismissed for his part in it, but again, he’s not so worried about his own glory this time around.

He’s sitting in the ready room, still contemplating the nuclear option when his phone buzzes. He hadn’t scared Javy off yet today, so his friend glances over at the noise just as Jake unlocks his phone.

His heart drops at the message from you, joined by several photos, which is how he knows he can’t go through with his plan. Never had he received a text from you, especially one with updates on his favourite nephew, and wished he hadn’t. Javy snorts and makes an ‘aww’ sound, not bothering to hide the fact he’s spying on his friend’s screen.

“Man, that kid is going to be so disappointed when he grows up and realises that Uncle Jake is lame,” Javy jokes, pointing at the picture currently on screen, of little Goose in his prospective halloween costume, a flight suit you’ve clearly made for him, complete with sets of patches. In one picture the little replica insignias are identical to Roosters, in the other, they’re a copy of Jake’s own. Your message tells him that Goose was going to wear one out trick-or-treating and the other to a Halloween dress up party at the kids club he attended when you were working late at the hospital.

Jake knows Javy doesn't mean anything by it, he knows how severe his friend can be when he really wanted to needle, but his words hit him with the realisation that if he were to go through with this plan, to expose the existence of Rooster’s family and cause this possibly career stunting blow out, Goose would grow up and find out that his “Uncle Jake”, who he apparently put in the same tier as his own, admittedly pretty great, father, absolutely did not deserve any of his admiration or reverence.

Jake swallows thickly and shuts off his phone without replying. He’d probably call you later, anyhow. Javy frowns at him, but shrugs lightly and watches as Jake pushes up off the couch, moving towards the far wall, needing to just think for a minute. For the first time in weeks he feels enough of his deep-seated dread leave his system, at last letting him think somewhat normally, combined with a clarity that really doesn’t make him feel any better about his recent conduct, definitely making him feel worse about what he’d been planning to do.

He stares blankly at the photos on the wall in front of him and scans each image as he tallies up alternatives, some way to get through to Rooster, make him understand that the way he was flying now would only end badly, it could only end badly, as everyone else seemed to grasp, and struggle with. His eyes flicker over a few grainy faces and move on, before quickly flashing back, blinking in surprise at what he realises he’s looking at.

The surprise pulls him out of his thoughts, away from his tallying and doomsday planning, almost making him forget completely as he stares down at a familiar face that stares back.

“Yo, Coyote, take a look at this!” Jake hears himself call over his shoulder, his eyes never leaving the spot in front of him. Javy approaches casually, leaning down to get a look at the framed photo Jake is transfixed with, easily picking out their instructor, though thirty years younger.

“The man. The legend. There he is.” Javy says lightly, though there is genuine respect lacing his tone. Jake glances over at him and shakes his head.

“No, no, no. Next to him.” Jake says, waiting as Coyote moves slightly closer, his own frown deepening as he gets a good look. “Does he look familiar to you?” he prompts after a moment, before he hears Javy let out a surprised little huff.

“What have we here…” he asks rhetorically, lifting a finger to trace the list of names beneath, until he finds the one that matches.

A new plan begins forming in Jake’s head then, and he straightens up, mind whirling. Javy snorts again and looks back at Jake over his shoulder.

“You realise your little buddy was named after him?” He asks, gesturing to the immortalised image of Rooster’s father. Jake hums.

He’d known Nick was named for Bradshaw’s father, and he knew that the man had died in an aviation accident when Bradley had been little, but he had never realised where ‘Goose’ as a nickname had come from. He’d just thought it was a play on his Bradshaw’s callsign and Rosie’s surname, Lamb. He hadn’t realised the significance behind it before, and it makes him feel worse..

All the information he’d picked up over the last few weeks suddenly begins to make sense, like he’d finally found the one clue on his mental conspiracy board that suddenly connects all the dots, revealing the bigger picture at last. Whether or not it was the correct image was another thing entirely, it wasn’t even important to Jake’s new plan. It didn’t matter if he was right, in fact it would be better if he was completely off base, in the end, the only thing that really mattered to this new method was that Jake’s underlying point was made clear. Jake knows that if Rooster was able to just get the hell off that damn perch of his, then he’d fly this mission better than maybe anyone else, and give Maverick a run for his money at the same time.

And if that didn’t work, then hopefully Maverick would realise that sending Rooster may as well be signing his death warrant.

Jake takes a long sip of his beer and lets out what might be the first truly relaxed breath he’s had in weeks. Leaning forward against the railing that circled the Hard Deck, Jake keeps his gaze fixed firmly on the five-year-old playing in the sand a few metres away.

“Don’t go too far now, alright buddy?” He calls, knowing that Goose wouldn’t stray on purpose, but also knowing that the boy had a habit of getting so wrapped up in his sweet little head that he’d lose all sense of surroundings.

“Okay, Uncle Jake!” Goose replies cheerfully, dropping to begin digging through the top layer of sand in search of seashells.

For several moments Jake simply basks in the ocean breeze, briefly glancing away from the toddler to scan the horizon, but quickly turns back to him again, far more interested in watching the way Goose sorts the shells he’d found into separate groups. In fact, Jake watches on so attentively that he becomes the one who loses track of what’s going on around him, jumping when you manage to sneak up beside him at the railing, clearly looking pleased with yourself at having caught him off guard.

“Y'all moved in now?” Jake asks, ignoring his brief lapse in chill and choosing instead to glance over at you, clinking your beer with his when you offer it out.

“Yup,” you say, popping the ‘p’ in a way Jake would absolutely find infuriating if anyone but you were to do it. “Mav came around with Penny and Amelia yesterday, and we got it knocked out in a couple of hours.” You tell him, before your face turns more mischievous.

“Why, you weren’t planning on coming around under the guise of helping, just so you could mess with my husband, did you?” you ask teasingly, and Jake rolls his eyes.

“I don’t need to come around to do that. I have his number.” Jake says petulantly, though it reminds him that he hadn’t yet found a good time to actually settle things for good with Rooster. Jake may have saved his life, but he’s enough of a grown up to recognise that an actual apology might be necessary given the nature of the situation.

You laugh at that, and Jake feels an easy smile pull at his lips.

The two of you proceed to lapse into a comfortable silence then, both of you just watching as Goose flutters back and forth, occasionally moving back to the deck to place particular shells for safekeeping. You seem to wait for your son to be fully focused on his self-appointed task again before you speak.

“Rooster told me about your reprimand.” You say lightly, voice devoid of any emotion. Jake purses his lips and squints at the water ahead of him.

“Tattle-tale,” he mutters, before taking a large sip of his beer. You turn your body to face him then and cross your arms over your chest.

“You know, he told me that he wasn’t even really upset you brought up his dad…” you continue, and Jake turns his squint on you, finding your words a little hard to believe. “He told me he barely heard what you actually said, he was so convinced you were about to out him about Goose and I in front of Maverick… he said that was why he reacted the way he did.” Once again your voice is light on any clues as to what you might be thinking, and it makes Jake throw back the remainder of his beer before he speaks again.

“I thought about it. Figured with all things considered, Mav would never choose him if he knew about Goose. Probably would have worked, too.” He admits slowly, choosing his words carefully.

“And remind me again why that was plan a?” You ask dryly and with a healthy amount of ridicule directed towards him.

Jake shrugs.

“I think you’re seriously overestimating the thought process that went into this, which for the record, was not a single one.” he replies truthfully, shaking his head. “Could have gotten my ass DD’ed for pulling that shit.” Jake grumbles, both at his previous behaviour, and at how differently things would have gone if Maverick was the type of Commanding Officer who concerned himself at all with little things like direct insubordination.

You hum your agreement then, seemingly satisfied that he was aware of how stupid he’d been. Jake sighs heavily then, and runs a hand through his hair.

“My thoughts on Rooster’s capabilities as a pilot versus the way he actually flies aren’t exactly top secret.” Jake states, readying himself to explain to you what exactly had been so important to him that he’d wound up with an official reprimand over. “The way he was flying the sims wasn’t going to cut it, and frankly, he seemed more preoccupied with proving something to Maverick—” he cuts himself off at that, shaking his head again, and you don’t push him to finish.

Jake presses his lips together as he lets out a sigh, and leans forward on the railing again, eyes once more following the little boy who was quite happily playing by himself in the sand.

“I just thought that Goose deserved to grow up knowing his dad,” Jake confesses at last, feeling slight nerves bubbling in his belly at the frankness of his thoughts, but he can’t help himself from eventually glancing over at you in order to gauge your reaction as you consider what he’s said.

Your expression remains thoughtful, but otherwise unreadable, and for several more seconds the two of you stare at one another, until at last you shift your eyes away from him, and back to your son on the beach.

“I’m gonna suggest that next time, you should try giving communicating at a basic adult level a go first,” you say at last, your voice dripping with even more ridicule now, even more deserved this time. “And then I guess if that doesn’t work, you can move on to starting a fight in the middle of a debriefing with your Commanding Officer.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” Jake tells you, his tone sarcastic purely out of habit, but he really does mean it.

A beat passes and it occurs to Jake that Rooster must not have told you any details about how the mission had ended up playing out, how despite Jake’s best intentions and worst behaviour, the thing that almost meant Rooster didn’t make it home to you and Goose, had been entirely out of his control, and that it was Jake’s actions that had meant Rooster would be able to return to your family after all was said and done, just like he’d been pushing to make happen from the start.

He blinks down at you, brought out of his thoughts when you bump into his side, nudging his arm with your elbow.

“Thank you, for not saying anything before he got the chance to tell Maverick himself… and for trying to look out for him.”

Jake nods solemnly, before he lifts his arm to wrap around your shoulder, giving you a brief squeeze as you both focus back on watching Goose again.

“For the record, it wasn’t him I was looking out for.” Jake cuts into the silence after a few minutes. You barely move to acknowledge his words, except for the roll of your eyes.

“If you keep ruining the moment, I’m going to tell Rooster that you complimented his abilities as a pilot.”

Jake glares down at you, but promptly clamps his mouth shut. To your credit, you don’t gloat about your victory, already focusing back on the apparent moment you were sharing, giving up all pretence of sourness when the sun begins peeking perfectly through the clouds, and Goose takes off running toward the two of you, a large collection of seashells gathered in his hands, shouting that he’d found one for you, following up right away by asking if you’ll put it on your desk at work. Jake takes that as his cue to release you, moving to instead swoop Goose up in his arms.

You watch as Jake carries your son back down to the sand, listening intently as he shows him each of the shells he’d found and chattering away about each of them as Jake asks. You smile a little wider when you sense Rooster stepping into place at your side, and he wraps his arm around your shoulder. You hum contently, and rest a hand against his chest.

“I think I’m willing to reconsider this whole ‘Uncle Jake’ topic.” Your husband tells you, earning an incredulous laugh from you.

“I’m sorry to ruin your illusion of control, but that ship sailed a while ago,” you chortle as Rooster grimaces and shoots you a look. You pat his chest sympathetically, and he covers your hand with his own. You both watch Jake and Goose for a few more peaceful moments, until your boy notices Rooster standing with you. “Daddy! Come play!” Goose calls out. Rooster grins widely as Jake begins talking loudly about how he isn’t brave enough to come out onto the sand. You watch as Rooster vaults the railing, and your heart grows soft as both aviators begin to give chase to Goose, with Rooster eventually gathering him up and holding him still for Jake to tickle.

#jake seresin #jake seresin/reader #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin fanfiction #jake hangman seresin x reader

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searchingforatrail · 3 months

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Chapter 2 of Shades of Me Chapter 2: In which Megatron does Jack a favor:

Summary: There are many different shades of Optimus Prime. And at some point in their complicated history, Megatron had become familiar with them all. The data droid, the Prime, the fearless, Autobot leader? He had grown accustomed to his former rival's varied existence. But Optimus Prime, the bot who decided to insert himself into the lives of three human children and their families? The mech who has devoted himself to the lives of humans? This is new.

(TW: mention of drug use amongst teenagers, nothing serious)

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In Jack’s defense, the day had been a shit show. He had failed a science exam he had actually studied for, had left his wallet in the laundry, so had no lunch money, had been harassed at the drive through by college students with too much time on their hands, and had gotten passed up on another “mission” Fowler had assigned the team on (all thanks to Arcee, actually. According to Wheeljack, she had “mother henned” very badly that morning). And now, he was alone without Raf and Miko for a good week and a half.

He had made it a point to block them both on social media for that time too.

So who could blame him for partaking in the number one, run-of-the-mill illegal activity for America’s youth at the time? Besides, it wasn’t like it was meth. It was just weed. And it had done some good. He actually got along with Vince this time. Sure it took twenty dollars and sworn secrecy (“If you snitch to the cops, you’re fucking dead, Darby”), but they’d managed to speak for five minutes without cursing the shit of each other. A little. So he considered that a win.

Presently, he nestled himself in between a stack of empty energon crates, making certain that the base was completely empty before he lit his joint. And even if someone did happen to walk in, at least in a base full of robots, no one could smell the scent of weed. Parents on the other hand could. And he wanted to be as far away from his mother as possible.

At the first inhale, Jackson Darby was in absolute bliss. He let the smoke work its magic, and felt the tension of the day unfurl within him. Putting his backpack on the ground, he leaned his head on it to make himself a makeshift pillow and let himself drift further and further into relaxation.

Jack stayed by himself for a good while, letting the smoke work its magic. And for a very long time, it did.

Until it didn’t.

“I was not aware that humans needed gas to survive.”

Looming above him, peering into the open space amongst the tower of metal cubes like a scientist looking at a lab sample, was Megatron. Jack nearly choked. For two reasons–one, being caught high as a kite, by Megatron of all beings, was not how Jack wanted to spend his evening. At all. He was already pissed off. No need to add fear to his growing list of emotional grievances.

Two–where Megatron was, Optimus was sure to follow. Megatron did not casually associate with humans for no reason, and avoided The Base alone at all cost. His appearance, from what Jack could tell, was relaxed, and he had no Decepticon guard accompanying. So that meant Optimus was close by.

Great. Optimus knew enough about humans to know high schoolers shouldn’t be smoking. And Ratchet would know enough to know they shouldn’t be smoking weed. They might not be able to smell, but Megatron would tell them what he saw.

He could already see it–the ridiculous butterfly effect of Megatron telling Optimus, then Optimus telling Ratchet, who would tell Fowler, who would tell his mom.

He swallowed dryly. The anxiety overriding the calming effects of his joint. That was frustrating.

“Um.. Is Opti–”

The distant ‘clank’ ‘clank’ against The Base ground had told him everything he needed to know. He’d cataloged the loud, yet gentle footsteps that announced Opitmus’s presence ages ago. And while he would have been glad to talk to Optimus on any other occasion, today was not the day.

According to the schedule, no one was supposed to even be here. They were supposed to be in Cybertron for the week. All of them (“You Organics have The Base for the week, try not to mess it up.” Someone had said–probably Knockout, who’d been “banished” there after he’d been found smuggling things off of The Nemesis” ).

Why was Megatron, and apparently Optimus, here?

Megatron continued to look on, unblinking. The red optics taking in Jack’s obvious distress as Optimus grew closer.

“--I uh–do you have a cockpit or something?” Sober, Jack would never ask Megatron this. He wasn’t like Miko who’d made her rounds through all the Decepticons who could fly. He preferred to stay on the ground, and not in the belly of his former nemesis.

“No, but I have a small subspace large enough to carry energon cubes.” The stoic visage broke as the words slipped off of Megatron’s derma, as if he were supplying basic information to a doctor. Surprise colored his features.

“Great. Can I please get in it? Like, now.” Jack stood to his feet and grabbed his bag, stomping the joint out onto the ground, “Like before Optimus comes in point five seconds.” He repeated, with urgency.

“--And she got kicked out of class, again! Art class! I thought Miko liked art class.” Uptight and pompous as always, the echo of Ratchet’s voice bounced against the base walls. Jack’s heart dropped to his stomach. Of course Ratchet was with Optimus too.

“I don’t see–”

“Listen, i’ll clean out your ship for a week, i’ll polish–you or whatever, just please let me in your subspace.”

The Decepticon had very little time to debate, for Jack had already walked up to him, hand hesitantly touching the metal on his pedes.

Megatron hesitated. If this child was harmed while under his watch, he had no doubt that Optimus would be the one to throw them into another war without a second thought. He seemed to lose his fabled reason when it came to the human children. And while they had gotten somewhat closer since the treaty, he was not ready to risk Optimus’s wrath simply because he decided to be nice.

In all honestly, he debated on walking away. He should have walked away.

But Jack Darby had made an uncharacteristic attempt to bridge the unspoken gap between Decepticon and autobot. Decepticon and human. . And while he was not clearly in control of all of his facilities (a quick scan of his bio signatures had confirmed that), Megatron respected his bravery. And it would not go unrewarded.

“Very well then,” and seamlessly, he transformed. Jack didn’t hesitate. Like an insect, he crawled onto Megatron, closing the open hatch as he did so. And he did so just in time, for Optimus and Ratchet had arrived. The latter announcing his presence with his usual grumbles and grunts. Megatron bore through it as much as he could, but with an organic within him, it was proving harder than he had thought.

To say it was uncomfortable was an understatement. It was nearly unbearable. He fought his own emergency protocols that demanded he expel the alien lifeform harbored inside of him, and the battle of wills was the hardest one he had fought in ages.

An organic within him, twisting and turning, stowing away while he forced himself to make somewhat civil conversation with Ratchet who questioned why he was trapped in the autobot base, in his vehicle mode, near the energon storage, and many other questions with the objective to incriminate him.

As usual, Optimus remained silent, letting Ratchet handle all the complaining for him. Oh how Megatron would have loved to silence him. If time couldn’t do it, he certainly had the right to. But that was the old him, he kept reminding himself. He could hate it, but he couldn’t act on it.

And certainly not with a human larva running it’s fingers within the innermost parts of Megatrons’s frame.

“Get your hands away from my T-Cog!” He hissed, just as the human’s small fingers retracted

“What?” Ratchet snapped at him, “Have you lost your mind–wait, don’t answer that. I know you have. The Dark Energon is still messing with your processor. I don’t usually take Starscream seriously, but even he knew you shouldn’t have been messing with that…”

He rolled his optics. He couldn’t answer without giving his organic charge away. So he bore the interrogation until Ratchet stormed off, muttering about Decepticons and their inclinations to energon that did not belong to them.

“Yes?” Megatron asked as Optimus remained, silent and unmoving. He was unnerving at times. His ex-enemy. His friend. His partner?

Even for a robot, his stillness was unusual. But Optimus always was, wasn’t he.

“Jack, why are you hiding in Megatron?” Had Megatron been in his alt mode, he would have gaped at the Prime’s perceptiveness. It was nearly impossible to detect anything past his armor, let alone an organic. Yet he did not feel like giving Optimus the satisfaction of seeing right through him, and instead remained silent as the teenager managed to find his way out of his hull.

“Megatron, this is not the…wisest thing you've done.” He could tell from his tone that Optimus was less than pleased, though tamed it well underneath his tone. To Megatron’s surprise, it was the organic that came to his defense.

