#//i really hate how all the updates have just fucked all my tags

[hellherekitty]

"say please."// Roman

Spicy / Intimacy Meme - Still Accepting

Selina's back arches as Roman's lips trail from her neck and over her bare breasts. A soft gasp catches her lips as his fingers tease along her porcelain skin. Everything in her body anticipates where his fingers are going to go and she knows this is exactly the desired effect he's looking for. Say what you will about Roman Sionis, but he knew how to hold an audience in the palm of his very capable hand.

Her heartbeat was quickening and she was just starting to take another breath to let it hitch in her throat when she heard his words. Blue, lust-filled eyes narrowed on him. Any other time with any other man and she would have kicked him in the dick and left him dry, but Roman commanded something all together different from her.

"So needy..." Selina purred, fingers reaching up to knot into his hair where she tugged him down. Red-painted lips brushed against his earlobe before her voice whispers to him. "Please, Roman.... Don't stop."

#evilbastards #//i really hate how all the updates have just fucked all my tags

[neverendingford]

.

#tag talk #I keep getting customers being like “wow do you perform professionally?” and shit like that about my whistling and like.. #no how do I tell you that I'm doing this for my own enjoyment and I don't think I'm better than anybody else I just think you all are worse #like. yeah I'm good at whistling that doesn't make me special or cool it just means everyone else sucks ass at whistling #seriously though. I hear people whistling breathy airy off-tune inconsistent note quality and I just.. ughhhhh stop stop stop stop stop #idk I'm tired of being told I should sell my crafts I should sell my art I should perform professionally I should make myself a spectacle #I'm not a thing to look at I'm not an object to pay for my soul isn't a thing you can buy on Etsy my habits aren't a show to purchase entry #I'm glad people enjoy listening to me whistle. I enjoy listening to me whistle. yeah sure I'm good at it. I just. ughhhh #don't tell me like you're leaving a comment underneath my YouTube video. I'm not content for you to consume. #ughhhh I hate public spectacle and maybe being a side show for every church in my parents' mission network had consequences on me #you know it took me until I was seventeen to finally say no when I was told to take off my shirt to display my scars to someone? #fifteen years of being a freak show. a news update. a creature to be looked at. disrobed and examined. displayed. #and I'm fucking done with it. I'm no one's toy I'm no one's property I'm no one's news letter topic. #I'm my own fucking person and I wish I could actually accept that instead of struggling with it constantly. #idk. maybe I have problems besides “you scored highly on our depression questionnaire so let's teach you coping methods” #maybe next time I have a therapy appointment I'll search my tag talks through jetblackcode and take notes ahead of time #I mean. I am blogging. that's like journaling. maybe I should actually use that to my advantage. go back and use the resources I have. #anyway that being said I've been practicing whistling the orange blossom special (Buddy Greene version) and it's very hard #but I'm getting much better at it. #I really started getting into harder stuff when I started college and would wander the campus whistling homestuck music (thanks Toby Fox) #Rondo Alla Turca is a particular favorite of mine cause it's got some really fun quick sequences #anyway if any of y'all have good recommendations on good chapstick/lipbalm brands that'd be sick because I need to start buying more #and like. find a really good brand that'll last longer on my lips and then just buy a case of it or something. #because I go through lip balm pretty quickly because your lips dry out when you whistle a lot and also I live in the desert so it's dry af

[pyrriax]

GOD I LOVE THIS SONG

like. this is in sylvester's playlist because it so perfectly fits my vision of them.

like they're so much more than just a "generally caring person" and i mean like.

also just the lyric "no one who loves you should make you feel so unsafe / no, no one who loves you should make you feel alone"

#haunted ecosystem #au: where the dust settles #GOD. #i think the worst part to me is how much sylvester vehemently HATES the maze. they've always hated the maze. they hate STARR and yet #there they are. in some cruel & dramatic irony #this post is like 85% unfinished thoughts #i need to finish writing out the plans for sylvester's backstory oneshot because i think it's so interesting #like YES i just kinda. i wanted to talk abt their backstory because it's gonna become relevant as we approach the fourth act #good LORD we're approaching that already??? i need to finish the alt for chapter 20 and then we're gonna be making some hella progress #like. oh god the next chapter is when i have to update tags #holy SHIT we're already to that point #i've been really sparing with tag updating because i don't want too major of spoilers and i mean. i've got a blanket spoiler tag #bc this is arguably all within the same range as canon warnings if you're familiar with krow or apo's povs #random thing i'm thinking abt but like i think it's so funny that i keep trying to watch c!sillvia's pov but i CANNOT because their acting #is like. too good? it hits my brain in the 'icky people emotions' that makes me so fucking uncomfortable DHFNFDKJ #i think that's kinda funny i think that's why i don't watch tv and i just watch people do half-hearted roleplay bc they don't take it too #-seriously because like. then it's tolerable #Spotify

[thewinchestah]

"Good things come for those who wait" - Alastor x reader fic

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader

Tags: ,18+, Smut, NSFW, edging, BDSM, Alastor does what he wants, there's plot if you squint really hard, alastor in heat, breeding kink, Possesive! Alastor, Jealous!Alastor, Protective!Alastor, spanking,degradation kink, praise kink, Angst with a happy ending, fluff, I didn't proof read this, english isn't my first language, no beta we die like men here, etc etc etc

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Word Count: there's no point guys. I can't stop talking.

A/N: WOAH!! Hello everyone!! What the fuck?? I wasn't expecting my "debut fic" to blow up like that! Thank you so so much to everyone who took the time to read it and leave a comment! I'm truly flattered by your praise. So, I hope this sequel to "PREY" does it justice! (but it can also be read as a standalone). Let me know if you guys like it, and if you have anymore ideas/suggestions! I'm tagging everyone who asked me to, so if you want to be tagged on my next fics let me know! Without further due, here comes that mostrosity of a fic! Hope you like it <3! (UPDATE: PART 3 IS NOW UP!!)

Part I  | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Taglist: @smallershorteranduncut @markster666 @jyoongim @stygianoir  @pepperycookie @fraspent @aether-th3-enby 

It all started, as many things do, with a joke and a simple misunderstanding. Dying and instantly going to hell is not easy. Being in hell and not understanding why the FUCK you are in hell is confusing, frustrating and sometimes drawright ridiculous. There’s no guidebook for the hellish afterlife, and more often than not you felt lost at sea, drowning. Until you found your questionable lifeline, the Radio Demon. 

Somehow said demon clocked really early on that you were completely infatuated with him, but too scared to act on it. And oh, how he gave you enough reason to be infatuated, enough reason to be scared. Luring you into the most delicious trap, Alastor had claimed you as his. His to breed during the height of his heat, his to care for, his to inflict the most heavenly torture. 

Being caught up in the middle of the living myth that was the Radio Demon was a dangerous thing, you had been warned over and over again. So of course that you had to almost fuck everything up in the silliest way possible.

The obnoxious TV set, also known as Vox, had just started another round of his futile attempts to win Alastor’s attention by airing the most absurd reality tv character assassination ever. You would put money on the fact that the obsessive flat screen was a deceased TLC producer. Usually, any of his pompous i-hate-alastor-so-so-much!!! fits would be met with enthusiasm around the Hotel. Everyone would cramp in front of the TV and make fun of the entire ordeal. Even Alastor would tag along and make a private edition of his radio show while he counter-narrated that nonsense. It became a fun bonding activity for everyone involved, it was a nice thing. But there’s a reason why you can’t have nice things.

Today the Hotel was mostly empty:, only you, Angel and a very on edge, sexually frustrated, irritated Alastor haunted its posh walls. Still, you and Angel carried on with the little tradition sitting side by side in front of the tv not knowing what to expect from today’s “My Strange Addiction - Alastor’s Version” episode. It was truly a laughable attempt of a character assassination, actors who could not act saying things like “Alastor isn’t even as bad as everyone says, his torture tactics are not that special either. My mom’s aunt was tortured by him and was going to work 10 hours later”, “i walked down the street today and alastor didn’t even try to kill me when he saw me crossing the street, he’s all talk” “i have video footage of the self-proclaimed cannibal eating a chocolate covered strawberry. He’s cannibalbaiting.”

“no self-respecting overlord would go out wearing those ridiculous out-of fashion clothes”. 

Angel was having the time of his life leading the daily Vox roast session, the spider was funny and you couldn’t hold the laughs. The camera cut to a close-up of Vox, babbling on about technology and the anti-Radio Demon speech you knew by heart at this point. As if on cue, Alastor entered the room. But the pair of you remained oblivious to his presence. 

“Toots, you totally should apply for this show! I mean it!. I’m sure Vox will buy literally anything you say. Anything! If you say Alastor likes to eat red nail polish cause it looks like blood he would believe it! You laughed at his words, what a ridiculous thing to say. You loved red nail polish, alastor drinking it because it looks like blood is absurd. “I mean, look at you!! Look at this face, these eyes!! This body!!!” Angel gave your thighs a playful slap. “If you say hell is actually cold using all that i would eat it right up. Vox will be too busy staring at your boobs to notice you dropping that even the oldest radio looks better than that fucking flat face”. The thought that you were the mind-numbing type of beautiful made you laugh. Sometimes you felt like your friends were being way too kind with the flattery about you. You were nothing special at all. It was nice of them to be kind to you, adapting to your new lifestyle was taking a visible tool, anyone could tell. Their efforts were honorable and sweet, but you just couldn’t let yourself believe what in your heart, you knew was a lie. A beautiful, comfortable lie, but still a lie. You weren’t much, you were just lucky. You started to laugh even harder, out of pure nervousness as your brain started to snowball into all the things you weren’t. 