“OP” Megatron could have rolled his optics at the absurd name, “It wasn’t his fault, I was smo–studying and I wanted a quiet place to do it, and everything around here was loud, you know.” Jack spoke as he kicked the lower hatch open, tossed his backpack out first, and let himself fall to the ground. Megatron whirled into life, frame towering over both Jack and Optimus. Though the latter, not by much. Optimus’s optics widened.

“What, are you surprised he’s still alive?” He sneered, walking past the Prime, mindful not to step on Jack, “It’s as the fleshing said, he was studying.” He had no reason to stay here. Prime was with his favorite human, and Megatron could return to The Nemesis to get his processor checked for whatever virus had possessed him to harbor a human within his frame.

He’d come back for what he was looking for later on.

“I’m surprised you did something kind for him. And I'm surprised you’re willing to lie for him.”

Jack’s jaw dropped. Megatron stopped as he turned around, glare dangerous.

“You dare accuse me of lying?” He snarled. Optimus remained stoic as always. “Jack, we might not be able to smell in the sense that you can. But we have registered scent particles from Earth. We can see them. Bulkhead had to have a talk to Miko about marijuana last week, and the week before that. We are familiar with it.” He stated plainly. “And now Megatron “smells” of it.”

“Sometimes I forget you guys are super advanced robots,.” Jack says, defeated, “Is there a chance this stays between the three of us?”

“Absolutely not. However, you get to decide whether we tell your mother or Ratchet first.”

While Jack debated aloud why he should have told neither of them, Optimus found Megatron’s glare, which had now relented into perplexity. This situation was so absurd to him.

“ Yes? ” He repeated. Optimus remained still for only a moment longer, before a meek smile crept onto his face plate.

“What?” Megaton asked, baffled. That was unexpected.

“Nothing.” And like that, Optimus had once again given Jack his full attention, guiding the boy out of the base and to where he’d presumably find Ratchet. Primus help the poor fleshling , Megatron thought to himself, as he turned back to the space where he’d found the boy, thinking of that smile Optimus left him with.

And with Optimus gone, he returned to his present task.

#megop #jack darby #megatron #optimus prime #transformers

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literary-illuminati · 6 months

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Book Review 67 – Saint Death’s Daughter by C. S. E. Cooney

This is a book I’ve been vaguely aware of for a while, without really knowing anything about it beyond that it was getting a lot of positive buzz, but it got a WFA best novel nomination and that provided the impetus I needed to finally give reading it a try. And, well, I’ll be honest – this was a slog for me. If it had been half the size it would very likely be one of my favourite works of the year; as is the best way I can describe the reading experience is ‘slowly drowning in cotton candy’.

The book stars Miscellaneous ‘Lannie’ Stones, younger daughter of a declining noble house which has provided executioners and assassins to the royal family of Lariat since its founding, and generally but not lately provided necromancers as well. Lannie is the hope of the family, a necromantic prodigy (if one with a profoundly inconvenient allergy to violence that requires her isolation from the rest of the family and her raising by a bound revanent nanny and the dubiously trustworthy ghost of an ancestor). As the story opens, her parents have both died, and she’s been forced to write to her terror of an elder sister to come home as their debts are called due. She comes home with an enscrolled and deeply unwilling fiancee abducted during her studies. This, surprisingly, only takes up the first small chunk of the book, followed by a timeskip, the introduction of Lannie’s niece born in the interim, the elder sister dealing with the consequences of her seven-year campaign of bloody vengeance against the foreign court which murdered their parents, and the beginning of the actual plot.

I really did want to enjoy this book, and on the page-to-page level it was often somewhere between charming and delightful. But there were just so many pages, and so very little happening on most of them. After the timeskip the book spends something like 500 pages just leisurely meandering, stopping whenever anything catches its interest to spend half a page or three enthusiastically describing it. At a certain point the exuberant narration and playful vocabulary stop feeling delightful and start feeling like the author is somehow being paid by the word.

This is made all the odder by the fact that around the 80% mark the book suddenly realizes its got a bunch of problems to resolve and switches into an entirely different gear, rushing through revelations and resolutions like it’s on a deadline. Which apparently it was? The book ends with what feels like less of a sequel hook and more like a final hundred pages were chopped off the finished product by a longsuffering editor pushed past the brink.

So, the lion’s share of the book is interested less in plot than character dynamics and cute slice of moments. It’s very much a found family sort of narrative, delivered in an incredibly blunt fashion. Which definitely works for a lot of people, I’m sure, but everyone was so obviously written to be endearing and charming and fell into love of various sorts with each other so instantly it just left me cold, and more a bit bored.

This is a book with footnotes, and among those it feels pretty middle of the pack? Not doing anything particularly impressive with them, and they don’t have a real character or voice different from the rest of the book, but they’re a fun enough way to infodump a bunch of Stones family history (particularly all the ways different members have died).

Thematically...look, I’m aware this is entirely a personal pet peeve not shared by any particular audience, but the fact that Lannie’s whole life from infancy is being chosen as the beloved priestess of a goddess of death for one specific purpose, and that this is portrayed as an entirely benevolent, positive, and uplifting thing to have done at basically all points that it’s discussed just sets me on edge. There’s nothing really badly done about it, I’m just a contrary maltheist by nature and the book did basically nothing to allay that.

Generally – I don’t know, I’m not opposed to 700 page books (I’d be an utter hypocrite if I was. Almost certainly still am regardless), but I feel like being that long is a failing the book then has to justify? It should be obliged to do something with the length, if it’s going to demand so much of my time to wade through it. This didn’t really feel like it did.

#book review #saint death's daughter #C. S. E. Cooney #sff

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noblechaton · 6 months

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now that I've more definitively finished series 5 I can comfortably say that it was probably my least favorite run of the revival to this point lmao. at the very best it's on part with series 3 - the weakest of the RTD era - while at its worst it's genuinely unwatchable

there's definitely some merit here though. it's very entertaining if you stop expecting character beats to be sprinkled in while in a general sense it performs its role of entertainment really well. it's flashy and snappy and loud from the first minute of The Eleventh Hour and rarely slows down from there. there was a clear desire to continue the more Epic nature of the show that had started bubbling up during series 4 where it was, yanno, kind of earned

but that bombastic nature is kind of the biggest positive about it. gone are the deeper meanings and narratives, character introspection is often relegated to jokes or just kind of unearned. any depth the RTD era might have carried did not get passed on here, with 11 being a huge asshole for like 9 out of 13 episodes while you could remove Amy from every episode and I doubt I'd notice

Moffat clearly leaned more towards a fairy tale interpretation of the Doctor and the world around them, but it largely falls flat because characters are rarely humanized. everyone seems to be carrying the punchline to someone else's joke and little else. there's a magic to certain things, sure, and it does start to trend upwards near the end of the series, but it's bogged down by this weirdly incessant need for quips and jokes regardless of the situation. imagine if at the end of the Library two parter, the Doctor and Donna had a fuckin laugh in the TARDIS. like c'mon

generally speaking too I found 11 to be more annoying than I remembered. he constantly talks about not having a plan and constantly makes these weird little aside jokes during his ramblings but we don't really see him ever be genuine or nice to anyone for a long while - certainly not towards Amy, either, who he at times seems to fucking hate lmao. multiple times I wondered why she kept on with him, but she never once really seems to want to go home because of how she's treated and only does after some harrowing adventure seems to wake her up - until it doesn't! like idk if she just wanted to fuck the guy that badly - the scene where she both jumps him and spreads out for him is so sincerely embarrassing I cannot believe it got filmed - or if she was just. stubborn? stupid? we don't get much from Amy, not enough to know her at least, to the point that fucking Rory, a guy in like five episodes, is a better character than her. what the fuck!

there's also more of a reliance on CGI this series than before and while I don't tend to fault TV CGI all that much it really starts to get difficult to brush off or otherwise ignore when a lot of elements are CGI'd in and that CGI just. doesn't hold up. the CGI during RTD's era wasn't great, but it was often more skillfully utilized and so it was at least more charming than it is here. similarly, I noticed the ADR was way fucking worse this time around than I'd ever noticed before. entire exchanges come through that were clearly recorded in a booth somewhere and it's really funny honestly

ultimately I think series 5 does play to Moffat's strengths to good effect at times - the opening of Eleventh Hour with 11 and Amelia is still really solid, a lot of the timey whimey fucky wucky stuff is done with consistency enough that you can sorta easily follow it - but all too often you can kinda see his stories straining now that they aren't just one offs in someone else's narrative. a lot of the other writers similarly seemed to struggle, given just how bad some stories get. the Silurian two parter was genuinely so bad I wondered why they brought them back, while the Angel two parter feels as if it was made to sabotage the angels as a concept lmao

it's not all bad, and it's certainly entertaining enough all the same. Vincent and the Doctor still holds up, the Lodger was more fun than you might expect, Amy's Choice is largely fun while I even enjoyed the finale stuff to a point, and Christmas Carol is a genuine standout among the holiday specials (mostly because it's. actually focused on Christmas this time around. lmao), and there's solid moments spread throughout even the worst of the episodes, with the best of them being obviously focused on humanity and relatable traits - a thing the RTD era unabashedly leaned into

but it's such a step down from the peak that was series 4. all the character work is just gone, everything feels so much less thoughtful and the characters themselves tend to range from annoying to boring and little else. there are always gonna be growing pains when crews behind the scenes change like they did here, but some of series 5 is worse beyond that excuse. I can see why it stayed hot, why it caught on even more so and why so many fell in love with this series - it's entertaining if you don't look too deep, the characters enjoyable if you don't expect much from them, Matt and Karen have obvious chemistry as leads despite the best efforts to stamp that out - but as I feel right now, it's super overrated and largely just sort of okay at best with a few great highlights and some drastic lowlights all the same. far from a classic, but still not the dirt worst I guess

at least series 6 is. Moffat at his Moffiest!

#noble (not donna)

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 years

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Hi! I loved reading your character bingo analysis so far, could I please ask for Riddle and Ortho?

Ortho Character Opinion Bingo here!

Lilia Character Opinion Bingo here!

Ah, it’s not really meant to be analysis 😂 I’m just expressing my opinions! I only really go in-depth when I’m explaining where I think the fandom does a character dirty.

***Standard disclaimer: These are just my personal opinions of the character(s); regardless of what I may think of them, sharing my thoughts is NOT meant to offend or to shame anyone that thinks differently.***

***CONTENT WARNING: mentions abuse!***

In terms of how much I like the dorm leaders… Riddle firmly sits in the middle, and I think a lot of that has to do with me looking at him through (pardon the pun) rose-tinted glasses. I have a lot of nostalgia for Riddle since he was the first dorm leader released to the public eye; I’ve basically known him since day 1 😂 Even before Riddle, I followed Black Butler—and since Riddle resembles Ciel Phantomhive, I got a very strong sense of deja vu. If it weren’t for all the nostalgia, I would probably dislike Riddle more than Vil.

To comment a little more about his design, I’m not a fan of the heart ahoge. It looks,,, fine???? But then the longer I stare at it, the more I realize that they remind me of antennae, and when paired with the red color of Riddle’s hair, it makes him look like a cockroach… and honey, that is NOT cute. His eyebrows also kind of turn into a weird shape when he gets angry and red-faced??? I get that this is all to make him more closely resemble the Queen of Hearts, but I think it’s all a little too on the nose. That aside, I don’t really like characters with Riddle’s particular… body type 😂 (aka short and child-like Riddle, please don’t behead me). It’s not something I personally find appealing, and the other issue with it is that short characters tend to get irrationally upset when someone points out their height (a trope which I find to be annoying 😓),

I do like that Riddle is talented and responsible for his age, but that likability goes right out the window because he can simultaneously act very arrogant and self-righteous about it. Even post-episode 1, Riddle is shown to be very fixated on following the rules strictly, and he assigns great importance to titles and positions. He talks down to a fellow dorm leader and acts as though he knows better than all of his peers (something which he also does more prominently in episode 1, pre-OB). I understand that this way of thinking is very much a result of how he was raised, but it still doesn’t change the fact that this behavior is very narrow-minded and an awful way to treat others. Like Ace says in episode 1, people can blame Riddle’s parents all they like, but ultimately Riddle’s words and actions are his own, and Riddle needs to accept responsibility for the people he has hurt.

I think the fandom does Riddle dirty the same way it does Jamil dirty; it feels like people drastically oversimplify Riddle’s situation without truly realizing the complexities of child abuse and how its effects carry over into adulthood. I see so many cursing out Riddle’s mom and saying nasty things about her without ever condemning Riddle himself for lashing out or behaving just as badly. It gives the impression that Riddle’s mom is entirely to blame and that no one holds Riddle accountable for his own actions, despite what episode 1 and Ace told us, and I don’t think that’s wise to do. I’m NOT going to sit here and defend Mama Rosehearts because what she did to her child was indeed awful and she deserves to be called out for it. However, Riddle shouldn’t be treated like he’s entirely innocent or coddled like a child, because he has also done awful things to others. As much as people can hate on his mom and the way she raised him, no one is holding a gun to Riddle’s head and forcing him to act a certain way. Yes, his mother may have influenced him to a degree, but the words and actions are still Riddle’s and Riddle’s alone.

One thing that truly kills Riddle for me is his absolutely atrocious temper. It’s usually played off as just a joke, but it’s so frightening to me how fast and how easily Riddle is set off (yes, even after the events of episode 1). I’m legitimately scared of him when he lashes out; I’d always walk on eggshells around him or avoid him entirely for fear of doing some minuscule thing that might send him into a fit of rage. I don’t very much fancy the idea of being screamed at and/or collared…

That being said, I can never really bring myself to “hate” Riddle, because I can relate a lot with where he’s coming from. Having grown up sheltered and raised by tiger parents myself, Riddle’s childhood echoes a lot of what I experienced in mine. I was that sad little child at some point, forbidden from having sweets and prevented from playing with other kids because “studying is more important”. I didn’t realize how little I knew about the world (like, I didn’t even know you could cook rice using methods OTHER than steaming it) until I made friends in school that were willing to teach me. I think that’s why I like Riddle best when he’s just being a regular kid… hanging out with people, learning and trying new things! It reminds me of the joy that I experienced myself whenever I made a new discovery. I truly hope that Riddle has the chance to keep learning and growing.

#Riddle Rosehearts #twst #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #ask game #spoilers #notes from the writing raven #character opinion bingo #tw // abuse

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boypussydilf · 1 year

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talk about that yellow frog with the spiral glasses. i want to know more. pick whichever template fits him best

YOU PICKED WELL. KURURU IS THE BEST CHARACTER MAYBE? dororo is Also really really good as a character all around its hard to say who’s The Best in an objective sense. but only one of them can be americas next top model. last night i read this big analysis post abt kururu and it was so good and i shouldve saved it but i didnt </3

lets get the mine yoshizaki problems out of the way *gets up on a soap box w a microphone and addresses all my followers* sgt frog is a pretty good series. but its biggest flaw is very big it has a major problem with sexualizing teenage girls. and acting like its fine and harmless. unsurprisingly, this is Bad. and it extends to some of the characters and while kururu didnt get fumbled as badly as uhhh *COUGH* CERTAIN OTHER CHARACTERS (giroro) *COUGH* there is somewhat of a recurring problem with mm Writing Him As A Creep. i elect to ignore it whenever the writers do that to a character who is clearly supposed to be Good And Well Intentioned At Heart, bc in that case its essentially an out of character moment <3 But its THERE and its REALLY BAD and i wanted to blatantly telegraph to everyone Hi! Show I am posting about has Issues. Everyone look out for yourselves.

WELL LETS BE DONE WITH THAT! KURURU MY FRIEND KURURU. hes the funniest bitch ever. i think he could do anything he just elects not to most of the time. like. he’s higher ranking in the army than the guy actually in charge of him. even after getting demoted. he makes reality shattering inventions that are advanced even for his Ridiculously Advanced Sci-Fi Alien Society at the drop of a hat. but he mostly just wants to fuck around and watch youtube and play pranks on people so he just does that unless anyone directly asks him to do something, and even when they do ask him to do things half the time he’ll either half-ass or sabotage it for The Lolz. Sergeant Major Kururu could rule the galaxy in 1 day if he chose to but he literally just wants to eat curry and bootleg movies. incredible.

he also gets points for being the type of character who acts like he doesn’t care about other people but he really really does <3 crazy that people think he doesn’t care about his friends. Did you even SEE the part of Keroro RPG where he goes out of his way to help Saburo’s doppelganger, even knowing it’s not the real Saburo and even after acting like he doesn’t give a shit either way? …….No because Keroro RPG is super super obscure? ok…….. sadantbindle.jpg

finally, shout out to the fact that hes the second youngest of the platoon, i sort of knew that before but only recently realized Wow this is basically just like. A guy in his 20s. i would say he left halfway through the keron equivalent of online college to join the army, but 90% of keron colleges are probably military. Also, shout out to the fact that she’s a trans girl! I love it when the space frogs get Gender, and they do that often

#😳…… This got long…….#i had to give disclaimer and i also had Epic Kururu Kind At Heart Moments on the mind. ok #thank youuuuuuj i usually say that when peopl send me asks i didnt do it with th other ones oops um . sorry. thank you to you guys too #basilask #i probably could’ve said some of this more coherently as well but im very hungry <3

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sarcasticsciencefictionwriter · 11 months

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Modern / fairy tale SG-1 Story pleeeeease?

Done! I spent a lot of time trying to figure this out, which is weird for me with the fairy tale genre. So here's a fairy tale story AU with a Sam/Jack element. :) Feel free to ask for another story or a continuation of this story. It got a bit long, so I will be willing to do a follow up.

______

Hooded

______

The day was sunny with a chill to the air, the perfect autumn afternoon. She stepped off the bus breathing in the crisp air and smiling.

The bus let off a bit of a distance from her destination, but she didn't mind walking the rest of the way. Sam was young and fit and the walk was just part of her exercise. Important to get that where she could.

She walked, turning on to a street/road where the sidewalks didn't continue. It was a short cut to her destination, considering the bus route didn't go to where she needed it to. Sam was humming as she walked alongside the road, her hands in the pockets of her hooded sweat jacket, which was perfect for the weather.

The neighborhood she was walking through maintained the illusion of a rural feel, even though it really wasn't. A bigger, upscale neighborhood penned it on one side and similar ones to its own status on the others. The woods surrounding the houses made it feel like it was a fair distance away from everything else. Sam was marveling at the difference in just such a short distance as she walked.

"Hello again." a voice said. It attempted a purr, but sounded more like a growl.

Sam glanced to her right, seeing the man that had just walked down a driveway to join her, walking alongside her. He was older, with fading ginger head and facial hair. At first, Sam had thought he was handsome. Now she just wanted him to leave her alone.

"Jonas." she said, clenching her jaw and looking ahead of her.

"You look nice today." Jonas remarked.

Sam snorted. She was wearing worn jeans, comfortable but scuffed boots, a faded T-shirt and a hooded red sweat jacket. She hadn't bothered with makeup and the brisk breeze had ruffled her short hair into bothersome spikes.

"Leave me alone, please."

"You shouldn't be walking along the side of the road by yourself." Jonas said.

Sam ignored him. She wanted to draw away from him, but he did have a point. She couldn't move away from him without stepping out into the road and into any potential traffic.

"I can and I will, thank you, Jonas." Sam said, quickening her pace.

"Sam! Wait! I just want to talk!"

_____

Jack was working in his driveway, with wood scattered around on various improvised surfaces. He was cutting and staining the wood for a deck and was doing it around front because the driveway had some nice shade at this time of day.

He glanced up at movement at the end of his driveway and he saw a now-familiar figure walking by. She had been going by a few times a week for a few weeks now and he had become familiar with her routine. It was always the same time of day.

Today, however, there was someone with her.

Jack straightened and watched the man following her. They seemed to be arguing. The man was bigger than the woman and seemed to be acting aggressively towards her. Jack acted when he grabbed her arm.

He walked down the driveway, brush still in hand, as she tried to yank her arm free. She was getting ready to kick him in the crotch, which Jack would have enjoyed seeing, had he not been certain that it would end badly for her if she did it.

"Excuse me!" Jack called, deciding that was the best way to go about it, especially since it wasn't like they were on his property.

They both stopped what they were doing and the man immediately dropped the woman's arm, trying to look at ease though he was clearly tense.

"Yes?" the man asked as the woman took two steps away from him, glaring at both of them.

"Why don't you leave the lady alone?" Jack suggested civilly.

"Mind your own business." the man barked.

"Maybe mind your own." Jack said, holding his gaze. "Hansen, isn't it?"

He recognized the man now. He had moved in with a friend down the road a few months ago and they didn't get along. Jack had the impression that he wasn't a great guy.

"Yeah." Hansen grunted.

He looked Jack over, glanced at the woman, and then walked away, headed in the direction he had come from.

Satisfied, Jack looked to the woman. She was pretty. Younger than him, with blonde hair that had been ruffled by the breeze, and blue eyes. Her lips were currently pressed together in an unhappy frown.

"I'm not a damsel in distress, you know. I didn't need you to save me." she said.

"That's a funny way to say thank you." Jack said, arching an eyebrow at her.

"Didn't need the help." She waited a bit. "Thank you."

It was said grudgingly. Jack supposed he couldn't blame her.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"What, so you can follow me there too?" she snorted. "Not that gullible."

"Fair enough."

She gave him a sunny smile that didn't actually seem to be faked and flipped up the hood of her red jacket before turning and walking away.

Jack stayed where he was until she was out of sight.

_____

Sam was grumbling to herself as she walked back from Catherine's. She had told the older woman about the encounter with Jonas and the man that had gotten involved.

Catherine had chided her for taking the short cut and not allowing her to send someone for her when Sam wanted to visit her.

She had insisted that she didn't mind. That she could handle herself and that Jonas didn't bother her. She didn't mind the bus and the walk and she could stay independent. She didn't need Catherine to send a car for her. Especially when the driver seemed to think Sam was too low-class to be spending time with Catherine.

Nevertheless, she had taken the long walk back to the bus stop, to avoid Jonas. Sam knew that she never should have spoken to him in the first place She had run into him walking to Catherine's when he had been out on a jog and they had ended up talking. Sam had enjoyed it at the time. It turned out to have been a mistake.

She had been dealing with him for weeks now. They had gone out on one date a week or two after meeting and now he wouldn't leave her alone when she had decided that it wouldn't go further.

Catherine had told her that if she were smart, she would stop walking by where he was living. Sam had said that she wasn't going to alter her life to accommodate a guy.

She thought about the man that had chased Jonas away. She had been mad, because she could handle herself. But she knew that he had done her a favor. She curled her fingers into a fist as she thought of Jonas. She had been going to kick him in the crotch for grabbing her arm. She had been a little disappointed that she hadn't been able to.

Oh well. Maybe next time.

_____

Things got worse over the next week. Sam kept going to Catherine's by the same route she had been using all these weeks. Maybe it was a mistake, but Sam was stubborn and Jonas should have been moving out of his friend's house some time soon. She was not going to let him intimidate her.

Even though he kept following her. He seemed to know better than to grab her arm or anything again.

Sam noticed every time she passed the driveway, the man who had interfered was working out there. She would watch her, even when Jonas wasn't there. She had the weird feeling that he was looking out for her. She had no idea why.

After a few days of this, Sam took to waving and smiling at him, whether or not Jonas was with her. She saw the look on Jonas's face when she did, but she didn't care.

She thought that the man was rather handsome, even though she had only seen him up close once. Then she wondered at the attraction she felt and if it was a bad thing. The man was older than her by quite a bit, just like Jonas was.

Sam brushed those thoughts aside, heading to Catherine's. She knew that she didn't need to visit so much, but the woman was practically her grandmother, in ways. Sam had caught Catherine's eye as a bright high school student and Catherine had paid for a full-ride scholarship to college for her. Sam was one of quite a few she had done that for, providing Sam an alternative when she had forgone the military path of her family. They had bonded very well and Catherine had been ill recently.

There was no way that she was going to stop visiting, even if she kept walking by Jonas.

No Jonas today. He didn't join her when she passed his buddy's house. His car wasn't in the driveway. That put a bounce in Sam's step. Maybe he had finally gotten the message. She passed the man's driveway. He was gathering up the boards she had seen him working on, presumably to take around the back of the house.

She raised her hand and waved. He waved back.

A light drizzle started and Sam flipped up the hood of her jacket as she kept walking.

She was passing a patch of woods, skittishly moving away from the road as a big, fast truck passed, when someone grabbed her from behind and dragged her into the trees.

_____

Jack was really getting into the construction of his deck. It was almost complete at this point and he had done everything himself. Maybe it was a pure male thing, but doing every part of it himself made him feel insanely proud.

He was trying to finish the railing, hammering some pieces into place, before the rain got too heavy. Then he heard a scream.

It was short and cut off, but it made Jack go on the alert. Screams weren't exactly an uncommon thing, really, especially in a neighborhood with kids. Screams were actually a lot more common to hear than people thought.

But Jack had been a solider and he knew that sort of scream wasn't a good thing. So he took off running in the direction it came from, entering the trees at the back of his property, hammer still in hand.

____

Sam was fighting as hard as she could, but Jonas had one arm pinning her arms to her body and the other hand clamped to her mouth as he dragged her back into the trees. Kicking him meant that his arm would end up around her throat if she lifted her feet up and she could barely stay on her feet.

She bit at his hand and he squeezed her face tight enough to make tears well in her eyes and nearly cut off her breathing.

"We didn't have to do it this way, Sam." he breathed in her ear as she struggled. "But you made me have to do this."

She had made him do anything, but it wasn't like Sam could point that out right now. Sam fought harder. Jonas slammed her into a tree, whacking her head into the trunk hard enough to make her see stars. He pinned her with his body, yanking down her hood, his breath hot on the back of her neck. Sam jerked and whimpered as he kissed her there.

"Don't fight it, Sam. It will be easier that way."

_____

Jack ran through the woods, listening for any sign of what was going on. He had he bad feeling that the person who had screamed was the woman that Hansen had been stalking. And that Hansen was the cause.

"Jonas! Please! No!"

It wasn't as loud as the previous scream, but it was desperate and broken at the same time. It was her voice. Jack slowed his pace, looking around. He crept quietly through the trees.

He stopped when he could see what was going on.

Hansen had her pinned up against a tree and was fumbling with her clothing. There was no doubt in Jack's mind what he was going to do to her. She was still fighting, despite everything. He admired her spirit.

Jack took a deep breath, adjusted his grip on the hammer, and moved forward.

_____

Jonas's hand was yanking at her jeans and Sam tried to throw her weight back, trying to throw him off, but he was too heavy. Tears welled in her eyes. She had never thought it would come to this. Had she really been so stupid?

She heard a twig snap. Jonas didn't notice. There was a sudden impact and a grunt and the weight pinning Sam vanihed.

She jerked away and spun to see the man that had previously interfered was with Jonas on the ground, fighting him. Sam was stunned and at first didn't know how to react. A hammer was laying on the ground.

Jonas rolled on top of the man, pinning him and starting to hit him.

Sam didn't think. She acted.

She grabbed the hammer and swung it at Jonas as hard as hard as she could.

She hadn't been aiming, truly, and was stunned when she caught him in the head, dropping him instantly.

He didn't move again.

The man stood up, rubbing his jaw as he looked at Jonas. Sam tensed, tightening her grip on the hammer, staring at him.

"Nice shot."

"I killed him." she whispered, mind trying to comprehend this.

"Good."

Sam stared at him in shock, pulling her gaze away from Jonas's body.

"Good?"

"Good." he repeated, stepping closer to her. "He deserved it for what he was doing to you."

"Thank you." Sam said, lowering the hammer, realizing she was shaking.

He gave her a smile despite a face that was bloody and definitely going to be bruised.

"You're welcome. Are you okay?"

Sam assessed herself and nodded. She let the hammer slide from her fingers. She looked down at Jonas.

"What now?"

"We call the cops from....where are you heading?" he asked.

"My grandmother's house."

"Okay. We call the cops from grandma's house. I'll make sure you get there safely."

Sam stared at him, not sure what to do. A part of her wanted to scream. Cry. Run. She ended up throwing her arms around him instead.

"Thank you." Sam repeated.

He returned her embrace and they quickly parted. Embarrassed, Sam held out hand. They shook.

"I'm Sam."

"Jack."

He literally shrugged off what he had just done. Sam liked that. She needed that right now. He moved away and waited patiently.

Sam looked back at Jonas's body one more time, then flipped the hood of her jacket back up as she walked to join Jack.

The wolf in the woods was gone. She was safe now.

#stargate sg1 #fanfiction #writing prompt #prompts #sam x jack #sam and jack #sam carter #samantha carter #jack o'neill #thanks for the ask

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starryevermore · 3 years

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god rest his soul ✧ colby brock ✧ 31doh 5

prompt: day 5, ghost!colby

pairing: ghost!colby brock x fem!reader

summary: you move into what was once the trap house and encounter the ghost of a certain emo boy.

word count: 1,020

warning(s): vague discussion of colby’s death, kinda sorta angsty

Colby Brock didn’t know a lot of things. And he was fine with that. He didn’t care that he didn’t know a lot, that he was never the smartest person in the room. He left that to his best friend, Sam Golbach. Or, at least, he used to leave it to Sam. He was no longer part of Sam’s life. Not out of choice. He never would’ve left Sam willingly. But, life had a funny way of turning what you want on its head. It was supposed to be fun. It was never supposed to turn out as badly as it did. A trip gone so horribly wrong that they flew his body back to Kansas is a casket.

Sam quit social media after that. Colby didn’t blame him. He probably would’ve done the same if the roles were reversed. What was the point in chasing your dream if you couldn’t do it with your partner in (literal) crime? Sam didn’t stick around LA for much longer, either. He tried to make it work, but there was something—someone—missing. He sold the house, moved back to Kansas, and lived a regular life.

Colby couldn’t leave the Trap House, though. Something kept his spirit there, perhaps hoping that his friend would one day return. Sam never did.

One year, eight months, and fourteen days after his year, you bought the house. You, too, were a YouTuber, he discovered. You mostly did commentary videos, though you occasionally branched off into other content. You had a sizable following—there’s no way you could afford a house like the Trap House if you didn’t. Sometimes, when you recorded at night (the only time there wasn’t a lot of traffic in the background), he floated around the filming room, your voice soothing him.

You probably never would’ve suspected your house was haunted if he hadn’t done that. He’d watch over your shoulder as you’d scroll through comments, swearing they saw an orb or, in some cases, a figure of a man in your video. You brushed them off, at first, thinking it was dust or something, but even you began to wonder if your house was truly haunted.

But you didn’t realize you were haunted until one evening when you were sat on Colby’s balcony your balcony. You were in a cozy chair, wrapped up in a blanket, writing in your journal. Colby sat beside you, staring up the moon. Every once in a while, he would look over at you, your brows furrowed as you wrote your deepest secrets and insecurities. God, you looked so beautiful.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” he said.

Your head shot up and you looked around, your eyes wild. “Who the fuck said that?”

“Wait, you heard me?”

You were on your feet, wielding your journal as if it were a weapon. “Who the fuck is here?” When you got no answer, you repeated, “I said, who the fuck is there?”

“Um, my name’s Colby,” he tried.

“Well, Colby, get the fuck out of my house before I call the police!”

Panic rose inside of him. How does he diffuse the situation? If the neighbors heard the shouting, they might call the police. And then what? You couldn’t arrest a ghost. And they’d think you were insane, try to lock you away. Or it would get out to your fans and your reputation would be ruined. He wouldn’t wish that upon you. But, oh God, what should he do?

“I can’t leave.”

“Like hell you can’t!”

“No, like, I really can’t. I’m…I’m not exactly like you.”

“The fuck do you mean?”

He hesitated. This conversation was going real south, real quick. Should he bother telling the truth? Would you even believe it? Nothing you had done in your time living at the Trap House had indicated that you were a believer. But, in the same vein, nothing you had done indicated that you were a skeptic.

Was this a gamble he was willing to take? Colby had grown quite fond of you. He didn’t think he could stand it if you left him, too. He’d already had to deal with the heartbreak of Sam leaving, of Jake leaving, of Corey leaving. Of the Krac House never coming around anymore. Of the Trap Girls never coming around. Would he be able to handle it if you moved away? He didn’t knew he could.

“I’m, uh, I’m a ghost.”

Your jaw dropped. “Wait, are you the ghost who’s been in my videos?”

“Guilty. Consider me a fan.”

“You need to cut that shit out. You’re scaring my fans.”

He snorted. “Sorry, I’ll try to be better.”

“So, uh, why are you haunting my house?”

“Used to be my house,” he explained. “But then I died—not here—and suddenly my spirit was trapped here.”

“Damn, that sucks.”

The two of you talked until the sun rose. You never saw what he looked like. Somehow, even though you were able to hear him, he couldn’t make himself appear to you. But you didn’t mind, joking that he was your imaginary friend.

You stayed in that house for thirty years. In that time, many came and gone—friends, partners, colleagues. But Colby was the only constant. Any time someone got too close, he was ashamed to admit, he would scare them away. He didn’t want you to get hurt by anyone. He knew better than anyone that LA was full of snakes, and you didn’t deserve the pain of letting someone know your darkest secrets and using them against you. You were his friend.

But even you left. You retired from the entertainment industry, moving far away where the cost of living wasn’t nearly as astronomical. Another family took your place in the house. But they weren’t you, and they weren’t Sam.

And so he remained the sad, emo boy he was in his life. But, instead of choosing to not be seen, he had no choice in this matter, and perhaps that’s what hurt the most of never being able to cross over to the other side.

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mythicamagic · 3 years

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Fangs of Silver: Sesskag oneshot

Summary: Kagome Higurashi has her work cut out for her, hunting one of the most elusive and powerful werewolves known to man: the Killing Perfection. Sesskag smut oneshot. Werewolf Sesshoumaru/monster hunter Kagome.

Rated M

Words: 4,700

Read on Ao3 and Dokuga

AN: for @cookieasylum for an art trade. Thanks bud! Hope you like it

Fangs of Silver

Warning: werewolf x human smut, knotting, menstrual sex

---

Two fingers unfurled to touch the moonlit forest floor, tracing the outline of a large paw-print stamped into dirt. Even splaying her palm wide with four fingers and thumb outstretched, Kagome couldn't hope to meet its size, dwarfed in comparison.

"Looks like I've found you again," she muttered, straightening from her crouch. Walking onwards and listening out for any hint of movement within the imposing woods- tall anorexic trees completely still with sharp looking branches- blue eyes remained alert, watchful.

She'd been tracking this one for God knew how long now. Months. Had it been a year yet? Though even the smallest victory of finding his tracks left no time for celebration.

Kagome frowned to herself. This particular beast wasn't usually so careless. He evaded her during daylight hours by wading through streams or keeping to rocky terrain, never giving the same name when mingling with villagers. Even when the Full Moon hit- he managed to be elusive and surprisingly clever. The smartest one she'd been sent to hunt. This time he'd either been sloppy or…

Kagome glimpsed something through a gap in the lower trees, located further down the hill. Smoke?

Surely he wasn't trying to trap her with something so obvious.

Frowning, Kagome set down her weapon and snuffed out the flames of her torch, checking her supplies. Enough silver bullets. Enough jewel shards. Her guns were in good shape, but she was out of herbal supplements to repress a certain annoyance that also occurred every month. Wincing, she put a hand to her lower abdomen, feeling it cramp.

Crap, not now.

She'd have to ignore it. She couldn't afford to lose this guy due to Mother Nature kicking her continually in the gut.

This beast had committed countless acts of violence- leaving behind a trail of bodies in their respective towns and villages. Unlike usual werewolves who sloppily left bitten survivors to run amok, this beast made no mistakes. He seemed to kill specific people and left them firmly for dead. He never inflicted the curse upon anyone. Surprisingly his victims were usually reported to be less than innocent citizens.

Due to the killings- a bounty had been placed on what the authorities referred to as 'the Killing Perfection.'

Creeping down a steep incline, Kagome stepped as lightly as possible within the relative darkness of the trees -autumn leaves crunching beneath her boots.

A lonesome house in the woods stood like a mourner in a graveyard under the light of the Full Moon, dark wood faintly eroded by time. Vines held the chimney in a stranglehold, but smoke puffing out of the top revealed it to be in working order despite the dilapidated state of the house.

Slipping around the side of the building and ducking out of sight from any windows, Kagome stopped with her back to the wall, loading her rifle while stooped into a crouch.

Taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out, Kagome wasted no time. She pushed off and rounded the corner, kicking open the front door with the barrel of her gun trained inside.

Empty?

Kagome didn't let her guard down, slowly inching inside and glancing around.

The fireplace was lit with healthy flames- a kettle sat off to the side, an empty mug not too far away. Everything else in the room had a layer of dust costing it, but the armchair lay newly cleaned. Footprints trailed around the ashen floor, some human, some wolf prints.

Kagome searched the lower floor that comprised of mostly empty rooms, before pointing her gun up towards the stairs, setting foot on the first step.

It groaned loudly beneath her weight.

Wincing, blue eyes snapped to the top of the dark stairs for any tell-tale signs of movement.

Wandering up to the second floor cautiously and looking around revealed nothing more than dust bunnies.

Kagome frowned, eyeing the open window. Had he jumped down and escaped?

Sighing with disappointment, she shouldered her gun and trailed downstairs.

I suppose I can sweep the outside to pick up his trail again, but I bet he's long gone. He probably lit the chimney to distract me before making his escape and transforming for the night.

Wandering over to the kettle, she touched its side.

Still lukewarm. He'd literally just been there.

And I was too late.

Kagome groaned.

"What a disappointed noise. Were you aching to see me that badly?"

Stiffening, her heart jumped. The silky sounding words had come from behind her.

Pivoting on one heel, Kagome turned her weapon on the man lounging in the armchair.

His image blurred, snatching up her gun to lurch the barrel upwards just as she fired, the blast piercing the ceiling- some debris raining down.