“ Seriously Angel, you have the strangest ideas ever!” you tried to sound normal, putting up a confident facade. That helped, a lot. You had picked that up during your days with Alastor. 

Speaking of the devil, Alastor wasn’t amused by your little display. Standing on the corner of the room as you laughed, he made himself known by walking out of the room, in hurried steps. If it were anyone else, they wouldn’t think much of it. But you weren’t anyone else. You were Alastor’s. 

And that’s why he was seething with rage. His rut always drove him, an already unpredictable man, to the brink of true, pure instinctual insanity. He had to grip his marvelous constructed self control painfully hard. Since your paths crossed, the most chaotic part of his existence seemed in control, your pretty little body always ready to take him, your eyes always holding his gaze in a maddening  comfortable way, the way you would push your limits just for him. 

Only for him.

And the worst part was your softness when it was all done. Alastor would fuck you rentless, for hours, making you take all the mess of his most animalistic desires without a second thought. Both of you would be spent, bathing in the afterglow, room smelling like sex, and you would ask him if he needed anything. Him, that just fucked you so hard so won’t walk straight for a week, that feasted on the blood of the love bites he inflicted, him that covered you in a painting of bruises. 

How could he not want to just lock you inside his lavish room and give you all the rings of hell? to carve his name deep into your soul? to dote on you? to make him the only thing on your mind as he makes you his time and time again in the most sinful ways?

It was simple really, why he was shaking with anger: how you, who was his, was even thinking of being in the same vicinity of that scum of creation?  LAUGHING AT THIS ABSURD CONCEPT. Vox thinking of you was already a crime punishable by painful death, but Vox looking at you was heresy, and the entirety of hell would pay for his transgressions. 

As Alastor stormed off towards the Hotel’s large room corridors, he took several calming breaths. Losing control like this wouldn’t do anyone any favors. In the troubled waters of his mind, Alastor could only think of 3 things: you, fucking you and murdering someone.

 So he didn’t even realize your hurried steps trying to catch up with his long strides.

“Hey sugartits! Don’t take too long doing whatever you need to do! there’s a woman going live after the break saying she saw Alastor eating an entire packet of PAPER TOWELS!!! HAHA! This shit is too good to be true!” you heard angel scream.

Adding insult to injury, nice.

Trying desperately to reach your demon lover gait, you could only think about how bad you had messed up. Alastor was your only true respite in hell. He was a blessing in a mist of the worst humankind could offer. He made you feel hope, more than making you feel alive, he made you feel glad you’re dead. The Radio Demon felt like coming home. You just wanted to make it up to him. You could not lose this, lose him. You were not sure you would survive it. And who knew where you went after dying in hell? 

It doesn’t matter where you go after hell, it doesn’t matter at all if Alastor is not there. Your brain added to your inner monologue. True.

“Alastor! Wait” you shouted. He stops dead on his feet.

Finally, those long long legs of his do not make chasing after your love any easier.

“Alastor, I'm so so sorry. Angel gets way out of line sometimes and I was nervous” he is perfectly still, ears pinned back, listening. But doesn’t say anything back.

“Al I’m truly sorry. I didn’t mean it like that, at all. Look, let’s try to do something to make your day better. I know how hard this season is on you, I know you feel like you are losing contr-

Uh oh.

oh shit.

You used the two forbidden words together. The temperature in the room drops, Alastor snaps towards you. You feel something gripping your throat mercilessly, as you fall to the ground. Looking at the other end of the corridor Alastor has you on a leash of his magic. Eyes burning red, forehead marked “x” he grips your chains hard, pushing you towards him.

“That was a brilliant speech, little doe. Truly marvelous! I’m sure your television debut will be quite the show you were planning!”

His antlers were growing, his demon form showing itself as he becomes taller and taller over you. All bared teeth and flashing red eyes. This is what everyone warned you about. Don’t get in the Radio Demon’s way, he is dangerous and insane. You will regret it.

Hot. your brain thinks. He pulls your leash even tighter, and you feel wetness pooling on your core.

“Do you have any idea what I was about to do before I heard you so selflessly offer your services to that pathetic excuse of a demon?” Dragging you by the magic chains, his towering frame comes down to meet you at eye level. You can’t say anything back, your brain short circuits and goes AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

“You know better than leaving me waiting for an answer at this point, pet” He grips your face using his sharp claws,the pressure threatening to break skin. “But you seem so hellbent on being a bad girl today, I shouldn’t expect your usually good girl’s behavior, should I?”

You are, once again nothing but a doe caught in the headlights of his eyes

“One should always know better than expecting their fantasies to be true”

His sclera goes black, only the tiny blazing red radio dials devouring you as he stares so deep into you, you feel feverish. 

“But since we are already here. I. Will. Tell. You.” static picks up around the room and surrounds you both, the corridor is illuminated by an eerie green light. You start to kinda fear for your life, but Alastor has you completely hypnotized by the radio dials on his eyes. You shiver in anticipation. 

 “I was coming to ask you, to please, spare me a part of your day, away from you friends. Because the only thing on my mind has been you. Fucking you. Sinking my cock so deep into your tight, wet cunt it would mark your soul. Because you are the only one who can take me like this, who deserves being bred by me, who deserves every drop of my seed”

You feel the wetness on your panties grow until it runs down your thighs. There’s nothing right about this, but your dear Alastor showed you long ago how the concepts of right and wrong are meant to be skewed.

“But oh well, you seem to have your affections directed elsewhere…” he tsks at you using that delicious mocking tone. “But, you can’t blame a desperate man for trying” he goes from 100 to 0 really fast, his voice softens so much in a way that’s almost too heavy to hear after all that. Even with his demon form still very much present  “Do you still want to make my day better, pet?”

you are at a loss of words, but you manage to nod desperately. The anticipation of what he is going to do to you makes you giddy. 

He manhandles your leash until you are on your knees in front of him, tugging on the chains so you look up towards his crotch. He makes quick work of his pants, pulling his cock out. Hard, angry hot red coloured. Angry because of you, angry for you. 

“Open wide, little one” and without much more warning, Alastor is fucking your face, hard and fast. 

You position your arms behind your back as quickly as you can.  You know how hard it is for him to be touched when his rut is peaking. The overwhelming need for relief mixing with his ever present desire for control. This is about him asserting his dominance over you, making sure you don’t ever forget where you belong: In the warmth of his burning gaze, under him, on your knees, while he merciless fucks your throat into compliance. He’s taking it out on you, and you fucking love it.

He’s not saying anything, only growling like he’s about to murder someone. He grabs fistfuls of your velvety hair, but never leaves the white knuckle grip on your chains. You can only resist the urge of playing with your pussy while he thrusts so deep you feel his monster cock. hitting the back of your throat. This is about him, and you want to give him this so badly your cunt is throbbing with desire

Tears wet your cheeks, your lips around his cock are the definition of renaissance art to Alastor. He’s almost over the edge now, the head of his cock twitches on top of your tongue as a warning of his approaching orgasm. It’s hard, it’s hot, it’s fast and it’s angry.

Alastor cums, you swallow as much as you can, but he takes his cock out and spills everywhere, coating your hair,  your face. It’s so deliciously erotic Alastor can’t resist catching some of his cum and running his hands throughout your velvet locks, bathing you in his essence, marking you once more. There’s still a bit of cum on the tip of his claw, he feeds it to you, and your lips wrap around his fingers as you take as much of him you can take, gladly. 

“Oh how beautiful you are when you ruin yourself like this for me, my little doe” You look up at him with adoration and a lustful gaze, his eyes hold an equally lustful gaze and… something more. Something that you are sure will drive you insane. 

Alastor notices the pooling mess underneath your tights, he knows how desperate you are for relief, but he still wants to self indulge on you. He’s certain you still don’t understand the reality of what he is feeling. Swiftly he topples you down the corridor’s carpet and places himself between your legs, his crawled finger tearing your lacy panties away. 

Then, he feasts on you like a starving man, and he might be, because you taste like the ambrosia of the gods and he can’t get enough of it. Of how you make a mess of yourself for him and there’s still something for him to take. You just taste so sweet, what a perfect meal your nectar makes. His wicked silver tongue polishes you, aided by your whispered sighs, his name moaned like a prayer on your lips. You are so so close, alastor sucks on your throbbing clit you are already seeing stars, all you need is a gentle push.

 Grinning like a devil, Alastor looks up, tilts his head, gives you the most wicked-and-douchey look in existence. He gets up, your leash dissipating into the air and walks away in perfect composure, like nothing happened. Nothing at all.

“Well, I think that’s my cue!!” he says in his usually chirpy tone. You just stay there, flabbergasted. “I just remembered I still have a lot to do today! Work never stops when you maintain a facility like this in tip-top condition!” Already halfway across the corridor, Alastor’s head turns towards you “Still want to make my day good my dear? Be a doll and clean this mess up, will you?” you just stare at him, too fucking stunned to speak. You can’t believe it. That fucking devil. He’s about to make the turn towards the elevator and disappear when his eyes flash red as he warns you “Oh! and don’t you dare make yourself cum without my permission. If you cum before I say so, you won’t be cumming for a week. Choose wisely!Let’s see who loses control first Ha Ha! This will be fun!”

 Alastor can be a psychopathic demon in heat, but before all that he still is a psychopathic demon who loves torture. 