Golden eyes sparked, snapping the barrel in two before throwing her to the floor with impressive strength.

Kagome gasped, back colliding hard with the wooden floors, winded. She quickly grabbed one of her pistols and trained it on the man- who had disappeared again.

"W-what?" she panted. "It's a Full Moon. Why haven't you transformed?"

"Ah, you wish for me to change? Very well," his voice rumbled from outside.

Fur blocked out the moonlight pouring in from the shutters, brushing along the side of the house. Quiet, hungry panting filled her ears.

Kagome quickly fired at the windows, but the shadows melted away, causing her to wonder if it had been a trick of the light.

"I heard tell of a woman who subdues my kind before using shards of a blessed jewel to revert them back into humans…"

Paws padded around the house, nails dragging- scraping the forest floor. "You have pursued me for some time. Did you hope to transform me into a mortal like those you have hunted before me? Break my curse?" the male uttered.

"I knew you were strong, so I didn't have much hope of using them. Taking you back alive to stand trial for all the things you've done is a tall order," Kagome grunted, lower stomach clenching. She quietly hissed. Cycle blood likely marred her trousers now.

"Indeed. Even if you shot me with one of your infamous jewels though, it would not work."

A figure bent down, twisting through the front door with the ease of a feline through bars. Sleek silver fur gleamed with a fiery hue, bathed in the hearth's orange light.

Saliva dripped from exposed canines, muzzle pulled back.

The werewolf towered over her in size. He had the look of a distorted wolf- pale torso resembling a man due to broad shoulders and defined abdomen. He shifted to stand upright, hind legs strong, capable of supporting his weight. Thick hackles rose, paws more akin to hands tipped with killer claws.

Unlike the other beasts she'd faced, this one had peculiar red markings slashing over his cheeks, lower legs and flank. Glowing red eyes burned with the heat of the sun.

"You unknowingly came in search of a Pure Blood. I cannot be 'fixed' little hunter. This is how I was born," he purred, mouth unmoving, whispering honeyed words in her mind.

Those eyes strayed down to her legs, nostrils flaring. "And you are in heat, no less. A fine time to go hunting for a predator."

Kagome shivered, raising her pistol and aiming it between his eyes.

The werewolf gazed at her calmly, completely different from the wild, almost rabid beasts she'd fought with before.

A Pure Blood…

She'd never come across a creature so ancient. He looked at her with intelligence, as she'd suspected from tracking him.

"I-I'm not in heat," she muttered, finger grazing the trigger without pulling it. Why wasn't he attacking?

"You hurt those townspeople. Why?"

"I walk among men in my other form. Occasionally I find those deserving of death. Those who harm their cubs and mates. Those who leech of their pack and drink themselves into violent stupors. Sometimes they simply get in my way."

Kagome grit her teeth, "so you dispense justice alone? I don't disagree with cruel people deserving some kind of consequences but you don't get to decide who lives and dies. That's playing God."

He chuckled inside her mind, mouth pulling back from sharp teeth in an imitation of a smile. "Is what you do so different, little hunter?"

"I follow the orders of my superiors- unless I think someone can be saved with the jewels I bless."

Interest brightened his gaze, tail swishing once behind him.

Her only warning.

The beast knocked her arms to one side, striking her down with a headbutt to her chest. The action sent her gun skittering away over dusty floorboards, disappearing into harsh shadows. One human-like forepaw pressed down on Kagome's stomach, making her breath wheeze free from frozen lungs- his other holding her right arm down to keep her pinned. He then leaned in close, white ears perked atop his head.

A white maw drifted over her startled face, nostrils flaring, inhaling her scent greedily.

"Holy powers…" he uttered thoughtfully.

Kagome's left hand fumbled with the hem of her shirt, eyes narrowing. "I'm a former sister of the church. It comes in handy when dealing with creatures that go bump in the night."

She abruptly thrust her formally concealed dagger up, aiming it straight for his heart.

Powerful jaws snapped down, locking around her arm- the beast hissing as her blade ran off course but scraped down his neck and shoulder.

Kagome yelped, dagger freezing. Her hand remained free outside of the cage of teeth but she dared not move. Teeth mouthed her arm without breaking the skin, until a particularly sharp canine made a trail of crimson leak down the inside of her wrist.

A large, wet tongue roved, licking and sliding over the length of her elbow and wrist while they lay trapped within the hot cavern of his mouth.

"Now we have both shed blood tonight, little hunter. Are you satisfied?"

Kagome panted, gritting blunt teeth. She glared hotly into large red eyes fixed on her, looming close. From the new proximity, she could now see his seafoam green irises and slit pupils from within the sea of crimson. They dilated the longer she looked.

"You are quite the woman," he rumbled appreciatively. "What name do you go by?"

"K-kagome."

"Hn, I am Sesshoumaru. I thank you for your relentless pursuit of me over these past few months. It was quite flattering."

Kagome opened her mouth to reply before a hiss broke her off. The clenching of her abdomen took up attention for a moment, twisting like a knife in her gut.

"Heat can be painful to go through alone," he acknowledged, teeth slowly easing from her arm, eyes trained on her warningly not to try anything. His slick tongue unwrapped itself from her arm with a trail of saliva. He licked his maw hungrily.

Kagome gripped her sticky arm, glaring from her position on the floor. No bite. Just a nick from his tooth. It wouldn't be enough to curse her. She warily lowered her dagger.

"It's just my monthly cycle. I'm fine...gn…"

"You seem it," he mocked, wolf expression unchanging, though his eyes danced.

His great head lowered, hovering over her groin. His nose drew closer, inhaling over the red patch. His long pink tongue slid out, drawing over it with a lingering lick.

Kagome yelped, forgetting her guns and blades- grasping the dense white fur of his neck. "W-what are you doing?!"

He managed to look suggestive without human features, tipping his head slightly. "As a hunter, it must be difficult to find relief. You are always working, are you not? Chasing evil…" his voice resounded with the finest baritone in her mind, coaxing and soothing, completely at odds with his monstrous appearance. He almost sounded aristocratic. "Fortunately...you happen to lie beneath a beast tonight."

Saliva, warm and dewy, dropped onto her leg in small puddles. Sesshoumaru gazed at her while snaking his tongue out once more, prying it harder between her legs.

Kagome gasped, back-arching, a rush spilling up from her cunt to twist sweet arousal at her core. She viciously clamped down on such a reaction, growling.

"No one gave you permission to take liberties with me, pal!" she drew her knee up, attempting to kick him away.

Sesshoumaru released her arm in favour of grasping her thigh, chuckling while forcing it down. "Why protest?"

Kagome snatched up her dagger again, pressing the hilt against her chest and keeping the point raised outwards.

"Why agree?! Y-you're a…" wide blue eyes flicked over his strange, inhuman body. "I've never- n-not with a werewolf. I'm pretty sure that's breaking some sort of rule. Or law."

"I will not tell a soul."

Her gaze turned flat, fingers shifting over the hilt. "I'm supposed to be killing you. We just tried to kill each other!"

"Hn, keep your friends close and enemies closer, as they say. Allowing them into your bed does not seem like such an extreme, and I find there is always a slight thrill in fighting, is there not?"

It was a night of firsts. Kagome had never experienced anything like it in her five years of hunting. None of her superiors had ever mentioned an intelligent werewolf who could control their transformation and shapeshift at will. The only whisper of it had come from dusty old books stashed away in catacombs. The air in the lonely house felt cold, tickling her skin like a living thing, but the space between Hunter and Werewolf crackled with intensity.

Kagome swallowed, feeling squirmy. She tensed when a wet nose came back up to sniff at her neck. Warm breath fanned over flushed skin as his snout travelled up and down, scenting. It soon buried itself within dark hair, making her gasp. The suggestion of teeth scraped the crown of her head, joined by a pleased, rumbling noise. Goosebumps rose on her exposed skin, blood burning, alight with confused but obvious need.

His alien, paw-like hand ran over her hip and breast, cupping the side of her jaw. The shock of thin fur and monstrous, long fingers tipped with claws should've terrified her. Kagome had fought against such hands for years. Her body held traces of scars where such nails had hooked and dragged into supple flesh.

As it was, when his second stroked her inner thigh, Kagome shuddered. He smelled faintly of clove and damp earth. His movements were deliberate. The inferno of his eyes when they locked with hers shone with hunger- but also curiosity. That mindfulness and clarity of his thoughts was what allowed her to hesitantly touch the hand on her thigh.

It felt too large and gangly to be a human, fur and heat brushing the calloused skin of her palm.

"You can't bite me," she warned, laying the flat of her blade against his neck. "I'll kill you if you do- and that'll instantly free me from the curse."

Sesshoumaru smiled with his eyes.

He forced her down again, claws making quick work of her pants, tearing a sizable hole at the crotch.

The wiry fur of his muzzle immediately dived down, fervently taking in her scent with hearty, eager inhales. It sent a rush of arousal straight through her, hips jolting.

Nose, teeth and tongue soon brushed her sex, before the latter thrust inside, heedless of the blood.

Kagome cried out, toes curling, going completely still. The invasive probing between her legs filled her entrance, sinking deeper. It then flicked outside, allowing her to feel the velvet rough texture. It swirled experimentally over her clit.

Shakily tightening her now slippery grip on the dagger, Kagome gasped and shuddered.

"I-I thought you were going to transform into a man-!"

Sesshoumaru gave a rumbling noise in response. He gripped the front of her blouse, yanking to rip it open and fondle her breast.

"You do not wish to see the creature you've hunted feasting on you?" the rumbling purr lifted into something darkly amused, tail flicking behind him.

He grabbed her hips, swivelling them to flip her over. Kagome yelped and snarled, about to protest when his palms kneaded her ass, raising it and tearing off the remainder of her pants- the pads of his thumbs dragging to her sex, spreading slick folds and delving a warm, thick tongue inside her all the deeper.

Kagome kept a needless grip on the dagger, a strangled noise caught in her throat. His muzzle nudged and pried, urging her to rock against his tongue. Feeling warm, she clumsily grasped at her coat, yanking her arms free and tossing it aside.

Full breasts were squashed to the floor under the weight of the werewolf as he pressed her down, but her nipples- stiff and hardened with pleasure- received friction from the steady rhythm. The pleasure came in small, electric bursts.

"Fuck," she groaned, biting her lip. This was wrong. She shouldn't allow this.

A clawed thumb rubbing at the sensitive bundle of nerves between her thighs silenced that weak protest. It felt good. So deliciously good. Men scarcely put their mouth on her down there, deeming it 'dirty' or beneath them.

Kagome shivered, pushing back against the roving tongue continually thrusting inside her core, flexibly twisting, rubbing against her inner walls and licking with heinous, grunting noises like she slaked his thirst. They found a kind of rhythm without communicating through words, and an incredible rush built in her stomach- delighted to rock against his mouth.

Bowing her head and trying to concentrate on breathing, Kagome jolted and shamelessly moaned as his movements became more relentless, hungrily collecting evidence of her arousal and cycle onto his tongue.

"W-why-?" she managed out, straining to look at him over her shoulder- the tongue plunging faster in quick delves like he were mining for gold- sharp teeth scraping her entrance, adding rapidly to the throbbing feeling building up in her lower stomach.

Why was he pleasuring her? It didn't align with a wild beasts actions.

Blue eyes glimpsed glowing crimson behind her. With a sudden push of his humanoid paw on her back, trapping her in place- Kagome squealed loudly as Sesshoumaru pried so deep he wore her like a puppet with his tongue, grunting with savage satisfaction when she came from the action.

"Agh!" Kagome cried out, body igniting, juices immediately flowing into his mouth, which he collected enthusiastically with broad strokes. Somewhere between all this, she lost grip on her weapon. The blade clanked against the floors loudly.

After pulling away, the werewolf paid no heed to the red staining his lips, licking at his jaw in a decadent, gluttonous manner.

"Why what?" Sesshoumaru sat back on his haunches, ears perking, haughtily eyeing her with an air of pride. He probably took great pleasure in reducing a hunter to such a vulnerable mess.

Kagome felt like she'd received her answer. "Never mind," she caught her breath, forehead dotted with sweat. Her muscles burned despite the lack of physical exertion, body feverishly warm.

She sat up slowly, wincing at the slick feeling of her cunt. It fluttered and clenched, demanding more- wanting to be filled.

"I feel better now. We can end things there and-"

Kagome caught an eyeful of his crotch, entranced by the hard evidence of his arousal.

Oh.

She swallowed, reading the look in his eye easily. They wouldn't be stopping anytime soon. From the look of his long, thick cock, they'd be spending a while easing it in if he were committed to pleasuring her.

Somehow she felt alright with that. The fever in her veins wasn't satisfied yet, though she had reservations about allowing a literal werewolf to take her. However something undeniable had come to life in the pit of her gut, something raw and hot that left her wet between her legs and wordlessly begging.

Sesshoumaru's claws closed around her ankle, dragging her towards him- her ass coming to meet his twitching cock.

"I do not think you have unwound nearly enough. You must expel all pent up frustrations if you are to continue hunting me. I worry you will fall behind if not- your tracking has become sloppy lately."

Kagome whipped her head up and growled- just as the head of his cock nestled at her entrance, cutting off the noise and sending it choking. Blushing, she reached behind her, spreading herself for him- holding herself open while Sesshoumaru gave that jagged flash of teeth in response, slipping his thick length inside her inch by inch.

Whimpering and dropping her hands, Kagome bowed forward, trying to adjust. He sank even deeper. The sheer slickness between her thighs helped but didn't assuage the terrible stretch that threatened to overwhelm her. He was too big, his large and hairy body towering over hers, encasing her back with the furnace heat of his body.

"Ease yourself back against me- slowly," panting breath fanned over her damp neck. She felt him run an almost affectionate feeling lick up the sensitive shell of her ear. "Relax. This body was built to withstand many things," his palm stroked a path over her navel, circling up her hip where a scar lay. "You will not allow me to dominate you so easily, will you, Kagome?"

Panting, Kagome tried to get used to feeling every inch of him inside her, filling her clenching walls to the brim.

His hands were three times the size of hers, one settling beside her on the floor. The way he loomed over her made the formally fearless woman feel small, crushable.

"H-ha! As if," she shakily replied. Not one to give in, Kagome did as instructed, slowly rocking back against him just like before. She winced. The sensation was much fuller and tighter, uncomfortable.

Sesshoumaru hissed and groaned, rubbing at her clit again to shoot tiny bursts of fireworks through her system. It helped coax some pleasure back into things. Kagome gave a shaky moan.

Sensing her change in enjoyment, the wolf began moving.

She cried out, wincing a little at his slight withdraw- before groaning as he eased back in, creating a slow, building pace.

The thick, soft fur that covered him from crown to foot gleamed in the light of the room. Kagome could feel it hot against her back, tickling her skin. The strands began to stick to flushed flesh. Sweat began to bead, rolling down her shoulder blades.

"You take me very well, for a human," Sesshoumaru nosed at her hair.

"I can't say 'taking a cock' nicely is the highest compliment ever, but- thanks," Kagome panted. He gave an amused huff, giving a hard thrust in response that knocked her forward.

Yelping, she grabbed onto the first available thing. Her breath caught when her fingers met soft, warm fur. His arm.

It felt sturdy amidst the sea of sensations. Kagome held tighter onto it, bracing herself. She could sense the control beginning to slip from her new bedmate.

Sesshoumaru growled ferally, fanning hot, sticky breath over her shoulders. He then slammed inside her- ramming his hard cock completely within.

Letting out a loud, startled cry that bordered on a scream, Kagome bit down on his arm. He set a brutal pace, thrusting his cock with a quickness that blinded her. She squeezed her eyes shut so tight stars burst behind her eyelids.

Strands of dark hair stuck to her forehead, the rest bouncing and swaying with the werewolf's chosen pace: hard and merciless.

She sank her teeth harder into Sesshoumaru's arm, but he was completely silent inside her mind now. Whatever debonair and lofty charm he possessed had been shoved far back into the recesses of his consciousness, replaced with raw primal need and heavy grunts. He sought to fuck, and Kagome found herself mewling receptively, weakly rocking back against him.

With a snarl, he yanked his arm free from her teeth- rearing back onto his haunches and dragging Kagome with him, holding her hips while continually rutting into her.

Kagome went completely speechless in both pain and pleasure. The new angle nestled onto his lap with the steel band of his arms wrapped around her waist allowed him to reach new depths.

Letting out mindless moans, she rested her head back against his furry shoulder, body ablaze, cunt squeezing him deliciously. The arms holding her prisoner forced her to meet each thrust, creating an intense friction inside that brought her into a state of begging. "P-please- more. Fuck-! More, I'm so close, please!"

Sesshoumaru gave guttural snarls and rumbles in response. But there was something strange happening with his cock. She could feel it even while held under the haze of pleasure. Nudging up against her entrance, something thicker than his length and more rounded threatened to push inside. His knot.

Kagome couldn't react- distracted by another orgasm ripping through her at the most inopportune time.

The knot swelled and stretched her sex farther than she'd anticipated. With a jolt of his hips, Sesshoumaru followed her into orgasm, throwing his head back in a deafening snarl. A torrent of cum flooded her, painting her inner walls- all locked in by the werewolf's knot.

Kagome jolted and strained, mouth opening in a wordless scream. Full. She felt too full. Her sex strained, still squeezing him like a vice.

Slowly, his voice drifted back into her head. "Very good...worthy female...powerful. Should claim..."

"S-sesshoumaru?" she croaked weakly, limp in his arms.

A silver muzzle nuzzled the side of her head in response, crooning lowly. "Hn?"

"You uh..." Kagome panted, giving a weak gesture of her wrist, trying to rise and finding it impossible. He was quite literally locked inside her. "You knotted me- shouldn't you have pulled out?"

She wasn't concerned about being pupped- she'd handled dodging pregnancy with herbal aid before. However, like this, it made moving away impossible.

"Why would this one do that?"

Blue eyes blinked, shifting up to him. His fur plastering against her skin felt like a feathery bed cushioning her spine. "Because now we're stuck, for who knows how long. A few minutes to 30. I figured you'd..."

Want to get away. Re-establish our roles as enemies.

He acted the same as always. She couldn't anticipate his movements or read him.

A sinuous tongue she'd now become intimately acquainted with slid up her cheek. The fur receded at her back, and Kagome stiffened with alarm.

When she turned slightly, she found herself gazing at the pale, handsome features of a man. His markings remained, branding him as something inhuman despite the skin, pretty fall of hair and stern sweep of his brow.

"I intend to have you many times," Sesshoumaru uttered out loud, sounding much crisper in the quiet room. "In a multitude of ways."

Kagome opened her mouth to reply, gasping when a tongue thrust inside her mouth. Grunting, she managed to return the dominating press of tongue and teeth, biting his lip for good measure and feeling him shiver.

When he began moving again while locked inside her, she fell into the murky waters of arousal once more.

-----

The morning sunlight peeking through the broken blinds brought many aches and pains with it. Kagome heard the front door shut, footsteps drawing away before falling silent.

Sitting up quickly, a fur throw fell from her shoulders. It pooled in her lap, revealing the full extent of fresh scratches and claw marks littering her nude body, along with bruises.

She winced at the stickiness between her legs. The smell of sex overwhelmed the stuffy room. So it wasn't a dream.

Noticing a steaming mug of green tea sitting before the lit fireplace loaded with newly chopped wood, Kagome tentatively reached out to touch it. Still warm.

He must've just left.

Running her hands up and down her flesh, she found no bite marks. He'd stayed true to his word.

Feeling a little complicated, Kagome blinked upon noticing a letter sitting atop a fresh change of clothes on the armchair. Her weapons were also neatly arranged nearby.

Picking up the parchment, blue eyes flitted over the message.

'Pursue me once more, my hunter. I enjoyed feasting on you.'

Kagome pressed her lips together. She shook herself a little. This was still the enemy, nothing had changed despite a thoroughly pleasurable night. In the privacy of the room however, she allowed herself a small smile.

After eating, washing and dressing for the day, Kagome stepped outside.

Securing her weapons, she gave chase.

End

#sesskag #Sesshoumaru x Kagome #sesskag fanfiction #werewolf smut #monster boyfriend

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heliads · 2 years

Note

Hello! It is I, the one who requested the Racetrack drabble for your celebration, back with another request! If it’s okay with you, could I please get another Race drabble, this one with a reader who has a very noticeable scar on her face (where she got it is up to you). She’s really insecure about it, so Race takes it upon himself to make her see how pretty she actually is. If you don’t want to do this, it’s totally up to you! Thanks and have an awesome day!! 🥰

lets go lets goo i love newsies

masterlist

Race is dodging work again. Technically, he’s still on the job, still out here in the blazing sun hawking papes like his life depends upon it (because let’s be honest, it really does), but he’s abandoned his usual selling point yet again.

To be honest, it’s not like this is his fault. The races are dry today, lacking most of their usual strong customers. Besides, it’s got one definite point against, something practically impossible to ignore: Race’s dearest Y/N L/N is not there, and therefore he cannot be there either.

He practically skips as he heads away, turning down side streets and whipping around corners until he spots a familiar silhouette on the opposite side of the road. Race pauses for a moment just to admire her; his favorite selling partner, the one girl he’s completely fallen for despite having practically no chance at all. Albert and Jojo tease him to no end, but Race is too far gone to pull himself back. Yes, he’s crushing hard on Y/N, and yes, there is absolutely no way to stop.

As Race watches, though, he notices something strange in Y/N’s posture. She’s tucked into the shadows of a nearby awning, as if unwilling to let passersby get a good look at her. This is a crime, to be sure, because Race is certain that she could be muse to the best painters in the world, but most of all, it makes him unhappy. There’s one reason in particular that Y/N would want to hide her face, and that has to do with the scar.

The scar is the one thing Race never talks about, because every time someone asks Y/N gets that same shy look on her face and if Y/N is going to be shy about anything, it might as well be for Race’s terrible pickup lines and not any sort of uncertainty. Race has noticed this sort of thing before, when the staring gets bad and Y/N starts doubting herself all because she has a scar crisscrossing her cheeks.

Race thinks it’s darling, actually, like it’s nature’s way of underlining her face to show off its finest work. However, Y/N doesn’t always see it the same way. The sight of her troubled expression makes Race’s heart ache, and he knows at once that he has to stop it. A plan pops into his head, and after that it’s only a matter of sprinting to the nearest vendor and coughing up a few of his treasured coins to make it a reality.

Y/N looks surprised when Race first presents her with the flowers. He was only able to buy her so many, even if he’d like to buy countless more if he had the money.

She tilts her head quizzically at him, although her smile is brighter than the sun at the sight of the blooms. “What’s this for, Race?”

Race scratches the back of his head, suddenly shy when forced to explain himself. “It’s a reminder. You’se too pretty to be thinking badly about yourself, you know that? I just wanted a good way to tell you.”

For a moment, Race thinks she’s going to think he’s weird, but then Y/N’s eyes shine and he knows that he’s done well. “You’re the best, Race. Honest.”

The best thing, though, is seeing Y/N’s shoulders straighten again, no longer burdened by untrue concerns. Race would tell Y/N she’s beautiful a thousand times over if it would make a difference, and he’s already prepared to follow through.

newsies tag list: @lovesanimals0000

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babyboibucky · 3 years

Text

Undeserving (Deserve Better Part 2)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You confront Bucky about his decision to abandon you.

Word Count: 2,868

Warnings: More angst lmao I’m sorry for this

A/N: Honestly struggled with this because 1) I couldn’t decide on how to end it and 2) I was pressured from the feedback I got from Deserve Better. I’m not entirely happy with how this came out and initially, I planned on doing an epilogue for those who’d prefer a different ending but decided against it. Anyway, if you guys have more questions about this, send me an ask! I’d love to discuss more about this lol luv u all as always. Feedbacks are highly appreciated and I hope this was good enough for y’all who enjoyed Deserve Better xoxo

Deserve Better || Undeserving || Deserve The Best

MAIN MASTERLIST

You chose to stay.

Despite seeing the love of your life— whom you had waited for years— in the arms of another, you stayed at the gala. It was after all, to honor Steve’s legacy and you respected him enough not to walk away and miss out on the speeches given by people dearest to him, Bucky included of course.

You weren’t sure if he had seen you and the way your eyes brimmed with tears when everything finally made sense to you. He wasn’t far from you when you stopped in your tracks, mouth parting as a soft whimper escaped past your lips.

You had never imagined that heartbreak could be so physically painful. And it wasn’t the regular pain you’d feel after an intense workout or when you scraped your knee. The hurt was different, like your heart was being tightly squeezed into someone else’s palm. It was choking you, constricting you of oxygen as if you were drowning. No matter how much you tried to reach the surface, the pain just kept on pulling you down until there was nothing but darkness and well, pain.

Once the program was over and all the guests were left to mingle, you carefully slipped out of the crowd. Mindlessly, you walked and walked and walked until your feet began to hurt from the heels you were wearing. When the cold and crisp air of the evening embraced you, it was then that you realized that you reached the compound’s garden, just behind the main hall where the gala was happening.

The quiet gave you time to think and process everything that had happened. Bucky left to find himself and to become better, that he did. And you waited only to discover that he’d been back for quite a while now but chose to be with another.

As you looked out in front of you, your vision turned blurry as a new wave of tears escaped your eyes. Your grief had resurfaced after repressing it for so, so long. Grief from Bucky’s goodbye, from his absence and from waiting, grief from seeing him with someone else; no matter the cause, all in all it was grief nonetheless.

Bucky’s soft voice calling your name echoed in the evening air, it was so soft that you almost thought that you were hallucinating. But then he’d called you again, using the pet name that used to make your stomach flip and your heart to flutter. It still had the same effect now, you realized, only that it came along with an immense amount of pain that made your blood boil.

Hearing Bucky call you that, it almost felt like poison. It was quiet, gentle even but it left a bitter taste in your mouth as you felt its venom run through your veins until you could no longer feel anything but pain.

“Doll—“

“Don’t.” you seethed and turned around, pointing a shaky finger right at Bucky. “Don’t call me that when you’re with someone else, James.”

Bucky flinched at the way you had addressed him. You saw how his face faltered upon seeing you like this. His vibranium arm was restless against his side, as if he wanted to reach out to you but knew better than to do so.

“I waited for you!” you spat.

If he found somebody else to become better for, he could at least let you know. But he didn’t and you needed to know why he chose to abandon you. You needed it so badly, for your own peace of mind. For closure. You deserved that, at least.

“I’m sorry, I—“

“No, you don’t get to say your side until I’m done with mine!” you insisted. “I have every right to be selfish right now. I can choose to lash out on you or refuse to even listen to whatever your reason is for abandoning me no matter how valid it is. I fucking deserve that, Bucky.”

Bucky closed his mouth and nodded; you hated how he was staring at you as if he just lost his moonlight, as if he still loved you. If he did, you wouldn’t be confronting him like this and you wouldn’t have seen him with someone else.

“When Steve told me that you disappeared, when it felt like there was no way to bring everyone back, I waited. It didn’t feel right for me to move on from you just like that and deep inside I knew that you were going to return. Five years, Buck. I waited five years for nothing.” you said quietly, recalling how devastating those five years were.

You didn’t know what would happen then, nobody knew. Would they still come back? The chances were slim and yet you trusted your gut and decided to remain hopeful. It wasn’t easy to wait for something or someone that may never come back. But you still did and it never even crossed your mind that you may just be wasting your time.

You let out a breathy chuckle, “And then you came back and I felt alive again. But then you said goodbye.” you pursed your lips in an attempt to hold back your tears but to no avail.

It took you a while to collect yourself and Bucky let you, until you spoke again and told him how much it destroyed you when he walked away from you.

“Everyone else told me that I shouldn’t wait. Not again after those five years. But it felt easier this time around because you told me you wanted to get better. For me. And I was excited, Bucky.” you told him with a chuckle. “I was excited to see your return. I looked forward to how we’d spend our time together when you come back, if you’d cut your hair. If you’d wear the same cologne that I loved.”

A smile tugged at your lips as you recalled those times you daydreamed about Bucky’s return. The wait was agonizing but it gave you something to look forward to. At least you weren’t waiting for nothing anymore. Bucky was leaving but only temporarily, you were sure he’d come back. But the smile vanished as soon as it appeared and before you knew it, you were sobbing again.

“And now you’re back and so much better. But you aren’t mine anymore.”

At this point, your grief had consumed you both physically and mentally. You knees wobbled but you didn’t hit the ground, no. Instead, there was warmth against your skin followed by the smell of a certain cologne, enveloping the air around you. Bucky caught you in his arms and he held you tight as you cried into him.

“Shh, doll. I’m here now.” he whispered before pressing a kiss onto your crown.

As much as it felt right to be in Bucky’s embrace, it wasn’t enough to overcome the betrayal he did. You groaned in frustration and pushed him away, stepping back and hugging yourself instead.

“Why?” you asked quietly.

“I need to know why and how we came to this.” you asked, almost begged for Bucky to give you the closure you badly needed.

Bucky ran a hand through his hair as he paced before you, his cheeks stained with his own tears. “I came back for you.” he said.

You frowned, “When?”

“I couldn’t wait to see you again and as soon as I got back, I went straight to your office. But then you weren’t working there anymore, I found out that you finally landed your dream job at the law firm.” he said with a small smile. “I was so proud when I heard that. I was supposed to go to your apartment but something came up and I needed to meet with Sam first. Weekend came and I was on my way to your place when I saw you. And you were with someone else and you looked....happier, the happiest I’d seen you.”

Something clicked and you quickly shook your head, “Andy. No, he’s not...we were never together. This is a misunderstanding, Bucky. He and I were never—“

“I know.” Bucky admitted.

“What?” You asked, voice soft from utter confusion.

“You looked happy with him, not because of him. I know you weren’t in love with him because if you were, you would have looked at him the same way you’re looking at me now.” He explained sadly.

Hearing Bucky’s explanation made you angrier. If he knew that, then why did he still leave? What reason could be bigger than that to make Bucky wake up one day and decide that he no longer wants to come back to you?

If he knew you loved him so much to actually wait, why did he leave you like that?

Your brows creased, “If that’s not the reason, then what?”

Bucky shrugged, “I realized that you didn’t deserve me. I left to better myself for you, god I really did. But when I saw you and how you managed to be successful without me by your side, I figured that you were better off without me. I thought I got better, but seeing you again looking so beautiful, happy and just...maybe I’ll never be the right one for you.”

You bitterly chuckled at Bucky’s revelation, “This doesn’t make any sense to me, Bucky. You chose to abandon me because you thought I was happier without you?”

You felt offended that Bucky even thought of that. Did he not trust you when you told him you’d wait for him? He didn’t even show up to tell you that, to give you the chance to reassure him how much you love him. He just decided that it was better for him to leave you hanging?

“That’s bullshit, Bucky.” you spat. “You left me hanging because you thought you were weighing me down and the next time I see you, you’re with Sharon now. Who by the way, used to date your best friend. I don’t understand any of this.” you told him.

Bucky looked at the ground as he evened out his breathing. There were a few seconds of silence between the two of you. Only heavy breaths and the distant sound of the music from the gala lingered in the air. It was almost comforting. Almost.

“Sharon and I...it wasn’t easy for us when Steve left. It was something that we both had in common. We wanted to fix ourselves and in the process we just...it happened. I didn’t mean for it but it just happened.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

The pain was replaced with grief and then anger. A little sympathy was thrown in the mix too upon hearing Bucky’s reason but now you were back to square one. Pain.

“You worried for her when Steve left but didn’t worry about me when you chose to leave me hanging? You told me you needed to fix yourself alone because you didn’t want to hurt me in the process of doing so. Guess what, Bucky? You hurt me all the same. Even more so when you chose to stay for Sharon and when you allowed her to help you fix yourself.”

Bucky remained silent as he simply gazed at you and let you say your piece. You just couldn’t understand where he truly was coming from. You knew about his insecurities and you accepted each one of them. You’d wholeheartedly accepted Bucky from the moment you knew you loved him, that included his flaws and demons, even on days he hated himself.

“Don’t shut me out like that again, please?” You asked Bucky, when he finally let you inside his room after isolating himself for days.

He had those days, when he couldn’t bring himself to come out and just...live. He’d push people away and torture himself with negative thoughts. But you always stayed no matter what.

“‘m sorry doll, I just...sometimes...I love you so much but sometimes I feel like I don’t have enough of it to actually show you. And you don’t deserve that.” He explained.

You smiled and cupped his cheek, “That’s okay, Bucky. I love you and the amount of love I have for you is more than enough for both of us.”

Was your love not enough for him all along? For him not to consider how you would feel if he just decided not to come home to you anymore? You shouldn’t be blaming yourself for everything, you did your part. But you couldn’t help but wonder whether it was because of you that Bucky chose to walk away.

“I love you, I really do. And you deserve the best and I’m not...that. I chose to let you go so you can have that.”

“I don’t need the best version of you, Bucky!” You quickly cut him off. “I just need you.” You added.

When Bucky decided to leave to get better, you let him even though you hated to see him walk away. You’d be selfish not to, especially when Bucky was finally free to decide things for himself. It was for the best, but honestly speaking, you didn’t want a better version of him.

Whether it was the Winter Soldier or James Buchanan Barnes, whatever version of him he’d give to you, you love Bucky all the same.

You love Bucky so much that it was so painful for you to hear that he actually thought you’d be happier without him.

“You don’t deserve someone as damaged as me. Even if I got better, I’m still struggling and I don’t want to make things hard for you.” Bucky said.

“And you don’t get to decide what you think I deserve! You don’t get to abandon me like I was nothing, like we were nothing to you.” You seethed.

Bucky looked away, blinking his tears away as he tried to compose himself. His jaw tensed as he looked at you with an apologetic gaze.

“You shouldn’t have waited for me. You didn’t have to.” He said the same thing to you when he left, and it hurt just as much.

“I love you. I’ll wait, Bucky.” You murmured and tugged at his hand before he could even let you go.

Bucky smiled sadly at you, “You don’t have to, doll.”

You shook your head and brought Bucky’s hand to your lips as you cried, “I want to. And I will.”

“I know. But in all those years you were gone, I woke up each day and chose to wait for you. I always chose you, Bucky.” You said with a sad smile.

You stumbled a bit and lifted your dress enough to reveal your bleeding foot. You’d walked that long, for your feet to get wounded and ironically, you couldn’t feel anything but the pain of seeing Bucky again. He tried to approach you and help you out but you waved a hand and kept him at an arm’s length away from you. You removed your shoes and straightened up, looking at Bucky and his ocean blue eyes for one last time.

“I’m sorry if you felt like you weren’t enough. You’re more than enough for me, Bucky. I really thought that I could love and fight for the both of us, but I guess not.”

Bucky didn’t say anything else, and you hoped he would. It might have been pathetic of you to wish that he’d come back to you, but you really hoped he would say something to fight for you. He didn’t and that was enough for you to make a decision.

“Goodbye, Bucky.”

You bit your lower lip as you turned around, holding back your tears as you jogged back into the gala. You walked past everyone in the crowd in a hurry, wanting to head home as quickly as possible. And then you came face to face with someone you weren’t prepared to confront.

It’s as if time stopped when you saw her, Sharon. She must have found out about your presence. Did she know of Bucky’s decision to abandon you? You wondered how she helped Bucky better himself, why he let her stay as he fixed himself.

Why Bucky chose to be with her instead of coming home to you.

You could feel your chest constrict again, the pain continuing to consume you whole. If you stayed any longer, you were afraid you might break.

“Do you love him?” You asked her softly.

Without missing a beat, Sharon nodded her head. “I do.” She whispered.

“How much?” You asked again.

“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him.” Sharon responded and you could feel the sincerity in her statement.

The way she said it wasn’t meant to hurt you nor mock you. It was reassuring, in fact. Like she was making you a promise that she was going to take good care of Bucky the same way you did. Maybe even more. You swallowed as you nodded, forcing a small smile before looking away to wipe a tear that slipped.

“That’s good.” You simply said. “Because I’d do anything for him too.”

Anything. Even if that meant walking away and giving up on a battle that you’d already lost the moment Bucky decided to abandon you.

Everything Bucky Tag List:

@ddowii @jessou893 @stealapizzamyheart @bagelofthelord @mxnt @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable @jeeperky @ohladymacbeth @wildflowergubler @supraveng @twinerd14 @buckysmar @bakugouswh0r3 @sweetcoldharmony @wintersfilm @charminivy @amelia-song-pond @iamvalentinaconstanza @mcubqrnes @i’m-squished @tcc-gizmachine @sipsteacasually @tcc-gizmachine @prettyintopeerpressure @weloveyasmin @est19xxshit @bloodhon3yx @dressed-in-prada @lizette50 @thatfangirl42 @sunflowerbunny2 @unmagically @okiegirl24 @sugarpunch-princess @enlyume @vvipgotbb @slimeyderp @lyoongx @just-deka @nobody-will @jaziona92 @elisebuitron @dpaccione @suvikamahes98blr @buckybarneshairpullingkink @earthtonav @x-judyjude-x @nani-kenobi

Deserve Better Special Tags:

@nervous-plant @wintersfilm

#bbbwrites #oneshots: bucky barnes #bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky angst #sebastian stan

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mrskurono · 3 years

Note

ever since i read the atsumu and kiyoomi piece all my brain has been filled with is kiyoomi in pretty little panties and atsumu in a nappy and seeing so many people share this image is so good. i just imagine kiyoomi sending you videos of him moving his blanky to show you his pretty panties and his bulge whining about how he needs mommy so badly. or calling to complain about atsumu and his nappy telling you he's a big boy since he doesn't need a nappy

DEE YOU DID IT AGAIN FEEDING ME WITH OMI JUST- I GOT IT BAD FOR HIM OK LEMME BE HIS MOMMY

AND LIKE HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE PRETTIEST HQ CHARACTER I SWEAR OMI IS SO PRETTY

type: drabble

tags: mommy kink, mmlb dynamics, masturbation, sexting, whiny Omi, cross dressing, cum play, premature ejaculation, mention of foreskin

character(s): Kiyoomi Sakusa (hq)

nsfw undercut ⇾ ⇾ ⇾

You should have known when the name lit up in your phone that you couldn’t go one day without them like this. Kiyoomi or Atsumu pre- occupying your time. Normally Atsumu but when Kiyoomi’s name lit up your phone it left you a little surprised. Almost worried. That was until you saw the all too familiar purple blank across his lap.