And he just left you all hot and bothered. 

–

Alastor knew better than believing in such things as heaven or holiness. In fact, Alastor was positively sure nothing was sacred. The concept of sacredness was non-existent in his book.

But his skeptic mind danced on the edge of belief when he touched you. To be inside you felt heavenly, heavenly in a type of way that should not even be allowed in this place. The way your lush body burned underneath his wicked gaze was sacred.The way you always presented yourself to him, with selfless abandon was sacred. Somehow, someone allowed him, of all people, access to a soul he frankly didn’t understand what was doing in hell in the first place. He never was the better man. He was never giving that up.

In all of his nature, Alastor felt the most sinful pleasure in defiling your sacredness. He wanted nothing but to take the heavenly thing you were and taint it with his darkness. 

He was well acquainted to torture and had no shame in inflicting the most delicious and depraved type of it on you ,until all of your holiness was irrevocably marked by him, down to the core of your soul.  Of course Alastor didn’t buy your soul. He didn’t need to use those means to completely own you. He did it effortlessly, because you craved it. Because he craved it.

That’s why the thought of Vox even looking in your way was heretic, and not in a good way. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing you to Vox. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. Period. You were his.

 But adding that man into the equation just made everything more intolerable. The things he would do if he found out about you… Found out that not only you were his but how you could make someone feel. How precious and undeserving of anything less than good you were… 

You were made to be cherished and protected. Protected by him.

 In fact, it took all of the Radio Demon’s willpower to restrain from walking to the Vees building, and kill Vox for something he didn’t do. Because Alastor wouldn’t allow the thought to even cross his mind. All that, a messy display of his desperation and loss of control. Giving that prick the smug satisfaction of knowing somehow he got to him, in his last moments. 

Damn, his rut truly did make him on edge.

Suppressing his murderous thoughts, Alastor focused his mind into something he as actually good at: torture. Yours specifically. He still wanted to punish you for making him feel like this. He still wanted to make you understand.

And he just thought of the sweetest way to do it.

-

After cleaning up the mess on the corridor, and yourself (you did it all on autopilot, still trying to understand what the FUCK happened) you still had to give Angel a satisfaction about why you didn’t come back. You must’ve looked really miserable cause Angel just hugged you really tight and ordered you to bed. When in reality all of your efforts were now focused on masking your humiliating arousal. So you find yourself lying in your bed, trying not to think anything Radio Demon related. You’re totally not thinking about the way he looked at you while he fucked you. The way his eyes would search yours in a crowded room, winking playfully at you. An inside joke. A promise.The way you both playfully banter at the dinner table over silly things. You are also totally not thinking about how he takes you, how you love to hear him saying “good girl” to you after you push your limits again, only for him. Not thinking at all about how his cock fills you so perfectly, you truly feel empty without it. Who’s thinking about what hides behind his eyes when he his voice goes all soft in the middle of a rough fucking? Ha ha!! Definitely not you. 

You punch yourself with your pillow. 

C’mon don’t think thoughts of Alastor now…

You are so fucked, and not in a sexy way. The worst part is that you want to endure it, you want to be good for him. Your pussy is aching to be touched, your mind begging you to have thoughts of Alastor while your pussy is being touched. But right now you would give everything in this world to hear him praise you again. You know how hard his rut is on him… He already carries a lot alone, the Hotel, the doomsday clock of extermination ticking closer and closer everyday. Plus the other things… You know there’s something more, something that haunts his nights, but it’s not your place to ask. Hell, you are too scared to ask. You just hope, you just pray that when it happens you are beside him. You don’t ever expect the Radio Demon to ever ask for help, or open up. Or seek comfort. Oh, he’s anything but comfortable. But you like to think that in time, he would feel comfortable enough around you he could let something slip, a tiny detail to add to your “The Mystery of the Radio Demon” clue board. Something that would let you show him he doesn’t need to pick himself apart, carry all these burdens alone.

Great, you are doing amazing at the “not thinking any Alastor thoughts” game. 

You hug your pillow closer and look across you window as you start saying out loud a list of things you need to do around the Hotel. Maybe this will take your mind off the devil.

Tend to the Venus Fly traps of the gardens. (You could ask Nifty for the bugs)

Write the thank you letters to the new guests that agreed to help with hotel chores.

Tell charlie about your book club idea using cool flashcards 

It’s your turn to organize “Theme nights”, maybe Alastor would enjoy a “great gatsby” theme, right?

Great, Alastor again. You sighed. 

Suddenly a red note written with perfect penmanship flies next to your spot on the bed.

“My darling doe, I’m waiting for you in my chambers.

Don’t take your time, we have much to discuss.-

Yours, Alastor.

You take your time, though, to thank anyone who’s listening as you sprint towards Alastor’s lavish room. You feel dizzy, anticipation like butterflies in your stomach. You don’t have to knock more than once for him to let you in. 

He’s on the edge of the bed, looking like his normal self (as normal as it gets for Alastor)

The taps the spot next to him on the the bed

“Come here, you darling thing!”

you don’t waste a second, and as quickly as you are sitting on his bed, you are sitting on lap. Holding you close, in a vice like grip with one of his arms, Alastor starts talking 

“How was the rest of your day, my dear?” you open your mouth to start talking, you have so much to say to him. That you were a good girl, that you were ready to do anything to make up for laughing at Angel’s stupid idea of seducing Vox. You are ready to beg for your release. to ask how his day was. But you don’t get to utter a word. 

Alastor quickly and swiftly maneuvers you: now your feet are dangling from the bed, your ass and  legs sprawled out across his lap. A powerful arm locking you to him by the small of your back.

Holy fuck.

“Well my day was downright awful! You see I overheard my pretty pet laughing at the prospect of seducing one of my most infuriating enemies. I’m in the peak of my unforgiving rut ,and all I wanted was the shared pleasure of our bodies as I fuck the darling thing senseless!” he pinches the back of your thigh, hard. You blur out a soft, desperate sigh. 

“Of course, the good girl she is, she went begging for my forgiveness. I didn’t fully give it, of course. That was a harsh offense, what my little doe did. But I did have my fill with her” You try to spea-

Alastor audibly shushes you.

“I did leave her all hot and bothered after spilling my cum all over her maddening little body, of course. I contenplated murdering the bastard demon so he wouldn’t get a chance of even knowing about her existence and what she does to me. But I still suffered with the hellish need of fucking her into oblivion, and pondered a lot about divine justice. So, if I had to suffer this entire day because of her offenses I think it’s only right for that darling doe to get her fill of suffering and punishment hmmmm?

 You try to look back to his face, but you feel the familiar sensation of magic wrapping around your throat. The leash, you are so so fucked. You couldn’t be happier about it.

He tugs at the chain, so your skirt rides up and your ass is totally bare for him and your head is buried in one of his fluffy pillows. With a snap of his fingers your panties disintegrate.

You shiver at the thought of what’s happening next, a delicious sensation that flows across your back and ends up inside your cunt, beginning to turn into a wet mess. He’s gonna spank you like the bad girl you were. He’s not going to be gentle about it either. You can’t wait. It’s gonna hurt, it’s gonna sting, it will leave you bruised. It will be deliciously wicked, like all of Alastor’s punishments. 

You feel another surge of magic, behind the powerful green glow something materializes.

Your horsegirl days back on earth don’t let you down. You recognise it instantly. On his previous free hand he’s holding a riding crop. A big, leather pointed riding crop. 

He’s going to literally whip you into submission. You squirm inside his arm. You can’t fucking wait. You’ve made yourself come a few times after the thought of being literally tamed, broke by alastor. 

You whimper. Alastor’s laugh fills the room.

“So this is how this is going to go, pet. I’m going to whip you lovely ass like the ungrateful slut you are and you are going to thank me for it after every crack of the whip. I’m gonna do this as many times as I see fit. Until your ass is as red as my hair. Until you understand what you did. By the time I’m done you will be begging to be punished more. Are we clear?

You can’t look back at him, but you can feel how his red irises make your skin burn. You like to imagine that his eyes did the thing where they soften for a heartbeat, if you blink you miss it. Waiting for your permission, even now. You are able to muffle a “yes, oh please Alastor, yes”. 

“Lovely.” 

crack.

He didn’t even gave you time to process. The whip lands hard on the back of your left thigh. You let out a scream.

“Well?” he asks impatiently as he waits for your “thank you”. Seeing the way the spot where the whip landed turn a lovely shade of scarlet isn’t helping him hold his resolve either.

You wanna do this right, you need this as much as he needs it.

“thank-”

crack. the whip lands on your right thigh, a little lower.

“tha-” 

crack.crack.

 He whips you even harder, cutting the wind as it lands twice on your left buttcheek. Only four cracks down and you are a whimpering mess. You wiggle instinctively on his lap, seeking some friction, some relief. It hurts so bad, but it feels so good. You don’t know if you can take more. You want it anyway. “thank you, thank you” you whimper. Tears wet your face, arousal wets your core adding to the mess from before he even started.

crack. crack.

 He mirrors his movements to your right buttcheek. “thank yo- Holy fuck Alastor”

one more hit, now hitting both of your buttcheks. 

“I’ve told you many times before pet, there’s nothing holy about what I do to you. I’m gonna break you and then breed you. I won’t give you a moment of respite. And maybe by the end, when your legs are shaking from holding that orgasm you have been desperately chasing since this afternoon, I will be merciful and let you find your release. And we will know who’s really losing control here”

How can he do this to you with only his voice? You are not sure you’ve ever been so aroused in your entire life. You’re so wet, you’re staining Alastor’s pants. As close as you will get to marking him.

There’s a draft coming from the forest of his room, it softly kisses your abused skin, making it sting. You want to see the state of your lower body so badly. The way you’re submitting to him right now, the most sweet form degradation possible. Your eyes are clouded with tears, that line between pain and pleasure being blurred in ways only someone like the Radio Demon could cross. He tugs on your leash, to attract your attention from the sinful, unholy sensations you are feeling so openly, back to him.

Alastor drags the leather point of the whip across your throbbing cunt, collecting the obscene amount of wetness there. “By the 7 rings of hell, what do you have here? Are you such a slut that you are creaming at being whipped into compliance? I could do this all night long. Your ass is already red with regret for your actions but I’m not sure you learned your lesson yet.”

crack. The whip this time lands on your juicy cunt. Your hips trash with the sensation, your demon lover’s name escaping your lips like a prayer.You forget to thank him this time, despite your best efforts. 

“Are you so big of an ungrateful brat that you want this sinful punishment to continue? Not even bothering to thank me, in hopes it will end sooner. You know what you are. Nothing but a hungry greedy whore for the Radio Demon” 

crack, crack. One hit on each cheek. “But I already knew that” and with that mocking tone Alastor lands a  masterful final hit on both of your cheeks. He does have a way of proving his point.

You are fucking sobbing now. Tears coat your cheeks, now a colour so vibrant as the rich scarlet the covers your ass. Alastor knows everything that makes you tick. He knows how close you are to cumming. Cumming for only his masterfully inflicted punishment and his voice. Incoherent whimpers leave your lips “please please please” and soft “ohh and aaah, alastor”

He tugs on your leash again, he knows your body like the palm of his hand, and that you are probably entering the mind numbing phase of the pain and the pleasure. But he still wants your undivided attention. He has whipped you into submission, he still needs to fuck you into submission. 

“And you even made the mess of yourself stain my pants! My god, you are pathetic. Delightfully pathetic” 

Alastor gently runs his clawed hands across your ass, the sharp edges making you hiss. He looks in adoration at the masterpiece he inflicted on you. Your ass and thighs a shade of scarlet to rival his hair, the wetness between your thighs a heavenly invitation. Beautiful. Sinful.  Sacred. He will never forget this, and he will make sure that you never forget it too.

“Now, now, we are done with this my little doe” his voice goes extra soft because you can’t see him with your face buried in a soft pillow. “you were so good for me, you always are” 

The softness and sweetness of his praise makes you sob even harder. It’s maddening. 

He gently maneuvers you further into the bed, making space for himself. 

“But now I’m painfully hard, and I still need to bury myself inside that tight throbbing cunt of yours, so deep it will mark. your. soul.” static picks up around you, a delicious omen of what is about to happen. 

Alastor positions himself behind you, immediately entering you and bottoming out. 

His first thrusts are sharp and deep, as to make his promise of marking yourself from the inside real. He pulls your chains so your scarlet ass is presenting itself to him like the most sinful gift. 

Alastor picks up that breakneck pace of fucking, common to him, specially during his rut. He fucks you like he hates you. As hard as he possibly can, to make you know that you are his and his only. That even thinking of someone else, even as a joke, will not be tolerated. You wanted all of him didn’t you? You’ve made that clear, with words, with actions, with the things your body endures for him. So he makes sure to give you that. 

Moans drip from your lips in a crescendo, you are screaming now, you don’t know how long you will last. It feels so good. That delayed gratification drowning you in maddening pleasure. 

“Who do you think is losing control here?” he asks after a painfully sharp thrust. “Me, or the mess of a slut underneath me? That is screaming my name loud enough for the entire pride ring to know how she loves being fucked like a common whore for the Radio Demon,hmm?” 

One hand pulls your leash upwards, the other your hips. He’s even deeper now, you can feel him in your core.

You don’t reply to the question even though you want to, even though you know the answer. 

“Again, since you like being bred like that so much you are not hearing me” he takes all of his cock out and enters you at once. “Who’s losing control here? Me, or my little plaything with the scarlet ass from being whipped into compliance like the pretty little brat she is?” 

You don’t forget to answer him now, you need to cum, desperately. You withheld your building orgasm  for an entire day, you wanted to be good for Alastor. You wanted to be able to take everything he gives you. The pleasure, the pain, the sinful, delicious depraved torture. “Me, I am!” you scream out. 

Alastor’s pace is becoming erratic, you feel the shadows of his growing antlers cover you.

“Again” he tugs at your collars. Another sharp, deep thrust. 

“Me, i’m losing control” 

“And what are you?” his voice is filled with static now, he’s close too.

“Yours! I’m yours Alastor, yours to fuck, to break, to punish” you cry out in sweet pain and pleasure. 

Another tug, Another painfully sharp thrust 

“I’m only yours Alastor” you finish. 

“Good. girl.” he spaces the words out between thrusts, knowing how you relish in them. 

“You can come now” 

Your orgasm comes crashing down. You grip the sheets like a maniac, your legs shaking so hard Alastor needs to hold them in place. You scream so loud you are sure they can hear you in heaven. You hope they can, so they know. So they know this man owns you. So they know you love him. 

Alastor is not far behind, your cunt tightening around him like a vice. He fucks you specially hard and deep know, delayed gratification hitting all at once. He cums so hard inside you, he’s sure he finally marked your soul. The feeling of his cock twitching and spilling inside you, adding to the indescriptible sensation. You are completely over the edge now, you feel weightless, free falling. 

You know Alastor will catch you.

“Ah! There she is” you open your eyes and feel a soft kiss on your cheek. You are lying on top of Alastor’s chest, he cuddles you gently, making lazy circles on your hipbone but still buried to the hilt inside you. He still plans to give you all of his cum, all he has during his rut,after all. 

“woah, that was… amazing” you say after a while.

“Well, I did whip and fuck you to the brink of insanity my dear. And you came so beautifully for me, you passed out. You’re such a sight pet. I will never forget it.” you blush at his words. You feel so happy. 

Alastor kisses your cheek again, and with a final thrust he leaves you with a obscenely wet noise. You are dripping with his cum, it’s running down your thighs, staining the sheets. 

You whimper in complaint. 

“Ah ,don’t be like that” he laughs, is a genuinely happy laugh. “There’s still plenty of where that came from, but I need my darling doe to rest first” he says. He’s lying you gently on the bed as he gets up. “Don’t leave” you whisper. 

He’s out of the bed anyways, and seems to be on his way to do something. You don’t care, you want him back here, holding you. You don't want him to ever let you go.

“Al, i’m truly sorry about today. You know that, right?” You know that I love you, right?  You want to say, but you are scared that confession is a little much for today. You see where he’s headed now. He opens the bathroom door.

“Don’t even think about it, my dear. It’s all water under the bridge” he says in his usual chirpy tone, louder than the noise of the bath running. “Now you just need to promise me that you will never even let the thought of that pathetic demon cross your mind, my love”

my love.

“And if he ever does, you will let me know. So I can fuck those wretched ideas out of your mind” Alastor is walking back to the bed now. He picks you up bridal style and carries you across the room. You can’t help the hiss that escape your lips as your irritated skin touches him. “I know, I know my dear. We will fix that right up. I can’t have my favourite doe hurting. We still have a long way to go until the end of my rut, dearest” you don’t reply, you are just happy. perfectly happy. You could hear Alastor’s voice for days without complaining. “But you did look so perfect with that scarlet ass on my lap. Crying from how much you love what I do to you. I hope you never forget that” 

You both reach the bathtub, he drops you with all the care in the world inside the water.

“I’m so proud of you. I truly am” the water is warm. The soap smells so nice. He lit candles too. You give in to the soothing sensations. You might have tuned out for a bit, cause you hear alastor calling your name so softly… He says it again, slow, soft, gentle, pleading. As to catch your attention, he has something important to say. “You know how precious you are to me, don’t you my little doe?” “yes” you respond, trying to fight the tears that begin to spill down your face ‘

“Oh my darling girl, why are you crying? There’s nothing to cry about. You are here, safe with me. As you will always be, as is your place.”

“Alastor I-I-” your heart swells, you want to say something. You want to say everything you are feeling. How consuming, in the best way possible, your feelings are for him.

But Alastor is always 10 steps ahead. 

“I know, I know darling” he kisses your hand “I feel it too.” he says. It feels like a confession, it sounds like a confession. The look on his eyes is the one of that mystery that hides there every time his voice in the midst of your passion. 

When you,know you know. your mind reiterates. 

“Let me help you dry those tears. Save them for another day” He holds your face and kiss your lips. “The only thing you need to worry about right now is resting and recovering that luscious body of yours, as well as your brilliant, witty mind”

He hands you a sparkly fancy pink soap, and gets up to find the softest sponge he has stored. 

“Now, I hope you like the smell of these candles, cause I’m not letting you out of my sight for at least the next four days!” 

Alastor continues to chat away sweet nothings as he helps you bathe. Maybe it will take a while for the Radio Demon to say those 4 words out loud. He has enough reason for that, inside that beautiful, complicated mind of his. His actions always speak louder than words, your relationship was proof of that. 

Until then, you will always have sacred moments in crowded rooms, you will always have jokes that only the both of you understand. He will always keep sweeping you off your feet in the most deliciously wicked ways possible. 

Right now, you have him by your side after everything that happened, you have his heart too. You are sure of that. So you don’t mind waiting for him.

Good things come for those who wait.