“Omi baby, mommy is busy.”

A huff on the other side but no answer.

You sigh and clear your throat, “Omi baby, let mommy see your face.”

No going against mommy’s wishes. The camera moved up from the clear bulge under the too familiar lavender blanket. Up his pale toned belly. Finally falling on Kiyoomi’s silent but pouty face. Tell tale corner of his blanket in his mouth as the rest of it did a poor job of covering his body.

Your eyebrow raises, “You know I’m busy baby. I know you can wait.”

Kiyoomi shakes his head on the other side of the video call. He’s the worse when he’s like this. Rivaling Atsumu but you’d never let anyone know. He disobeys you quickly to point the camera back down at his cock. Slowly pulling the blanket away to reveal his all to hard cock peeking out of the waist band of his panties. He must have been like that a while because even in the grainy video call you can see his purple head glistening with precum as it peeked out of his foreskin. Wet spot in his panties certainly from where he had been rubbing himself under the blankie.

“Mommy...” Kiyoomi’s first words almost whiney, “Come home. I need you mommy.”

Another sigh from you, “I’ll be done in a few Omi, find your brother and just-”

“Mommy it can’t wait-” Kiyoomi choked on his plea, his cock thrusting up against his blanket as he kept the camera on it, “Mommy it hurts so much I need you to fix it now.”

“Kiyoomi love I can’t-”

He wasn’t listening. Going on about why you needed to come home now and not later. Threatening the chance someone might see you looking at such things on your phone. Quickly you know being a mommy is a full time job. Finding the nearest bathroom to at least let his whines not be heard but by you. Kiyoomi as always needy though when he takes a second to realize you’re alone suddenly.

“Boobs, I need mommy’s boobs!” He huffed and sucked harder on the corner of his blanket.

Giving in you pull your top down. Exposing your breasts but not touching them. All he could do now was see all your breasts he couldn’t even touch. Kiyoomi kept thrusting almost into nothing. Just the waistband of his panties and his blanket friction against his cock. You could clearly see the beads of precum rolling from his slit as his foreskin kept peeling back the more he moved.

You knew what he was doing. Certain he’d whine too about a dirty blanket when you got home. But if you hung up on him what kind of mommy would you be?

“Yeah you gonna cum baby? I see your little cock its so hard. You been like that for a while? Mommy left and you were naughty weren’t you?”

Words ringing true. Kiyoomi was past words. Thrusting up into his blanket. Fucking it like he wished it were you. Moaning without reservations which meant Atsumu was probably not there. How long he’d been like this before calling you, you had no idea. But very apparent with the way he pulled the blankie up his chest and moaned into it that he didn’t need long.

“Mommy!” Kiyoomi sobbed from the other side of the phone. Blanket in his mouth, and his cock giving you one good twitch before a thick glob of cum shot up on his pretty stomach. Followed by a few more even. Kiyoomi’s orgasm running through his body before he even knew what hit him. Soiling himself and his panties with ropes of cum all for you to see.

Finally when his moans died down to a little heavy breathing. You knew now you’d have to do laundry when you got home. Sighing once more you shake your head. Maybe next time it might just be easier to take your babies with you when you leave.

#mommy kink #threethirst #hq smut #hq!!#haikyuu!!#haikyuu smut #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa x reader #sakusa smut #hq sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa kiyoomi smut

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junghelioseok · 3 years

Text

clandestine. | 04

↳ forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest.

◇ jungkook x reader ◇ smut | fluff | brother’s best friend!au ◇ 6.5k [4/6]

notes: we finally have a set chapter count! did this fic really need to be 6 chapters? absolutely not, but here we are! i’m hoping to have this fella finished up in the next month or so, but we’ll see how that goes given my track record. happy new year, everyone!

warnings: a little underedited bc i’m lazy, shower sex!!! mild? exhibitionist tendencies??? reader is dumb and jungkook is slutty, but what else is new 🤷🏻‍♀️

⇢ 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06

“I swear to god, I am going to amputate your arm with a rusty hacksaw if you elbow me one more time.”

Undeterred, your brother prods you again, pouting at you from his spot in the driver’s seat. “I just want another chip, Noona. Don’t be so mean.”

“Are you a baby bird?” you ask in disbelief, gaping at the way he opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue. “Seriously, I’m not feeding you. Get your own chips if you want them so badly.”

“But I’ve gotta keep both hands on the wheel,” he replies cheekily. “Ten and two positions, at all times.”

You frown. “Didn’t they change it to nine and three?” Nonetheless, you reluctantly reach into the bag in your lap, pulling out a potato chip and delivering it to his waiting mouth. “Next one’s going straight into your nose,” you warn as he happily crunches down on the snack.

Jimin simply offers you a beatific grin in between chews. “Love you too.”

“Nope, I changed my mind. Next one’s going up your ass.”

Your brother has long since grown used to your threats. “Kinky,” he chuckles as he merges smoothly into the next lane over. The song on the radio shifts into something more upbeat, and Jungkook is quick to start humming along under his breath from his spot in the seat behind you. Within minutes, it’s morphed into a singalong, and the offkey warbling of all seven passengers—no matter how dissonant—is a perfect soundtrack for the remainder of the drive.

The beach, when you arrive, is awash with tourists and locals alike, all clamoring to lay claim to a prime stretch of sand and a decent parking space. Jimin manages to snag a spot just as someone else is pulling out, and the rest of you are quick to disembark and scope out the beach for somewhere to set up camp. Plopping your bag down onto the sand, you rifle through it until you find your sunscreen, mentally patting yourself on the back for buying the spray instead of the cream.

“Can I borrow that when you’re done, Noona?” Taehyung asks, watching you wrench off the cap.

You nod, squinting against the sunlight. “Sure. As long as you help me get my entire back.”

“Deal.”

Flashing him a grateful smile, you shimmy out of your shorts and begin applying sunscreen to your arms and legs. Taehyung peels off his t-shirt, and you spray him down too, making sure to coat his entire back before he takes the bottle and does the same to you.

“I might have gone a little overboard,” he admits once he’s done, capping the bottle and tossing it back into your bag. Warm hands settle onto your exposed shoulder blades, deft fingertips rubbing the excess product into your skin. “There, that should do it. All better.”

“Thanks, Tae.” You turn around and reach out, wiping at a stray fleck of the white lotion on his bicep. “You’ve got a little bit here too, hang on—“

“Mind if I borrow this?”

You turn at the sound of Jungkook’s voice. The dark-haired young man is standing there with your sunscreen in hand, his gaze zeroed in on the way your fingertips linger on Taehyung’s bare skin. Awkwardly, you pull away and nod, hoping that neither of them can hear your heart pounding erratically against your ribcage.

“Yeah. Sure. It’s all yours.”

Jungkook grabs his white t-shirt by the collar, tugging it up and over his head in one smooth motion, and you swallow at the way his taut abdomen flexes as he tosses it aside. “You’ll help me get my back too, won’t you, Noona?”

You nod, moving before he can even finish his sentence. Your feet carry you across the sandy ground on autopilot, and Jungkook exhales audibly as your palms smooth along the golden expanse of his muscular back, dipping down to the waistband of his black swim trunks. Ever since his visit to your bedroom last night, you’ve been itching to touch him—to feel every last inch of him. It’s impossible with your watchful brother and group of nosy friends hovering around though, so you settle for this—rubbing sunscreen into his warm skin while he sprays down his arms and legs.

“Thanks, princess,” he murmurs once you’re done, soft enough so that only you can hear and raising gooseflesh on the back of your neck. “Maybe next time, you’ll let me repay the favor.”

Then Yugyeom is calling his name, and Jungkook sprints down to the shoreline to join his friend in the crashing surf, his face creasing with laughter. Each time he emerges from the waves, droplets cling to his skin like glistening diamonds in the sunlight. It’s impossible to look away from the sight, and your tongue darts out to moisten your lips as you watch water drip off his hair and down his nape, pooling in his collarbones before he shakes his head like a dog and sends it spraying in all directions.

All that sunscreen is going to waste, a tiny voice in your head points out, but it’s hard to worry about that when you’re too busy following the path of the water streaming down past his dusky nipples to the ridges of his abdomen. And it’s almost as if he feels your gaze on him, because he’s suddenly staring right back at you, a wicked smirk tugging at his lips.

“Come on, Noona,” he calls, raking a hand through his drenched hair. “The water’s fine. Don’t make me drag you in.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” you call back, immediately regretting it when something equal parts mischievous and dangerous flashes across his face. There’s a glint in his eye that wasn’t there before, and you back away nervously as he emerges from the waves and saunters toward you. “Jungkook—”

“Yes?” he asks, his voice dropping down into a low purr. “What is it, princess?”

You edge around the towel that you’ve laid out in the sand, as if such a flimsy barrier could stop him in any way. “Just—just don’t dunk me under,” you plead.

Jungkook looks genuinely offended by that. “I would never,” he says, laying a hand over his heart and grabbing yours with his free one. “Now come on—let’s get you wet.”

You groan at the innuendo and try to tug free from his grip, but Jungkook only tightens his grasp, cackling the whole way down to the water.

///

The sun is just beginning to set, streaking the blue sky through with wispy strands of orange and gold, when Jimin raises his hand and declares it dinner time. For the past two hours, you’ve all been engrossed in a very tight three-on-three volleyball match with Jimin serving as referee, and upon hearing your brother’s declaration, Minho looks about ready to chuck the ball into the ocean.

“Dude, are you fucking serious? We’re literally two points from winning!” He gestures wildly at an invisible scoreboard only he can see. “No way we’re stopping here. I refuse on principle.”

“Yeah, I wanna see who the real winner is, too,” Jungkook drawls from the other end of the court, where he’s flanked on either side by Taehyung and Yugyeom. “I mean, we’ve been leading for most of the tournament, so…”

Minho scowls. “And we’re about to win the whole damn thing. Just you wait, Jeon.”

Behind him, you and Taemin exchange helpless glances. It isn’t the first time you’ve seen Jungkook and Minho squabble over the years, and you’re sure it won’t be the last. Both possess a razor sharp competitive streak and a certain pigheadedness that only emerges when it comes to athletic endeavors, and luckily, your brother knows this just as well as you do. Heaving a sigh, Jimin wearily gestures for them to continue, resuming his post at the end of the net. “Fine, fine,” he mutters. “Next point wins.”

On the other side of the net, Jungkook’s eyes narrow. “I’m good with that if you are.”

“Oh, I’m good,” Minho retorts. “It’s our serve. You ready?”

Jungkook smirks. “Bring it on.”

Minho cracks his knuckles and tosses the ball over to you for the serve. “All right then, let’s fucking do this.”

You sigh. Taking a deep breath, you heft up the ball, testing its weight before hitting it smoothly over the net. Yugyeom jumps up to intercept, batting it back over to your side, and Minho attempts to spike it back and into the sand. Unfortunately, Jungkook is too quick, and dives down to bump it back over to you. The back and forth continues like this for a while—you see Jimin boredly scrolling on his phone out of the corner of your eye—and you’re strongly considering calling it quits when Jungkook smashes the ball over the net and into the ground right at Minho’s feet.

“And that’s game,” he declares proudly, raking his sweaty hair off his forehead with a triumphant grin.

“Are you finally done?” Jimin asks, rolling his eyes and pocketing his phone. “Thank god. Can we eat now?”

Jungkook claps him on the back in affirmation, ignoring Minho’s loud, adamant protests that your team still technically won. Together, you head back to where your towels and bags sit in the sand, grabbing bottles of chilled water out of the cooler and fishing for snacks. Jimin pulls a package of hot dogs out while Taehyung rips open a bag of chips, and you follow their lead and grab the hamburger patties and buns. “Huh, I swear I bought ketchup,” you mumble to yourself as you rummage through the half-melted ice in the cooler. “Is it not in here?”

“I have it.” Jungkook materializes at your side, proffering the little red bottle. He’s pulled his white t-shirt back on, the material a stark contrast to his tanned skin, and you silently rise to your feet to take it when a sudden wave of lightheadedness rushes over you and sends the world spinning.

“Whoa,” you gasp, swaying on your feet. “Oh, god.”

Jungkook frowns and drops the ketchup bottle, steadying you until most of your weight is leaned against him. “Noona? Are you okay?”

You swallow, hard, and try to shake the unexpected bout of dizziness away. “I don’t know. Got dizzy, all of a sudden. I think I might have stood up too fast?”

Gently, Jungkook presses the back of his hand against your forehead. “You feel pretty warm,” he murmurs. “Have you had enough water today?”

“I thought I drank plenty, but maybe not,” you admit, and he nods decisively and gestures for you to follow him.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s grab some water and go somewhere quiet so you can rest. Minho isn’t going to shut up about that match anytime soon, and it’s cooler down by the water.”

You laugh weakly. “We did technically win, you know. We had one more point than you guys.”

“God, not you too,” Jungkook sighs, casting you a playful look over his shoulder as he digs two bottles of water out from the cooler. He uncaps one and hands it over before taking a swig out of his, and you take a grateful sip, relishing in the cool liquid that trickles down your throat.

Nearby, your brother and the rest of the boys have commandeered one of several firepits scattered around the edges of the beach. They’re piling up pieces of driftwood and some of the long, tall sea grass that Taehyung has found, and Jungkook waves at them as he slowly guides you toward the ocean with a hand on your back. “We’re gonna go find some more wood!” he calls, and Jimin raises a hand in acknowledgment before turning back to the firepit.

Water laps gently at your toes as you and Jungkook walk along the shore, washing away all traces of your footprints. The sun dips below the horizon at last, illuminating the sky in one last burst of red and orange and gold that slowly fades into deep purples and blues as night falls. The temperature dips as the moon ascends to her lofty throne, accompanied by a smattering of starry pinpricks. Most of the beachgoers have packed up and left by this point, and here, with nothing but Jungkook’s quiet, familiar presence and the lapping waves, you feel more at peace than you have in a long time.

“You know, I’m really glad I came this weekend,” you say softly, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between the two of you. Your gaze drops down to your toes, fixing your attention on a pearly white seashell that’s sticking out from the wet sand. “I think you were right—I really did need a break from everything.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t quite catch that,” Jungkook says, swirling his pinky in his ear. “Could you say it again? Something about me being right?”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, shut up.”

Jungkook casts a quick look over his shoulder, and when you follow the trajectory of his gaze, you notice just how far you’ve gotten from the firepit where the others are sitting. Darkness has settled over the beach, the sand painted a wan silver from the light of the moon, and you flinch when Jungkook’s hand finds its way around yours.

“Jungkook—” you begin, but trail off when he twines your fingers together and gives your hand a squeeze.

“They can’t see us, Noona,” he murmurs. “Relax.”

Easier said than done, you want to say. Nevertheless, you suck in a deep breath and take another sip from your water bottle, trying to ignore the way Jungkook swings your interlocked hands between you as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Shouldn’t—shouldn’t we be trying to find more driftwood?” you ask after several long seconds have dragged by. “We need way more if we’re gonna keep the fire going.”

Jungkook hums softly and veers inland, until the sand beneath your feet is dry and starts sticking to your wet toes. You come across a few scattered pieces of wood, dried out by the sun, and tuck them beneath your arm. Likewise, Jungkook gathers a few pieces of his own, hefting them up before reaching out to take your hand once more. His fingers slot all too comfortably into the spaces between yours, and your heart stutters a few times in your chest before plunking down into your churning stomach.

Nighttime has well and truly settled over the beach by the time you and Jungkook start picking your way back over to rejoin the group around the firepit. You pull your hand out of Jungkook’s well before you reach the ring of orange light that the flames cast across the sand, your arm now swinging free at your side and your fingers cold from the loss of his warmth. Silently, you hasten your pace and plop down onto the towel that Jimin has spread out, stretching out your legs toward the fire and wiggling your toes.

“Where have you guys been?” Jimin asks curiously. “You just kinda wandered off.”

“Getting more driftwood,” you reply, gesturing at the small pile you’ve dropped at the edge of the towel. “We told you that’s where we were going.”

Jimin frowns for a few seconds before the memory resurfaces. “Oh, right. I forgot.”

Jungkook snorts and takes a seat beside you, dropping his stack of driftwood on top of yours. “Dumbass.”

“You’re a dumbass,” Jimin retorts.

“You’re both dumbasses,” you sigh.

The fire crackles merrily, sending orange sparks up into the velvety black sky. There’s a grill situated over the flames, loaded with hamburger patties and hot dogs, and you watch as Jimin tears open a bag of hot dog buns and begins to place them around the edges.

“Hey, can you throw me the hamburger buns?” he asks you. “I wanna try toasting them.”

“You’re gonna burn them,” you tell him flatly. Nonetheless, you locate the second bag and toss it over, watching as he makes more room on the grill.

Dinner is a loud, chaotic affair, filled with laughter and conversation and plenty of booze to go around. Jimin has procured a flask of whiskey from somewhere in his clothing—an impressive feat in and of itself, considering he’s only wearing swim trunks and a thin blue t-shirt. You wave him off when he offers you a sip, and he shrugs and throws back a generous swallow himself. Then he offers it to Jungkook, who shakes his head and raises his water bottle. “Designated driver,” he says. “I’m sticking to water tonight.”

Curiously, you glance over at him. “You don’t have to do that. I wasn’t planning on drinking, so I can drive us back.”

“With the way you were looking earlier?” Jungkook fixes you with a look of pure disbelief. “Not a chance. Besides, we’re going back to the real world tomorrow, and the last thing I need is to be hungover. I have to get us back home in one piece, not to mention the entire menu I still have to memorize for work.”

You hum. Jungkook has mentioned his new job a few times—a summer stint working as a server at a new restaurant opened by a family friend named Seokjin. “Right, I remember you saying that. You start on Monday, don’t you?”

“Dinner shift,” Jungkook confirms. “I stole a whole bunch of pens from Junghyun’s room the other day in preparation. Jin said I’d probably end up losing two-thirds of them by the end of the week.”

“That sounds about right,” you tell him with a laugh. “Some guy stole my favorite pen last summer when I was working at that diner on Main. Lesson learned, forever.”

Jungkook laughs. “Yeah, I bet.”

You grin. “But, hey, seriously. If you need me to quiz you on that menu, I’ve got time to spare.”

“Honestly, I might take you up on that offer. I have flash cards, and everything.” He uncaps his water bottle and takes a long sip, his throat bobbing with each swallow, before glancing back over at you. “What about you? You ready for your internship?”

You sigh and offer him a helpless little shrug. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready, to be honest. I don’t think I’m going to stop stressing about it until I get through my first day. The entire thing still doesn’t feel real.”

“I get that,” Jungkook hums. “Well, I can imagine it, at least. I won’t pretend to know exactly what you’re going through, since I’ve never had an adult job, but—“ He shrugs a shoulder halfheartedly. “I can kind of relate, I guess.”

“All jobs suck a little bit,” you tell him, and Jungkook lets out a derisive huff of agreement.

“I’ll drink to that,” he says, and the two of you tap your water bottles together before rejoining the conversation with the rest of your friends.

///

The drive back to the lake house is shorter than you remember it being—though that might be because you spend most of it watching Jungkook drive. He steers with one hand slung carelessly over the wheel, his expression relaxed as he sings along to whatever pop hit plays on the radio. Unloading the car is a team effort, though you hear no shortage of complaints from Jimin as he heaves the cooler over the threshold of the house before collapsing atop it in a pile of limp limbs.

“Thanks for leaving me to carry this thing by myself,” he snarks, not even bothering to raise his head. “Really appreciate it.”

“Don’t be a baby,” Taehyung scoffs, tossing a game console at him. “Have a beer and pick something to play. We’re waiting on you.”

You watch as your brother immediately hops up and darts over to join the rest of the boys lounging in the living room, fighting back the sudden wave of exhaustion that washes over you. “I think I’m going to head to bed,” you tell them, hiding a yawn behind your hand. “Goodnight, guys.”

A chorus of goodnights and see you in the mornings rings out in response, and you wave before heading down the hall to your room and into the adjoining bathroom. Your hair is crusty from being submerged in the salty water of the ocean, and a shower to rejuvenate your dehydrated skin is just what you need. Turning on the tap, you wait until it’s flowing warm before stripping out of your clothes and tossing them onto your bed to deal with later. Then you step into the shower and tilt your head back, letting the water stream down your face and soak into your hair.

You’re midway through squeezing a generous dollop of shampoo into your palm when there’s a soft knock on the door. “Noona?” Jungkook’s voice filters through the sound of rushing water, low and lilting like a song. “You left kinda fast. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

You cap the shampoo bottle and replace it on the shelf, peering out from behind the shower curtain. “I’m fine,” you call, hesitating before you steel your nerves and continue. “You can come in, if you want. I don’t like yelling through the door.”

Slowly, the bathroom door eases open, revealing Jungkook standing in his and Jimin’s shared bedroom. His brown eyes are wide as he takes in the sight before him, and you have no doubt that he’s thinking about just what the palm tree patterned curtain is hiding from his view. Your lip finds its way between your teeth when you notice him shuffle his feet awkwardly for a moment before stepping a little closer to where you’re standing beneath the spray, his mouth opening to speak.

“Join me?”

The invitation slips past your lips, unbidden, but you have no intention of taking it back. Not when Jungkook’s gaze darkens to obsidian at those two simple words, his mouth snapping shut and his hands already reaching for the hem of his white t-shirt. Not when he strips it off in one smooth motion to reveal all the dips and ridges of his abdomen, his skin golden even under the harsh fluorescent bathroom lights. And certainly not when he pulls aside the shower curtain and joins you beneath the spray, his dark eyes appreciatively raking up and down your bare figure.

“Hey,” he says, his voice a low purr.

“Hi,” you respond, reaching out and trailing a fingertip down his chest.

And then you’re dropping down to your knees, your tongue darting out to tease at the tip of his already rising cock. One hand finds its way to his balls while the other traces the line of his pelvic bone, and you smirk when you feel him let out a shuddery breath.

“Fuck,” he rasps. “Someone’s eager.”

You wrap your lips around the tip of his cock, humming, and Jungkook’s fingers fly into your dampened hair. “Oh, fuck. You’re really trying to kill me, huh, princess?” he asks, and you respond by taking a little more of him into your mouth, laving at the vein running along the underside of his length before hollowing your cheeks. Jungkook throws his head back, a deep groan escaping his parted lips, and you preen under his encouragement as he urges you to take him deeper.

You’ve just begun to settle into a rhythm—figuring out exactly how much pressure he likes and what makes his hips buck—when he suddenly pushes you away. “Jung—” you begin, only to have him silence you with a searing kiss, grabbing you around the waist and hauling you to your feet.

“Wanna fuck you properly,” he rasps. His hand finds its way between your legs, experimental fingers sliding through the wetness that’s gathered there, and your cheeks heat up when he brings them to his mouth and licks them clean. “Just let me go grab a condom,” he whispers urgently. “Don’t move a muscle, okay? I’ll be righ—”

You silence him with a hard kiss. “Don’t,” you mumble. “I’m clean. Are you?”

Jungkook nods slowly, his eyes wide. “Does that mean… I mean, are you…?”

“I’m on the pill,” you murmur. “Fuck me raw, Jungkook.”

A sharp gasp escapes you when Jungkook cages you against the cool tiled wall of the shower, the slick surface dampened by the spray from the showerhead. He grabs ahold of your thigh and hoists it up to wrap around his waist, and you’ve never been more thankful for the ugly fish patterned shower mat that your mom insisted on putting down to prevent slipping. Jungkook nestles into the newly created space between your legs, his cock hot and slick against your center, and you keen when he grinds against you in a slow, deliberate motion.

“You feel that?” he rasps into your ear, his breath hot against your cheek. “Feel how hard you get me, Noona?”

“God, Jungkook,” you breathe back. “Just fuck me already, will you?”

His answering chuckle sends a shiver from your toes to your crown. “So needy,” he murmurs, his hand sliding from your thigh to your hip. His mouth seeks out yours as he positions the head of his cock at your entrance, meeting little resistance as he slowly begins pushing inside. Your walls part willingly for him and your lips do too—his questing tongue slipping inside when you moan and beginning his seemingly endless task of mapping out every corner of your mouth.

“God, I forgot how big you are,” you breathe when he bottoms out—the entirety of his hot, heavy length sheathed within your walls. Your head falls back against the tile as he rolls his hips experimentally, a moan that sounds vaguely like Jungkook’s name escaping your lips. Your arms come up to brace on his shoulders as he picks up his pace, but he intercepts one of your hands and twines your fingers together, settling them onto the wall just to the left of your head. His other hand returns to your thigh to keep you stable and spread out for his increasingly harsh thrusts, and you whimper helplessly in his ironclad grip.

“That’s it,” he whispers, groaning when you clench around him. “God, you’re so fucking tight, princess.”

“Fuck me open, then,” you moan back, squeezing his hand and meeting his next thrust with one of your own. Jungkook’s breathing stutters, and you laugh breathlessly at the way his mouth falls open at the spike of pleasure. Emboldened, you grind against him, the spray from the shower easing the movement. “Jungkook, please.”

He chuckles hoarsely. “Careful what you wish for,” he purrs against the shell of your ear, punctuating the warning with a harsh roll of his hips that sends all remaining thought flying out of your head. In this moment, there’s only Jungkook—his dark hair dampened and dripping, the spray from the showerhead slicking his chest and pooling in his clavicle before trailing down each ridge and dip of his honeyed skin. His lips find yours again, and you sigh into the kiss as he begins to fuck you in earnest.

“Hey, Jungkook! You in there?”

Your eyes fly open at the new voice, your body tensing when there are several loud bangs on the door. Jungkook freezes mid-thrust with an expression that can only be described as a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck, his throat bobbing nervously as he fights to find a response. You can practically see the gears whirring in his brain, and shove uselessly at his chest in an attempt to escape his steely embrace.

“That’s Jimin,” you hiss urgently, turning his face toward yours and prodding his cheek until his gaze refocuses. “What the fuck are we going to do?”

“Dude.” Jimin’s voice is laced with irritation. “I wanna brush my teeth! What the hell are you doing in there?”

Jungkook hesitates, glancing between you and the closed bathroom door. Then he inhales deeply, pressing a light kiss to your furrowed forehead before pulling the shower curtain closed, ensuring there are no gaps. “I got you,” he murmurs softly, his brown eyes boring into yours. “Don’t worry, okay?”

Your eyes flutter shut at the gentle pressure of his lips against your skin, but they fly open again when Jungkook breaks away and yells for Jimin to come in. Warm palms slide soothingly down your sides, but that doesn’t stop you from tensing up when the bathroom door creaks open, your brother’s soft footsteps approaching the flimsy palm tree patterned curtain.

“Have you been showering this whole time? Jeez. Leave some hot water for the rest of us, will you?”

Jungkook chuckles. Ever so slowly, he pushes forward until he’s fully seated inside you again, and you do your best to level a glare at him even as pleasure flares at the base of your spine. “There’s plenty to go around,” he says. “Relax.”

You get the distinct feeling that he’s not just addressing Jimin anymore. Jungkook pulls back until only the top of his cock remains nestled in your folds, and you open your mouth to berate him but all that comes out is a low moan when he sinks back inside you in one swift push.

On the other side of the curtain, you hear the faucet turn on. “Man, I can’t believe we leave tomorrow,” Jimin says over the sound of running water. “The weekend flew by.”

“Mmm,” Jungkook hums, brushing a thumb across your clit. The pace he’s set is slow and deep, and is made all the more sensual by the steam that’s steadily building up in the small room. You try once more to push him away—to quell the growing ache between your legs—but it’s all in vain as he chuckles softly into the crook of your neck, his bare shoulders quaking. “I got you, princess,” he murmurs, his voice a wicked little whisper that’s immediately lost in the spray of water. “Just let me take care of you, yeah?”

You don’t have a chance to answer. Jimin starts speaking again, this time accompanied by the sound of toothbrush bristles scrubbing against his teeth. “I’m starting up at the studio as soon as we get back—isn’t that crazy? I mean, I’ve never taught anyone how to dance before. Not really. Not for real.”

Jungkook snaps his hips up so sharply that you nearly mewl in surprise, forced to bite down into his meaty shoulder to muffle the noises that threaten to escape from your throat. “You’re a great tutor, man,” he says, his voice steady even as he resumes his slow, lazy thrusts, his cock dragging along your fluttering walls. “You’ve been helping people with math for, what, two years? What makes you think it’ll be any different with dancing?”

Jimin spits into the sink and sighs. “I don’t know. It’s scarier because there’ll be more people, I guess. Tutoring is one on one, y’know? And at the studio, I’ll have a full class of people watching me. Every single move I make, they’ll be looking at. That’s fucking terrifying to think about.”

Slowly, Jungkook’s hips still, his cock buried to the hilt in your cunt. Your heartbeat drums in your ears, backed by the relentless spray from the showerhead, and Jungkook leans down to plant a wet kiss on your cheek, his hair dripping.

“You’re a great dancer, Jimin,” he says once he’s pulled back and straightened back up to his full height. “Best one I know. You’re also one of the smartest people I know, but right now, you’re being really fucking dumb.”

There’s a clatter that sounds like a plastic toothbrush being dropped into the sink, and Jimin lets out an affronted squeak. “Hey!”

Jungkook just chuckles, his shoulders quaking. “It’s true,” he says easily. “Seriously, man. You don’t have a thing to worry about. You’re gonna kick ass out there, and your class is gonna be awesome. You’re already, what, almost maxed out on the number of registrants? You’re already killing it.”

Your brother lets out an unintelligible grumble on the other side of the shower curtain, but you can still hear the smile in his voice no matter how hard he tries to mask it. “All right, you fucking sap,” Jimin says at last, his soft footsteps padding toward the door. “Hurry up and get out of there, yeah? You’re really gonna use up all the hot water.”

The door clicks shut behind him, and you immediately smack Jungkook in the middle of his stupidly toned chest. “Oh my god!” you hiss. “Are you kidding me right now, Jeon? We could’ve been caught!”

“But we weren’t,” Jungkook replies easily, shaking his dampened hair out of his face and fixing you with an indolent little smirk. “So why don’t you be a good girl and cum for me now?”

///

The next morning brings with it a whirlwind of frenzied packing, and you mentally congratulate yourself for preemptively gathering all of your belongings together last night. Minho is wandering every last inch of the house with a piece of half-eaten toast dangling from his mouth, and you can hear Taehyung in the distance asking if anyone’s seen his strawberry body wash. Jungkook is seated on the floor near the front door, his brows furrowed and his lower lip jutting out in a pout as he fights to close the zipper of his suitcase.

“Got it!” he exclaims after a few seconds, triumphant. “Where’s your stuff, Noona? I’m gonna load the car.”

You begin to stand up from your spot on the couch. “It’s in my room, let me go get—”

Jungkook is on his feet and halfway down the hall before you can even finish your sentence. He returns a moment later with your luggage in tow, shooting you a grin and a wink as he passes by. “I got you, princess,” he murmurs. “Remember?”

Of course you do. You remember like it was yesterday—because, well, it was yesterday and you haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since. You remember the moment you shared at the beach and the way his hand felt so right wrapped around your own. You remember the way you’d dropped to your knees for him so readily in the shower last night. And you definitely remember the way he’d fucked you afterward—slow and deep in the best possible way, even with your brother’s untimely interruption.

After what feels like an eternity, both cars are finally packed and ready to go. You bid goodbye to the boys who are riding with Jimin, promising to stay in touch, before climbing into the passenger seat of Jungkook’s beat-up sedan. Jungkook himself is already lounging behind the wheel, his sunglasses perched low on his nose as he fiddles with his phone. He looks up at your entrance and flashes you a smile, tapping his screen a few more times before holding it up so you can see.

“I changed your contact photo,” he says. “Like it?”

You peer at his phone, and something in your chest clenches when you see the photo he’s selected. You’re on the beach beside the volleyball net, illuminated by the setting sun. The sky is streaked through with pink and orange behind you, but through some editing magic, Jungkook has made it so that you are glowing even brighter in the foreground—with laughter etched across your face and the wind in your hair. It’s a beautiful photograph, and you tell him so, unable to contain the dangerously warm affection blossoming in your chest.

“I love it,” you say. “I usually don’t like having my photo taken, but wow. You have a talent for this.”

Jungkook’s smile grows. “I have a pretty muse,” he replies, and your cheeks warm.

The door to the backseat opens with a bang, and you nearly jump out of your skin at the sudden sound. “Yo,” Yugyeom says, plopping down and buckling his seatbelt. “We ready to roll?”

Jungkook scowls and puts his phone back into his pocket. “Careful with the door, man. I need this thing to last through the summer.”

Yugyeom puts his hands up in apology, and Jungkook turns back to face the front, starting the ignition with a flick of his wrist. The engine sputters to life, and Jungkook waits for Jimin to pull out first before following after him, tailing the van out of the driveway and onto the winding road that will take you back into the city.

“Music?” you ask, gesturing at the stereo.

“Go for it,” Jungkook replies. “You want my phone so you can put on the roadtrip mix?”

“Sure.”

With the help of the upbeat music and Jungkook’s tendency to drive just a touch over the speed limit, you make it to the winding roads of Yugyeom’s neighborhood in what must be record time. “You missed the turn,” Yugyeom says lazily from where he’s sprawled across the entire backseat. “Turn left here—we can circle around and approach from the other side.”

Two more turns and a descent down a steep hill later, Jungkook manages to successfully drop Yugyeom off at his house. The drive across town takes no time at all, and before long, you’re cruising into your neighborhood, coasting past Jungkook’s driveway and straight into yours.

“Looks like we beat Jimin back,” you remark, looking at the empty spot where the van usually sits.

Jungkook hums. “Makes sense. He has more people to drop off.”

“Mm. Yeah.”

The sudden awkwardness that falls doesn’t go unnoticed by you. Clearing your throat, you reach for your purse, grabbing it from where it’s fallen to the ground near your feet. “I guess I’ll see you around then,” you begin, turning to open the door.

A strong hand wraps around your wrist, forcing you back into your seat. “Is that it?” Jungkook asks, and there’s an edge of something you can’t quite place in his voice. “Are you gonna go back to pretending like there’s nothing between us?”

You shake him free. “There isn’t anything between us,” you whisper. “We’re not on vacation anymore, Jungkook. We’re back home. Back to real life. We can’t do—whatever it is that we’ve been doing.”

“But you’re attracted to me,” Jungkook growls. “You like me. So why do you keep running away?”

A sigh escapes you. “Jungkook, it doesn’t matter if I like you or no—”

He interrupts before you can even finish your sentence. “Yes it does. It’s the only thing that matters.” And then he’s pulling you into his chest, taking advantage of your skewed sense of balance, and crushing his mouth to yours.

This kiss is different from the others you’ve shared so far. It’s hungry and passionate, and yet it’s tinged with something else—something that feels strangely akin to desperation. Jungkook kisses you with urgency, and it’s so raw and unbridled that it steals the very breath from your lungs and leaves you lightheaded.

Jungkook doesn’t say a word when he pulls away. Instead, he reaches down, popping the handle that opens the trunk and stepping out to pull your suitcase from within. Silently, he presses the handle into your hand.

And then he’s turning—climbing back into his car and leaving you with nothing but the memory of his lips and a whirlwind of thoughts in your mind.

#bangtanarmynet #jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook scenarios #bts smut #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts fanfiction #jeon jungkook #bts #lia writes

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indianamoonshine · 3 years

Text

Strawberry | Chapter 13 | Common Tongue

Summary: This chapter is titled after a Hozier song. Take that as you will.

Rating: M. If I see anyone minor interacting with this or hear of anyone reading it, I will block your ass.

TAG LIST: @t3a-bag @lumimon47 @dodgerandevans @hallway5 @dancingwiththeplanets @steeevienicks @orneryscandallousandevil @ficthots @gaiusfrakkinbaltar @reginagina-blog1 @loveme-tenderly @lastphoenixrising @rattlemyb0nes @rebellou @alljusthumans @gaiuswrites @lovecatsnotpeople @literallydontlook

“I’m a virgin,” you had said to him one night.

It meant nothing.

It meant nothing because, to him, you were the same with or without having slept with someone. Din knew that - had you chose him - it would be an honor. He would think no differently of you either way, and that even if the two of you never had sex, he was glad to have met you.

Now he thinks he may be addicted.

Part of him really wishes that you hadn’t gone this far; that the innocence would have lasted until whenever it was that he forced to leave. Because now he was in over his fucking head.

Behind the shed, you’d grabbed his hand and palmed yourself against the cotton of your underwear. The song of cicadas did a humbling job of masking your little pants or the way you whimpered beneath him. And, sure, Din did everything in his power to break traditional norms, but he wasn’t going to fuck you behind a shed for the first time. His heart broke when he separated himself from you and you whined underneath your breath in protest.

“Come on,” he huffed, lungs attempting to keep up. “Let’s go.”

Three minutes.

That’s how long it took to run from the main house to the cabin. Three goddamned minutes was a record. You don’t recall running that fast since becoming an adult. If your high school gym teacher has witnessed the velocity in which you just sprinted, she’d be amazed.

It was good old fashioned motivation.

Fortunately, Din’s barely taken his hands off of you so he managed to catch your clumsy ass when you tripped over the lip of the front door. The two of you had chuckled against the other before he asked, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you giggle. You place a hand upon your cheek in feign distress. “But I think I may need to lay down…”

Your tone, which is laced with suggestive demure, has Din raising a brow. “Oh yeah?” he growls.