#atenção creuzebek vamos lá vai começar a baixaria #author is also in heat can you tell #METE COM FORÇA E COM TALENTO EU TO OFEGANTE E VC PERCEBENDO #alastor x reader #alastor #alastor x reader smut #the radio demon #the radio demon x you #hope uou guys like it!! #VEM DE CHICOTE ALGEMA CORDA DE ALPINISTA #baixaria

[sxtaep]

ANTI ROMANTIC - PJM

you could come across as the number one hater of the male species, but not when it came to jimin.

pairing — jimin x female reader

genre — fluff, smut

word count — 3.4k+

warnings/tags — friends2lovers, fwb!au, dom!jimin, sub!reader, teasing, reader is an anti-romantic, lots of ranting, reader confesses, making out, swearing, explicit smut, mutual masturbation, voyeurism, exhbitionism, pillow riding, dirty talk, orgasm denial, reader is very put on the spot, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, guys) crying, creampie +more

a/n: what to do when the nation is in mourning? write jimin smut 💀 rest up queen elizabeth though, i remember when she came to my school and shook my hand after i gave her a bouquet of flowers 😭

You just wrapped up what you could only call the worst blind date known to mankind. The guy was smug and cocky: you could tell he probably had a thing for being better than women, and that right there was an immediate red flag for you.

Now sitting behind the wheel of your car, pure irritation evident on your face, all you could think about was how the fuck you could face Jimin after another failed blind date. That and the fact that you slept with Jimin a couple times but neither of you had the guts to really put a label on yourselves.

It was agreed your relationship with Jimin was strictly ‘no strings attached’, merely using each other as an output to deal with the stress of work. The two of you must’ve been stressed everyday since it seemed that was how often you both went at it.

“I’ve got a blind date tonight,” you tell him, entering his office to bother him as you usually did.

A blind date?

Jimin wasn’t expecting you to start dating people whilst sleeping with him on the down low. Was that how these things worked?

“You’re going on a date? Why?” He looks up from his desk, clearly confused about it since you always preached about how much you hated men and relationships.

You shrug, “I can’t keep sleeping with you for the rest of my life, eventually you’ll fall in love with someone else and want to get married and have kids.”

You weren’t wrong, Jimin did have all this planned for his future, but he never really saw some other girl with him. All these plans were made with the intention of doing them with you.

“Plus, it’s not like we’re together or anything, so I don’t see what’s stopping me.”

“Well…” he didn’t really know what to say. Does he suddenly confess now or never? If this blind date of yours was a success, he’ll never have the chance to tell you how he really felt, but you seemed really excited about it, he shouldn’t ruin that for you.

“I mean, are you sure you wanna go on a blind date? Kind of a big step for someone who hates relationships,” he says, cocking a brow at you sat opposite his desk.

You didn’t seem as concerned as he was, but then again, why did he care so much?

“Do you want me to give you hourly updates or something? Seems a bit much, Park,” you chuckle softly, failing to notice the inner conflict he was having. “Are you worried about me?”

“No, I’m just looking out for you,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes at your silly teasing. In all honesty, it felt like he was being replaced. “Whatever though, don’t come crying to me late at night when the date doesn’t go to plan.”

When you get home, you you contemplate on updating Jimin. A part of you wanted to send him a message but the other didn’t wanna hear him say ‘I told you so’ as he did many times before.

But fuck it.

you: are you at home?

jimin: yeah, why? you coming over? or you wanna meet somewhere else?

you: no, just make sure you’re home

With that final message sent, you change out of your date night clothes, opting for something more comfortable, but once you’re out of your dress, you look down at your bare body in nothing but intricate black lace (yes, you wore a set with the intention of getting laid tonight) and figured you’d keep it on.

For Jimin.

You throw on a long trench coat to cover up, shivering a little once the material is wrapped securely around your naked body. It was a risky game going out like this, but for some reason, you felt obligated to do this.

If he wanted to make you feel bad, you may as well look good whilst he did it.

The very moment you had texted Jimin, he had just come out the shower, clean and fresh. He re-read your message a couple times, trying to figure out why you were coming over all of a sudden. Was the date so great you wanted to gush about it to him? Or did it go so terribly you were about to rant as soon as you stepped in? Or possibly, were you coming over to fuck?

He couldn’t quite put his finger on it and continued about his night, dressing loosely with a pair of sweatpants and no shirt.

Why wear so much if it was gonna come off anyway?

With that thought, three knocks were had at his door, and he had no doubt that it was you.

You were left waiting for a couple seconds, tapping your foot against the carpeted floor continuously until you were met with a very bare Jimin, forcing your incessant tapping to come to a halt and your breath to catch in your throat.

You eyed every inch of him; his perfectly sculpted v-line, the crevices of his abs, the simple, yet impacting ‘never mind’ tattoo adorning his ribs, and finally his face, which was slightly moist due to the droplets of water falling from the ends of his hair.

“Hi..” you say breathlessly, “Can I come in?”

Jimin caught you eyeing him up, but chose not to comment on it. Instead, he moves aside to let you in, “By all means.”

As you step inside, his eyes follow your form taking notice of the unusual outfit you were wearing. Heels with your legs bare, you must’ve been wearing a dress underneath the coat, but he couldn’t be certain, the damn coat was shielding away his curiosity.

“I’m guessing your date didn’t go well,” Jimin chuckles softly, closing the front door and turning to look at you, “Wanna talk about it over a drink?” Though it sounded like an open ended question, he didn’t wait for you to respond, already making his way into the kitchen to pull out two wine glasses.

“Listen…” you start, your voice low, yet loud enough for Jimin to hear. You’re stuck standing by the door, watching, him set the two glasses down on the marble counter. “I.. am a good girl,” you begin, trying not to sound stupid. “In school, I always followed the rules to the point where a lot of people actually hated me for it.”

The confusion on Jimin’s face was clear as day, and you knew he was about to interrupt you, but you continue to talk, raising your hand up towards him, “Let me finish,” you exhale, “I didn’t have my first kiss until I was 17, probably because I hated the idea of it.”

What the hell were you talking about?

Jimin cocks a brow, leaving his position behind the counter to approach you, “Did I do something wrong?”

The man never hated you, nor did he think you were crazy to have such outlandish opinions on relationships (he understood where you were coming from) and sometimes it was annoying, but not annoying enough to push you away from him. At the end of the day, you were close friend to him.

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong,” you reassure him, stopping Jimin in his tracks. “I shouldn’t have gone on that blind date. It went horribly.”

There’s a moment of silence between the two of you, and Jimin remained as he was in case you were still speaking.

“This failed blind date, along with everything we’ve done together, made me realise I’m only ever genuinely happy when I’m with you. It’s pretty fun not having to fuck my pillow every night,” you say, your cheeks growing beet red at the confession. “And I think it’s safe to say that I don’t not want be in a relationship..”

Your eyes meet his and for the first time tonight, Jimin was speechless. He hadn’t said a word and at this moment, you were glad. “So…” your hands travel down to the belt tied around your waist, pulling on one end to loosen the knot and have the coat comfortably slip free down your shoulders, revealing the black strap of you bra draped over your shoulders.

Jimin knew what was coming. He was bracing himself for what you were about to do.

The trench coat finally hit the floor, pooling around your feet and his breath hitches. He raked his eyes up and down your body, drinking in the sight of you. Flawless skin, perfect curves and a face so radiant, you were the only thing glowing under the dim light of his apartment.

“Woah,” is all he says, having no shame displaying the grin on his face. “You sure know how to flatter a man, Y/N,” Jimin shakes his head, as if disapproving your outfit, but really, the man was losing it inside.

He’s quick on his feet, steadily approaching your form and stopping in front of you, his eyes solemnly kept on you, “I’m glad you finally came to your senses,” he says, reaching his hand up to cup your cheek, gently smoothing his thumb across your skin. “How about we do something a little more fitting for your attire tonight?”

You didn’t bother processing his words, wasting no time in crashing your lips against his in an aggressive kiss, Jimin undoubtedly reciprocating and automatically wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer to his chest.

His embrace wasn’t long lasting, hands moving down the small of your back to briefly graze the curve of your ass before settling behind your upper thighs, hoisting you up, “Jump,” Jimin mumbles against your lips, eliciting a short hum from you and you immediately oblige, wrapping your legs around your waist and he held onto you securely.

Not once did either of you break the kiss as he carried you towards his bedroom, but once in his bedroom, you pulled away to catch your breath. “I bet you do this with every girl you hook up with, huh?”

“Just you, sweetheart,” he smirks, responding with zero hesitation, gently laying you lie body on his mattress so he could cherish the sight of you.

A gorgeous, stunning, goddess.

“I bet your pillow’s gonna get bored now, huh?”

Your jaw drops, cheeks turning a slight hue of red from embarrassment. Maybe you shouldn’t have told him about that, now he’d be able to use it against you at any given opportunity. You prop yourself up on your elbows, tilting your head at the partly-naked man before you, “I bet my pillow can make me feel a lot better than you can.”

“You wanna test that theory out?” Jimin challenges, leaning over you to grab one of the many pillows on his bed, leaving it beside you. “Can your pillow make you cry? Can your pillow fuck you as good as I can?” He continues to list out all the things you both done together over the last few months, knowing full well the answer to all his questions were no.

He shifts his position to climb onto the bed, leaning back against the headboard with his legs spread far and wide to show you the tent straining against his sweatpants. “If it can, then show me,” he gestures towards the pillow and your almost at a loss for words.

He was gonna watch you get off, and you felt so belittled liking the idea of it.

You grab ahold of the pillow, fluffing it up a bit for your own comfort. “Fine, but you’re not allowed to touch me and you have to sit on the other side of your room,” you instruct him, pointing to the chair tucked under his desk.

Gosh, you were so bossy, but Jimin would do anything to make a princess happy.

“And you’re not allowed to come,” he warns you, pushing himself off the bed and towards his desk, pulling the chair out to face you before taking a seat, adjusting the boner in his pants before gesturing his chin towards you, encouraging you to make a start. “Go ahead, I’ll tell you when to stop.”

You take his previous position and lean back against the headboard, making yourself comfortable before spreading your legs before him, giving him the perfect view of your soaked panties firmly pressing against you. You took your time, hovering your fingers over the damp material and briskly brushing over your clothed clit, triggering your body to shudder.

Knowing that wasn’t enough for you, you slipped your hand past the band of your panties, the pad of your fingers reaching to rub slow, drawn out circles over your sensitive clit. You didn’t need to do much, the mere sight of Jimin turning you on beyond measures.

Jimin was sat far across from you, his chin slightly raised as he watched you and his hand unknowingly palming the erection trapped between his legs and groaning. It hurt so bad he just pushed his sweatpants halfway down his thighs along with his boxers to free the painful erection. He couldn’t bring himself to take his eyes off you as his fingers simultaneously wrapped around his hardening cock.

“Don’t work yourself up too much, you still have that pillow to attend to,” Jimin’s voice echoed through the room, almost missing your attention. You were getting carried away with your own fingers, you completely forgot about the pillow.

You groan and reach out for the pillow, now sitting up on your knees, and spreading your legs apart to make room for the pillow. The pillow was thick enough for you to have a firm hold on it, and as soon as you sunk down on it, the knock on effect of the material brushing over your heat left you whimpering.

Your reactions had Jimin squeezing on the base of his cock, revelling over how sensitive you were.

He loved it.

All you had to do was imagine the pillow was Jimin and you’d be good to go. It seemed effective once you started rocking your hips back and forth against the pillow, failing to contain your short, but sweet whimpers. Your hips would slow down every now and again, taking long, deep strokes to delay your orgasm as much as possible but it didn’t seem to work.

You looked up at Jimin who’s position was now slouched on the chair, steadily pumping his cock between his fists as he watched you.

“Don’t look at me..” you mumble shyly, shaking your head and looking down at the pillow that had already picked up your arousal, darkening the material slightly.

“Why not?” he chuckles breathlessly, repeatedly swiping his thumb over the head of his cock and smearing any and all the precum down the base. His eyes came to a shut in pure bliss as he picked up the pace of his wrist, his groans becoming low moans. All he could think about were your perfect pouty lips wrapping around his cock and sucking him off just right.

“Take the bra off, lemme’ see your tits.”

You don’t hesitate to oblige, flipping your hair to the side and reaching your hands back to unclasp your bra and let the straps fall seamlessly down your shoulders. Your nipples had hardened within seconds being exposed but you couldn’t bring yourself to care enough, too busy rutting against the pillow.

“I can’t believe you let me go on a blind date,” you seethe, projecting your anger towards him and the pace of your hips, now struggling to keep yourself stable.

“We weren’t exactly together, I couldn’t stop you,” Jimin tries to reason with you, aggravation evident in his tone as he mercilessly fucked his fist. He was close, and from the way your body was jerking, he knew you were close too.

It took the man everything and more to still his hand along his member and stand up from his chair, walking over to you with a sly smirk on his face.

“On your stomach, raise your hips. And tell me, what do you think about when you fuck your pillow?”

You whine and force yourself to pull the pillow from between your legs, leaving it elsewhere as you positioned yourself like he’d asked.

“I think about you..” you whisper, “I think about your tongue— your hands all over me.” You hesitate to say more, but you knew that if you really wanted that orgasm, you had to spill. “I think about milking your cock every night, even before we started fucking,” you cry, pushing yourself back against him. The lack of attention to your weeping cunt was playing up with you, “And I love when you tease me— God, I fucking love it.”

Jimin grins, grabbing ahold of your hips and firmly rutting against you from behind, “Mhm, I’ll give you all that and more,” he smiles contently, positioning the head of his cock at your slick hole, teasing you a little before finally pushing into you and eliciting a low ‘fuck’ from his end.

The air is knocked out of lungs much quicker than you expected, the stretch catching you off guard, even though it wasn’t the first time you’d taken him like this; a clear indication you were yet to get used to his size.

“Been thinking about keeping you all to myself,” he admits, short of breath as he looked down between where your body’s met, “Just had to take my time with you. huh?”

Jimin’s words were going through one ear and out the other. All you could hear was his low grunts and your strained moans. “Oh my God— Jimin,” you force out, your half lidded eyes rolling to the back of your head as your poor cunt took him whole.

“No other man can make you feel as good as I can,” he retorts cockily, digging his nails into your hips once he feels your walls greedily squeeze around him. The action makes the pace of his hips falter, but he’s quick to get back on top of it, “Make sure you fucking remember that.”

You nod diligently. You already knew that his words were the truth and the way he was putting it into practice was taking over your being, almost brainwashing you.

You do him the favour of arching your back a little more, giving Jimin all the more room to hold onto you, but it seemed like he had other plans, using this opportunity to pull out and forcing you turn around to lie on your back. You couldn’t say anything, his arms hooking under your knees to push them up towards your chest before swiftly pushing into you again, thrusting at a pace so ungodly, you were sure you couldn’t handle it.

“Too much, Jimin!” you gasp, turning your head away from him to shield your embarrassing state.

He was quick to notice and grabbed ahold of your cheeks, forcing you to look back at him and he continued to fuck you at his torturous pace, rolling his heels deeper into you, “Look at me when I’m fucking you.”

You couldn’t imagine what you looked like right now, but Jimin could safely say you looked like every man’s wet dream. Your fucked out state had his cock twitching between your soft walls, and you couldn’t help but clench around him, giving him that final push to reach his high.

“I’m close..” you breathe out, shaking your head in a bid to ease yourself of your coming orgasm, but Jimin was adamant on having your full, undivided attention.

“Don’t you dare look away from me,” he says, releasing your knees from its contraption only to have your legs dangle over his shoulders as he brought his thumb down to circle over your clit and using it as leverage to push you towards your orgasm.

And that seemed to do the job. A string of curses fell from your lips as you completely broke down on him, a sheen layer of white making an appearance between your legs which only became more prominent once Jimin slowed down. A visible mix of white had coated his cock as he continued to slowly fuck you in a bid to help you calm down.

Jimin’s jaw fell slack once he decided to pull out of you, leaving a trail of white behind him as he fell to lie beside you,

You both finally established this was more than just a mutual fuck; it was an open-ended gateway for the pair of you to become something more.

perm taglist: @aliceaflor5-blog - @kookiecrumb - @jjkeverlast - @prettyghost - @kooliv - @koobsessed - @gimmethatagustd - @pb-n-juju - @aslias17 - @ririlovesangst - @kootonins - @taehyungseggs - @dewamused - @jungshook7 - @jiminsneckkisses - @moonfaery - @jkluvrrs

Please do not repost my works onto any platforms.

#sxtaep #park jimin #jimin #park jimin x reader #jimin x reader #jimin smut #bts x reader #bts smut #bts imagine #bts oneshot #jimin x oc #bts x oc #bts fluff #kpop #kpop smut #kpop imagines #park jimin imagine #jimin imagine

[starsandhughes]

Penalty Box Series— Trevor Zegras Edition (Two)

23-24 Season Masterlist

previous: one

next: three

a/n so i def posted this then deleted it bc i hated it bc i wrote it in the 1-3am range… and now i’m writing it again in that range… fingers crossed!

i’m sorry this is short!

OCTOBER 15, 2023

yourusername

liked by trevorzegras, jamie.drysdale, and 16,611 others

yourusername welcome back to my post game penalty box update show, céline dion fans and non-céline dion fans! tonight was the ducks home opener and it was a doozy!

first i want to address that my lil quackies have now won their home opener 8 years in a row and are now 20-9-1 in their 30 year history for home openers! and if you’re like me and ✨love✨ stats, then you’ll be thrilled to learn that mr. frank “the tank” vatrano is the FIRST DUCK EVER TO SCORE A HAT TRICK IN THE HOME OPENER! shoutout to mason, who passed frankie the puck so that he could score the empty netter for the hatty, and made me cry at how sweet he was! (yes, they got good job forehead kisses because i love them soooo much!)

now, on to the fun stuff that you’re all here for! my future husband and baby daddy got his first penalty tonight, and oooo lordy, he looked fine! seriously, like, you think you all were freaking out about how hot he was in the box? imagine how i feel! he’s coming home to me!

his penalty was for “holding the stick” against aho (queue the boos) he did not agree with the penalty and made sure to scoff at the refs so that they knew they made a ridiculous call (i legally have to be on his side)

but get this— the penalty was called 11 seconds into z’s shift, it was the 6th official power play for the canes! we love! (we don’t love that it resulted in a c*nes goal though)

what was my favorite part of the game, you ask? it was the scrum, of course! my mans tried his best in holding back pesce, but he really just clung onto him as he got dragged around the scrum because he… is pocket sized compared to pesce. the 9th photo is of z clinging onto him from behind. i imagine pesce’s inner monologue was like “if the child will not move off me, then i shall move with the child. i am undeterred by the diminutive boy.”