You nod sweetly, lips still pressed against his. “Mm hm.”

You’re so goddamn beautiful.

When he presses you against the plushness of the sheets, he admires the way your hair fans about you and frames your face. Your cheeks are flushed and your lips plump from his kiss, the natural pout of them more pronounced now that he’s bitten and sucked at the flesh. The brilliance of your skin glows beneath the yellow light, neck joining the expanse of your bust which heaves with endurance. He kisses down your pulse point until he reaches the neck of his t-shirt.

His t-shirt.

“Can I?” he whispers against the hollow of your neck, fingering the edge of the fabric.

“Yes.”

You’ve never been this exposed to anyone other than the occasional friend (when changing) or your sisters (also when changing). It’s been so long since you’ve gone outside of yourself - into the very thick of reality - so when he asked if he could reveal you to it, the urgent “yes” surprised yourself.

Still - it’s another kind of anxiety; not violent, but in the way. When he’s stripped the shirt from your body - carefully, as though he were unwrapping a priceless antique - it’s a natural instinct to cover yourself, confident of the way you weren’t.

“Take all the time you need,” he whispers against the flesh of your neck. “I’m a patient man.”

It should’ve been enough and maybe in an alternate universe it was. Maybe that version of you threw all misogynistic beauty standards out the window into the night, but in this present day-in-age, you took a minute to go over the mental checklist. What if you weren’t to his standards? What was the situation like down there? What would you do if he wasn’t all that you decided him to be?

How long would it take to heal from that?

Before your mother died she took your hand and made you promise: I will do everything I can to feel joy, as fleeting as it may be. There are lessons to be learned. She’d made you chant it in a monkish way, as though preforming a ceremony in the sterility of a hospital room strung with cheap tinsel and a sad, plastic tree at her bedside. You’d understood what she meant then like the way a student might understand the components of Ancient Greek; not until it is utilized can its full potential make any sense at all.

The philosophers - and your mother - be onto something.

Something like a muffled version of his name slips lazily through your lips. And while it’s dissected, pulled apart with a lazy and tense breath, it’s the first time his name has sounded poetic. Din never thought of himself this way; that his person could ever inspire such an organic response as the way you unwound beneath him. He’s laid with women before - three, he thinks - but he’s not positive he’s ever experienced a woman before.

Xian was good at what she did and she knew it; Din wasn’t oblivious to that but it lacked a certain something. The other times his body has been weaved together with another’s was faceless; just hookups he’s tried so desperately to forget. Hazy nights in which he woke up to in the morning, their backs to him, and identity indistinguishable. Eventually he just stopped trying.

It wasn’t until now with your fingers clutching at his hair that he realized how the act - the very dance itself - could be purifying. How it could wash away the very worst of similar experiences and how it made something that always felt cheap now priceless. The body is a temple, his elders would always say, and it never made any sense to him. The body is a fortress made to withstand hurricanes and torpedos. It was no place to kneel, to worship, to inspire anything other than sheer refuge.

How ironic, as kneeling was the very thing he was doing now.

Irony wasn’t the word. Fateful, he supposes, as he tastes the fruit that’s always been so forbidden to him. Your thighs clench around his head and the fingers that have been stroking his hair grip the sheets, white knuckling the starched weave, until a gasp is caught in your throat. And then there is nothing but the pressure of ignition until it crumbles around you, fizzing the air with something akin to champagne bubbles.

There is no nasally whine that follows afterwards like there always had been before you. No wild “yes!” that pollutes the air. Just the instability of a weakened chest, the grasping at air, and the delicious feel of your hand enveloping his after having pulled it from your sex.

You weren’t a stranger to penetration though this was was with exceptions; no one had ever done anything to you with foreign or, well, domestic objects. At the age of eighteen, your friends at the time had dragged you to the building on the east end of town that never officially existed until legality said that it did. La Boudoir Rouge was the place ‘vodka aunts’ went to cure the blues, bought mysterious items, and then hid the pink bags in the back of their closets.

So, yes; sex was a foreign exchange policy you’ve never found yourself involved in, but you knew the dynamics. You’d bought equipment and even enjoyed it more than you’d initially expected. Penetration wasn’t at all strange to you.

This made it easier, you think, as Din finally slides in. There was a stretch of course, and it took you a moment to get comfortable enough to brave any movement. Din drops his forehead upon yours, letting out a strangled breath through his nose, as you struggle to come to terms with the size. He’d given off an energy but…

“It’s so big,” you gasp once he reaches the spongey part of you. It feels stupid, it falls short on a botched intake of breath, but it’s the truth.

Din’s composing himself, silent in his endeavor to mold himself within you. His arms are pressed on either side of you, body flush against yours with his pelvis meeting your pubic bone. There’s another moment of silence before he kisses at your temple.

“Are you okay?” he whispers.

A smile graces your lips, though your eyes are clenched. “That’s an understatement.”

The pace is fast, sweat inspiring. It drips down your neck until it falls in the valley of your breasts and Din wants so badly to lick it from your skin, but he’s too distracted by the way you clench around him. It’s ironclad - it’s the best goddamn pussy he’s ever had.

He wants to tell you that but he’s unsure of how you’d react. You’ve been letting out delicious gasps and moans reaching an octave you’d never reach sober, but not you’re coherently vocal enough for him to say it outright.

And then you breathe it in a pathetic whine: “It’s yours, Din. It’s yours.”

He almost stops, but his body is hellbent on seeing this through. Whatever the fuck this was; a spiritual experience maybe. Perhaps he’d died after the last mission - broken and buried underneath mounds of dirt - and now rests in paradise where he fucks his way through eternity.

A raw, animalistic response possesses him, the fistful of flesh from your hips is replaced by the swell of you cheeks. He embraces you softly, but sternly enough to incite a whimper.

“What was that, chica bonita, huh?”

You throw your head back as he slams his hips against yours with more force, the excitement conjuring a great wave of adrenaline coursing through his veins. You try to speak but it fails to materialize.

He was balls deep and you were still shy by your interjection.

“What’s mine, sweet girl?” he whispers, mouth tickling along your collarbones. The contrast of gentle words and barbaric thrusts is something he’s never experienced during sex. Ever.

You let out one more mouthwatering whine before saying: “My pussy is yours, Din. Take it. Please, please…”

Suffice to say, that’s what does it. The two of you cum at the same time, like a synchronized dance, clutching one another so tightly it leaves red ribbons. Your fingernails had dug into his forearms and his at your waist in which his hands wrapped around. He lets out a deep, broken growl as you whimper, shaking like a leaf, and he pulls out just in time to paint your belly with pearlescent threads.

He collapses on top of you, knocking the wind from your fragile body. You’re absolute jelly beneath him, crumbled into bits, and would never be the same. Let’s stay here forever, you want to tell him.

Din presses his face into the hollow of your neck, listening to the rapid pulse beneath flushed and thin skin. Then he kisses the blood flow beneath once, twice. “My gorgeous girl…”

Stay with me. Stay with me.

You wrap your arms - which have settled from the convulsions - around his neck and hug him tightly against you.

Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me.

#din djarin x reader #din x reader #strawberryfic #mando x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din x y/n #din x you #mando x y/n #mando x you

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inhuman-obey-me · 3 years

Text

Melody of Revenge

Word Count: 2.4k Description: Everyone knows not to mess with Lucifer Morningstar. Some, however, make the mistake of going after his family instead. Part of the A Demon's Nature series. Lucifer was next, and this ended up getting really long, so uh ... yeah. Can be found on AO3 here. content warning: torture, so much torture, blood, body horror/mutilation

Fear and intimidation. Lucifer knew how to use both effectively, striking terror into any and all who looked upon him. The Avatar of Pride rarely had to remind others of just who he was, but every now and then, someone decided to step out of line. It couldn’t be helped -- imbeciles could be found wherever beating hearts or souls resided.

Tonight, however, he was dealing with a very particular kind of imbecile. One that had crossed a line so gravely that he had planned an entire torture routine in his mind as he made his way through the halls of the Demon Lord’s Castle. Flames of anger licked his insides as he made his way to the dungeons, but he had to keep his rage under control. Lucifer always had to be in control, every action and word deliberate and planned. He didn’t have a choice to be anything less.

“Barbatos.” He greeted the loyal butler and friend, who stood at the entrance of a particular hall of cells.

“Greetings, Lucifer.” The usual polite smile alighted his lips, though a knowing look gleamed in his eyes. “Are you sure you want to handle this one?”

“Absolutely.” He responds firmly, immediately. Barbatos usually had the pleasure of torturing those who crossed the Devildom, and he took great delight in it -- far more than even Lucifer would. After all, Lucifer found torture and punishment as a means to an end, a form of discipline.

Barbatos simply did it for fun.

“Then by all means,” the royal servant bowed slightly, gesturing with one arm towards the dark hall. “She’s all yours.” With that, he left the dungeons, having a great many other tasks to attend to for the day -- though couldn’t help leaving with a melodic, “Have fun.”

A small smirk tugged at the corner of Lucifer’s lips. Oh, he planned to make this a very enjoyable time indeed. Taking a deep breath -- making sure that he was in control -- he dropped his glamour to reveal more of his demon form and walked forward to unlock one of the metal cell doors. It creaked open, allowing for the sounds of muffled screams to leave the dark room.

“Hello, Abyzou.”

The protests suddenly stopped, a chill seeming to settle in the air. Lucifer slowly lit the torches along the dungeon’s walls, bathing the room in a hellish orange light. There, in the middle of the cell, sat the traitor, bound and gagged. Her serpentine eyes looked up at Lucifer with a mix of fear and anger, but she otherwise remained silent and still.

“What’s wrong? Suddenly decided it was a good time to be quiet?” His voice is calm. Too calm. He eases his long coat off of his shoulders, hanging it on a hook by the door. Gloved hands begin to roll up his sleeves as he turns to look at the other demon again, a sigh leaving him. He stepped forward, and with a yank removed the gag from her mouth. “Is that better?”

Abyzou coughed, spitting to the side as she flexed her jaw after it being bound for so long. He allowed her to adjust -- he was a demon of patience, after all.

“Lucifer … “ She begins with his name, spoken with a certain kind of reverence. “I didn’t realize you would be visiting me here.”

“You didn’t?” The surprise in his voice is almost genuine. “Strange, I figured you would have been expecting me any day now, considering the reason you’re here in the first place.”

Her eyes widened for a moment before she directed her gaze elsewhere, not wanting to look upon the greater demon. There was a hint of shame in her expression, but it gave way to a twisted smile as she shook her head. “I see . . .”

“Do you?” He speaks sharply, his hatred for her beginning to show. He grabbed her jaw with one hand, forcing her to look up at him. “Do you see, Abyzou? Or are you still trying to play innocent?”

She hissed as his fingertips pressed into her skin, the red leather of his gloves saving her from the wrath of his claws -- for now. She stared into those magnetic ruby eyes and all the power they held, all of the destruction they could unleash, all of the pain they could bring.

“But was I wrong?” Abyzou knew her end was imminent, especially if the Avatar of Pride himself had requested to punish her personally. So what was the use in being anything but honest? “Was I truly wrong, Lord Lucifer?” The reverence once held in her voice was gone, replaced with mockery. She shifted in her bonds, leaning into the hand that held her jaw. “You know that the Devildom is stronger and better than the other realms, and yet we’re forced to grovel to the likes of angels!” Stretching out her neck, she continued with a jeer. “Or do you and your brothers miss having those white wings and halos for yourselves that much?”

Lucifer roughly pushed her face away from him, hand releasing her jaw. He took a step back, eyes full of cold fury still focused on the other demon. His gaze then swept the cell, taking note of the various torture instruments on display -- but grinned when he saw that Barbatos made sure to include the absolute essential. A vinyl player, the perfect record already in place to set the mood. He set it up to play, allowing the first notes to spill into the air before resuming his interrogation.

“So, you thought yourself better than the others who had agreed to His Royal Highness’ vision?” Lucifer begins to tug at the seam of one of his gloves, steadily peeling it off his hand. “Of course, we knew that plenty of the nobles had their concerns, and many voiced them, yourself included.” He sets the removed glove to the side, now beginning to take off the other. “And yet, you still decided that you would try and work against us behind the scenes,” The second glove joins its pair. “And, what I’m really trying to understand -- truly, I am -- is why you thought it would be a good idea to try and undermine the Seven Lords?”

Abyzou shifted in place, her earlier burst of bravado dwindling, and goosebumps rose along her skin as she listened to the music he decided to play. It was common knowledge to never get on Lucifer’s bad side, but she had taken the risk -- and now she would be answering for it. She lowered her head, staring at the cold stone floor, suddenly finding the way the orange light from the flames bounced and shimmered of great interest. “I . . . “ She started, trying to choose her next words carefully. “I wasn’t trying to undermine you or your brothers. I was doing what I thought would be best … including for you all! Can’t you see that I was trying to protect you, protect us?”

A piercing, incredulous laugh left Lucifer’s lips, his deep voice sending chills down Abyzou’s spine. He picked up the spool of twisted rope and approached her once more, the steady clack clack from his shoes’ heels echoing throughout the cell, mingling with the slowly increasing crescendo.

“Aby, Aby, Aby . . .” Lucifer clicked his tongue before he roughly collected a fistful of her long raven locks, eliciting a sharp cry as her head was wrenched back to look up at him. “That was your first mistake.”

The Avatar of Pride was nothing short of an expert when it came to stringing others up from the ceiling, though in this particular case, he wanted to make sure it hurt. The imprisoned demon thrashed and squirmed, but he was able to lift and tie her up with ease, making sure that the rough jute cut into her scaly skin just short of making her bleed -- for now. He tied the rope up to her waist, then put each wrist in a metal clasp that was chained to the floor, stretching out her arms to either side.

“You thought you needed to protect us? A sweet gesture,” He derided her, a claw coming up to slowly trace from her chin down through her cheek, drawing blood as it broke skin. “And an absolute lie. Your little act had every intention to put my brothers at risk, in harm’s way … “ A second claw followed the first, creating a ribbon of shredded skin. Abyzou hissed at the pain, biting back anything else in an effort to save some sense of dignity. “ … and you had the audacity to think you’d get away with it. Truly incredible.” The faux amazement in his tone felt like thorns in her ears, and she squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to look into his face.

“What’s the matter, Abyzou? Shouldn’t you be used to being in this kind of position, or at least … something not too far from it?” Lucifer smirked, delighted to see her eyes shoot back open, bright yellow irises staring at him in disbelief. “If I remember correctly … Solomon had you tied up in front of his temple, and by your hair, at that.”

That riled her up. Forked tongue lashed out to flick at his face, a series of curses leaving her lips soon after. Fangs bared, she hissed, “Don’t you dare bring up that bastard! To think that I wasn’t allowed to lay a hand on him the moment he stepped into our realm. He deserves to have his neck twisted, but you … !”

“But I . . ?” Lucifer took out a handkerchief from his back pocket, nonchalantly wiping away at where her tongue and spit landed on his visage. “Please, do go on.”

“You … you, all of you, let him in with open arms! Even after knowing everything he’s done, how he’s treated our own kind! I don’t care if you say he’s changed, HE NEEDS TO BE TORN LIMB FROM LIMB!” She screamed, thrashing about in her binds, chains rattling as she struggled.

“Temper, temper, Aby.” Oh, that sadistic, pointed grin. A wave of euphoria washed over him, seeing her like this. “You have no room to talk, considering what you’ve done.” He watched as the blood from her face dropped and dripped to the floor, a hum leaving his lips.

“Perhaps you need some more reminding of just how badly you fucked up this time.” He raised a hand, chanting a curse that caused a swirl of glowing energy to encircle both of her hands. It weaved through her clenched fists, forcing them open, and wrapped like binding around each finger. She cried out in pain as she felt the magical binding began to gradually crush her fingers, cutting off circulation knuckle by knuckle.

“You tried to have some of my brothers poisoned,” All five claws of one hand pierced the skin of her upper arm, retracted, pierced again a bit lower, and repeated -- gradually making way down her entire arm. More and more blood began to drip, the usual greenish hue of her scaly skin now awash in dark red. “You tried to gather enough support to attack them, because you were too much of a coward to come face any of us yourself. Though, it’s laughable that you thought you could do damage to us in the first place.”

“I … I’m sorry!” She knew any apologies here were useless, but the pain that she now felt at every point in her body was becoming too agonizing to ignore. “I felt like I was left with no choice!” She felt her vision get hazy, the smell of her blood and the sharp strikes of pain -- from the rope, from his claws, from the curse -- overwhelming her senses. And that damned music, it was driving her insane.

“No choice?” Lucifer scoffed, his claws now repeating the treatment on her other arm. “Abyzou, you did have a choice.” His brows furrowed, wings stretching out as he brought his face close to her upside-down one. “You just chose the wrong one.”

Tears stung her eyes, the magic binding on her hands crushing her fingers until there would be nothing left. She could hear her blood drip in puddles on the floor, and yet the bleeding wasn’t enough for her life to end anytime soon.

“Please … please, Lord Lucifer … just finish me already.” She begged, though deep down she knew her cries for mercy would be futile.

Lucifer’s usual stoic expression settled on his features. He watched her for a moment, then turned around and walked to the table by the door where he had laid his gloves. A cloth was folded neatly next to them, which he took to wipe the blood off of his hands, murmuring a spell to help fully rid his skin of any that remained. Then, he pulled his gloves back on, tugging on the seams to make sure that they were on properly, fingers flexing in the red leather.

“I’m sure that’s what you would like, Abyzou.” His voice is eerily low, his back still turned to the demoness. She could hear him setting something up, but was unable to make out what it was.

Then he started humming, a haunting sound added to the sharp strings and bellowing percussion.

He dragged the table closer to her suspended body, stepping aside to show what was left on it.

She nearly choked. There, next to the record player, was another similar device -- but this one wasn’t for playing.

“However, I have no intention of giving you a quick end. You’ll remain here, like this, until every last drop of blood leaves your body, and your hands are thoroughly crushed, and those ropes cut through you. But, you won’t be completely alone.”

He gingerly raises the needle, setting it onto the record at the correct position. Resuming his humming, he hit the Record button, and the disc began to spin, the needle etching everything it heard into the vinyl. “We’ll have a lovely keepsake to remember you by. Ah, and don’t worry … this is all using magic, so it will document everything up until your last breath.”

Abyzou tried to thrash about with what strength she had left, but in the end only caused herself pain, the chains shackled to her wrists ringing and clanging.

“Farewell, Abyzou.”

With that, Lucifer left the cell, the large metal door shutting to a close behind him. He made his way back through the dungeon halls, a smirk on his lips as he heard a loud, wailing shriek in the distance.

#obey me #obey me!#obey me lucifer #om! lucifer #obey me fics #obey me swd #demons being demons #writings #series: a demon's nature #yeah this gets pretty descriptive in parts so!! be warned #also feel free to listen to heart of darkness by succession studios with this -- or also lucifer's waltz or queen of the damned #can you tell who my favorite is lmao #decided to post directly to this blog now #the all encompassing [mod] cosmos

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