ANYHOOZLE, i’m so proud of my boys! especially jamie baby, who now has back to back assists! this is your reputation era, jd! i love you endlessly <3

and to my z-baby, i’m perpetually proud of you and i’m sure you’ll do something productive soon! i love you, always💜 (and you look hot as fuck in purple) (you should buy more purple)

(p.s. did you all really think i’d only post one pic of my mans in the box when he looked that hot in it tonight? guess again! post two coming soon!)

tagged trevorzegras

view all 277 comments

trevorzegras i can’t tell if i was attacked or loved more in the post but i love you, forever, my sweet girl! (i’ll buy more purple) (i’m not pocket sized! or diminutive! at all! that’s quinn!)

yourusername i’d like to think i had an even balance of love and bullying<3 (you are compared to a 6’4 man!) (quintin’s gonna kill you and i’m going to have to let him)

trevorzegras he wouldn’t dare kill his future brother-in-law! and i’m going to be a the dad to his nieces/newphews/both!

_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras count your days, zegras

trevorzegras @_quinnhughes THEN YOUR SISTER WON’T HAVE A FATHER FOR HER KIDS!

_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras she has options

trevorzegras @_quinnhughes no? she doesn’t?

_quinnhughes @/jamie.drysdale would you be the dad to sissy’s kids if i kill trevor?

jamie.drysdale @_quinnhughes of course

_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras see? options!

yourusername @/jamie.drysdale aw, jamie baby! i’m gonna cry!

trevorzegras @/yourusername HE IS NOT GOING TO BE THE DAD TO OUR TWINS

yourusername @/trevorzegras FINE

user76 you’re so real for knowing all of us were acting whoreish over him in the box

yourusername this house is pro whore!

user14 “mwah!” -z in the 5th pic

jamie.drysdale i love YOU endlessly! so happy to have my own professional cheerleader back this year

yourusername wym “back”??? i never stopped being your cheerleader! i’m offended at best

colecaufield @/yourusername i would never do that to you

jamie.drysdale @/colecaufield you’re just mad that quinn asked me to be the dad to the twins

trevorzegras @/colecaufield @.jamie.drysdale I’M THE DAD! I’M THE FATHER! I’M THE BABY DADDY!

yourusername @/trevorzegras wow… jealous much?

colecaufield @/trevorzegras it’s hypothetical! if quinn kills you, then it should be me! i’m best friend number two!

jamie.drysdale @/colecaufield but she wouldn’t have to move if it’s me!

yourusername @/matthew_tkachuk congrats! if quinn kills trevor, you get to raise the twins with me as their dad!

matthew_tkachuk @/yourusername do you want your own room? or just the nursery and you can sleep with me?

yourusername @/matthew_tkachuk we can share the bed!

trevorzegras @/yourusername @.matthew_tkachuk NO

jamie.drysdale @/yourusername NO FAIR

colecaufield @/yourusername RUDE!

yourusername @/matthew_tkachuk 10 minutes ago, i lost my dear fiancé, trevor

trevorzegras @/yourusername I’M NOT ACTUALLY DEAD

yourusername @/matthew_tkachuk sometimes i can still hear his voice

matthew_tkachuk @/yourusername i’m sorry for your loss

yourusername @/matthew_tkachuk i’m not

trevorzegras @/yourusername divorce.

yourusername @/trevorzegras we can’t get a divorce if i’m a widow

trevorzegras @/yourusername ghost divorce.

user12 HE’S SO CUTE AHH

colecaufield @/trevorzegras wrong 22, bitch

trevorzegras @/colecaufield all’s fair in love and war

yourusername @/trevorzegras i don’t think you used that correctly

colecaufield @/trevorzegras so you admit to cheating?!

trevorzegras @/colecaufield no? there was a war i had to stop, and i love you! i didn’t “cheat”

yourusername @/trevorzegras you definitely didn’t use that correctly

user32 this game was everything to me

user4 Z’S HAIR IN THE 8THE PIC🥵😭

jackhughes @/trevorzegras i can’t believe the father of my future nieces/nephews/both is a criminal…

trevorzegras @/jackhughes you’re one to talk!

jackhughes @/trevorzegras that’s not the point!

_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras @/jackhughes @.lhughes_06 i’m the only one of us that’s not a criminal! none of you should get to see the babies!

yourusername @_quinnhughes i love you so much but trevor is screaming and *i’m* about to kill you

lhughes_06 @_quinnhughes you pissed off the princess

trevorzegras @_quinnhughes has she ever threatened your death?

_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras i don’t think so

jackhughes @_quinnhughes you REALLY pissed off the princess

user47 “i legally have to be on his side” that’s true love baby!

_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras the war begins

trevorzegras @_quinnhughes you're at 2 games?

_quinnhughes @/trevorzegras 2 more than you

yourusername war! war! war! war!

_alexturcotte war! war! war! war!

yourusername @_alexturcotte you? you get me

_quinnhughes @_alexturcotte @/yourusername heathens

yourusername @_quinnhughes you quite literally started this war

trevorzegras @_quinnhughes heathen

user62 Z IS SO CUTE AHH

_alexturcotte céline dion? are you 60?

yourusername i love her

trevorzegras @_alexturcotte what can i say? i love me an older woman

yourusername @/trevorzegras if you have a mommy kink, just say so

jamie.drysdale @/yourusername WHY

yourusername @/jamie.drysdale i just want to make my mans happy! i love him!

trevorzegras @/yourusername forever?

yourusername @/trevorzegras always💜

yourusername

liked by trevorzegras, jackhughes, and 11,341 others

yourusername soooo..... i couldn't just pick 8 pictures... and then i couldn't just pick 17 pictures... so here's 26 more pictures for a grand total of 34 (not including the penalty count)!

enjoy pictures of:

-z looking unreasonably hot in the penalty box

-z looking unreasonably hot in his plum carpet fit

-his many faces during games

-z attacking aho (#JusticeForJack)

-the scrum turn into a conga line

-jamie baby in his plum carpet fit (he also looks very good! both my boys were in blue <3)

-jamie baby's faces during the game

-jamie baby playing volleyball with the puck

with love,

sissy🤍

tagged trevorzegras and jamie.drysdale

jamie.drysdale NO

_quinnhughes @/jamie.drysdale welcome to the club! i’m so sorry

trevorzegras @/jamie.drysdale it could be worse

yourusername no one is safe🫶 ever💜

jamie.drysdale @/yourusername i thought you loved me

yourusername @/jamie.drysdale this is how i show love

jackhughes @/jamie.drysdale you should've known this was coming

jamie.drysdale @/jackhughes i thought i’d be safe since i didn't get a penalty

colecaufield @/jamie.drysdale good thing you don't get paid for thinking

user3 I'M LOSING MY MIND AT THE CONGA LINE

user46 oh i’m drooling

trevorzegras not all of these pictures are bad ones of me and i’m taking that as a win! i love you, forever💜

yourusername i know! aren't i the sweetest? (i love you, always)

trevorzegras i don't call you my sweet girl for nothing!

jackhughes @/yourusername he's lying to you

yourusername @/jackhughes die.

trevorzegras soooo sweet💜

lhughes_06 @/jamie.drysdale just wait til you get your own post

jamie.drysdale @/lhughes_06 you and jack didn't get one and you two got penalties!

yourusername @/jamie.drysdale i was mad at them at the time!

jamie.drysdale @/yourusername be mad at me

yourusername @/jamie.drysdale never.

yourusername @/lhughes_06 p.s. congratulations on losing your nhl penalty virginity!

lhughes_06 @/yourusername why are you like this?

yourusername @/lhughes_06 to make your life more interesting

lhughes_06 @/yourusername my life is interesting!

yourusername @/lhughes_06 you're welcome!

#penalty box series #trevor zegras #trevor zegras x hughes reader #trevor zegras imagine #trevor zegras x reader #trevor zegras x y/n #trevor zegras edit #trevor zegras au #quinn hughes #jamie drysdale #jamie drysdale imagine #jack hughes #luke hughes #anaheim ducks #cole caufield

[leclerc-s]

snow angel - track two

series masterlist // previous // next

2 YEARS AGO

i'll fucking fight him. i swear it.

no honey, you don't have to.

i saw this coming.

how on earth could you see this coming?

he was distant.

i've told him i loved him for days and he always responded me "me too" or worse he said nothing back

oh sweetie

how did you put up with that? you deserve so much better.

it's okay. i'm moving out of our apartment tonight. ryan said i can stay with him for a few weeks.

i love him lily. i don’t know when those feelings will go away. i hope they go away soon. i can’t keep loving someone who hurt me this bad.

i promise you i’ll fight him when i see him in bahrain next season.

i hope he dnfs

i hope you write a fucking day destroying album because of this. he will never know peace

oh lily, i'm going to ruin his fucking life with whatever i come with.

lily muni he removed lando norris

lily muni he fuck that guy

charles leclerc i do not understand what happened? george russell you're telling me the chronically online guy doesn't know what just happened? alex albon the grid's #1 gossip girl doesn't know what happened? charles leclerc NO I DON'T KNOW THAT'S WHY I'M ASKING CONNARDS!

pierre gasly lando cheated on rhea

max verstappen i can crash into him in bahrain next season?

yuki tsunoda i will bite his ankles. lily muni he i'll poison his food yuki tsunoda we will not go that far. food is sacred.

esteban ocon does this mean that **** can finally **** ***?

lance stroll how about you shut the fuck up esteban? max verstappen what the fuck are you two going on about now? lance stroll ignore esteban. he's a bit delirious.

daniel ricciardo i promise to make his life miserable next year.

rhea reynolds i'm just pissed that he was too much of a coward to end our relationship before he went on to publicly cheat on me.

rhea reynolds at least try to not get caught.

charles leclerc what is it the kids say? he fumbled?

lance stroll please never use that phrase again

pierre gasly she's probably crying to taylor swift now

rhea reynolds LET ME BE PEAR GASLY! daniel ricciardo yeah, pierre let the girl be emotional! rhea reynolds if i'm crying to all too well that's nobody's business but mine

charles leclerc you can come to bahrain with me!

max verstappen or me! daniel ricciardo you're both thinking too small. show up with me. can't promise i'll have a good race or win but it'll show him!

rhea reynolds thanks guys but i'm not really up to going to races anytime soon.

lily muni he never let a man take anything from you. GO TO THE RACE!

rhea reynolds nah, not really up for it right now but i could change my mind in a few months. it's literally december!

charles leclerc i will save a spot for you regardless.

yukitsunoda it's okay, i can bite his ankles if he comes near you.

rhea reynolds i appreciate the sentiment yuki

rhea reynolds besides, i'll never date another fucking driver again.

rheareynolds posted new stories

nothing better than taylor swift to help with heartbreak who needs men when cats are much better company?

liked by lilymhe, charles_leclerc, mickschumacher and others

rheareynolds home for the holidays update: i adopted a cat, i got cheated on (i should stick to dating women), and goats hate ryan. p.s. the first picture is what i sent to max when he made fun of me for getting cheated on.

tagged: vancityreynolds

view all comments

maxverstappen33 THAT’S NOT TRUE AND YOU KNOW IT!

↳ rheareynolds you told me and i quote, “that’s what you get for dating a guy who looks like a walking orange.”

↳ maxverstappen33 i called him ernie and then a walking orange. get it right.

lilymhe my offer still stands

↳ yukitsunoda0511 mine too! i can bite ankles!

↳ rheareynolds thanks guys but i'd rather not have to bail you out of jail for assault.

user01 so did they break up? or what? the chismosa in me needs to know

user02 it's okay rhea, he didn't deserve you

user03 fuck men, am i right?

comment liked by rheareynolds

vancityreynolds you're lying to everyone blake made those cinnamon rolls, not you.

↳ rheareynolds must you ruin everything?

↳ vancityreynolds it's my job as your older brother.

georgerussell63 why get an orange cat when he's a walking orange?

↳ alex_albon because rhea is the embodiment of an orange cat

↳ rheareynolds it's true. i've been told many times

user04 love to see that loser's friends are on her side. how are you going to publicly cheat on your girlfriend?

↳ user05 but did he cheat? what if they were broken up?

↳ user06 either you can't read (no offense) or you didn't read the caption, she literally says, "i got cheated on" they were very much together. stop trying to invalidate her pain because you love l*ndo

user07 it's okay baby, you can date me instead

↳ rheareynolds thanks for the offer babes but i should stick to being single for a while ❤️

↳ user07 i'm screaming!

user08 rhea's better than me fr. i would've destroyed his car carrie underwood style.

maxfretwell going to miss your cookies. that's the worst part about all of this

↳ rheareynolds yeah cause fuck my heartbreak right?

↳ maxfretwell that's not what i meant and you know it!

↳ rheareynolds can't wait to see the gossip pages say max fretwell says rhea reynolds' heartbreak is not validated

↳ maxfretwell i take it all back this is why he cheated on you

↳ rheareynolds TOO SOON FRETWELL!

↳ user09 curse n*rris for taking this duo away from us!

taglist: @emilyval @ihateyougunthersteiner @lesliiieeeee @firetruckstuckley @cashtons-wife @landonorizzz @yoremins

strikethrough means i couldn't tag you

CLICK HERE TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST

¡leclerc-s speaks! i was listening to say don't go while write the first half of this. hence, the reference to the song.

¡disclaimer! this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet for me. enjoy!

#leclerc-s #snow angel series #f1 instagram au #f1 x oc #f1 oc #f1 smau #f1 social media au #f1 #formula one #f1 fic #formula 1 fic #f1 x female oc #lando norris x female oc #mick schumacher x female oc

[ieatangstforbreakfast]

Pairing ೃ⁀➷ 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝟒𝟐! 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.

Genre ೃ⁀➷ Forbidden love, mutual pining, angst♡

Tags ೃ⁀➷ Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ l went through like a fuck ton of shit [Broke up with my boyfriend of two years, entrance exam, and uh I lost some friends] and 2024’s barely started lol sorry for the late update, i am,,, extremely deep in hurting 👍

Tag list ೃ⁀➷ @sakura-onesan @coffeeandtealol @luvjunie @noetophat @proudgojofucker @depresssedcowboy @adorefavv @l0starl @your-girl-mj @nyumeii @iheartamajiki @yoluv-tiannaaa--212 @bakauwu @callsignwidow

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟐: 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐎𝐧 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Miles and Eddie make an exchange. A certain nightmare plagues his thoughts. Your insanity unfolds, and so does Miles’ suspicions.

[Warning: Blasphemy, mentioned of fucked up things and crimes, deranged thinking]

MASTERLIST

Previous chapter || Next chapter

“Miles, what would make you hate me?”

The memory was so long ago. Well, to be exact, perhaps it’s been a month or two since it happened. Miles could still so clearly remember the way you leaned your head against the damp wall, your eyes far off into the void of whatever haunted you. At that time, his feelings had been but a spark budding within his chest ever so delicately, a butterfly ripping out of its cocoon in his stomach.

“I don’t know.” Miles whispered into the air. “I don’t think it’s possible to truly hate a person when you know them personally.”

At that moment, you looked at him, with your head half-buried within your hood.

“Why’s that?” You asked, fiddling with the ends of your hoodie.

Miles took a moment to think about how to word his answer.

“When you recognize someone enough to know that they’re not evil people who’d do random shit for shits and giggles, you learn to realize that they’re not really a monster.. At least, not as much as they seem.” His lingering gaze travels towards the ample of your cheek. “I can’t hate you when I know you. You’ve got a name, and you’re somebody’s sister, daughter.. Well, you don’t have to be all that. You just need to be somebody, and you’re somebody to me, and that alone’s the reason why I can never hate you.”

“That’s.. Interesting.” You whispered. “So technically, you humanize your enemies.”

“That’s one weird way to put it, but yeah.”

“But what if it’s a façade?” The words rolled off your tongue seamlessly. “What if.. They’re not exactly the person you thought they were. What if they’ve done more harm than good?”

He thinks about it for a moment.

“It’s not my job to humanize people. People humanize themselves.” Miles answered. “If there’s truly nothing at all about this person that makes them human, or makes me feel like they still have a relatively active conscience inside of them.. I can’t.”

“So you’re saying thay if they’re not human, you’ll hate them?”

“No!” He rapidly shook his head.

“No, ‘cause Miles, I’ll be fair with you. Ion think there’s anything more monstrous than humanity. We are our own enemies. Nothing else causes more pain to a human other than its own body or its own kind, which is why hatred is such a natural thing.”

“Hatred is a natural thing for you, because you grew up only having to think about yourself.”

“Because if not me, then who would?” You spewed. You didn’t mean to sound overtly bitter, but you were. “Unlike you, Miles, my family ain’t the shit. It’s me against the world always— I-If, had I gotten a remote opportunity to care about anyone other than myself, maybe I wouldn’t be this hateful.”

“Well, you got a chance now.”

“How so?”

“You got me.”

You paused, wondering if you’ve heard correctly.

“… I’ve got you?”

Whatever did that statement mean? You’ve heard about a million pick-up lines, but what the hell was this?

“F’course you do. We’re friends.”

Friends.

“Friends?” Just friends?

Miles hums. “Buddies. Amigos.”

Ah, right, that’s how it always starts. Just friends.

Miles snuck his hand into one of his pockets, plucking out something round that you were too lost in your haze to even notice. He seems to fiddle with it for a moment, digging his fingers into its plush before nudging it towards you.

“You want some?”

You turned around and realized he’d peeled you an orange. “.. What.. These are so expensive these days. How’d you even get one?” Your hand reaches out for the fruit, examining its tiny size. You’d heard about the sudden inflation of prices, so fruits inevitably turned into a luxury for most. Miles parts the mandarin and places the larger half on top of your hand.

“.. I stole one from my neighbor’s garden. God did say generous people prosper, so I did him a favor.”

“I’m pretty sure there was a ‘thou shall not steal’ in one of the commandments, Miles.” You laughed, plopping a piece atop your tongue. The tangy, sweet, yet sour flavor bursts right in, making you grimace ever so lightly. “Oh, that’s sour.”

Miles took after you, similarly cringing. “Eugh.”

“It’s probably not all that ripe yet. It’s fine though,” You plopped another into your mouth. “I like oranges— sour things as a whole. They snap me back into life.”

“That sounds sad.” He mumbled, turning to look at you. “Kinda worrying, if you ask me.”

“Well, I wasn’t asking.” You plucked out one of the seeds from your teeth.

“Right, ‘cause you never ask.” Miles took another bite. “You only answer.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know.” Miles shrugged. “I like saying random shit to tick you off.”

You rolled your eyes, trudging your way up from the floor as you staggered from the cold. “Thanks for the orange, Miles.” Running a hand through your hair, you looked out and sighed. He couldn’t help but feel surprised at the lack of your sass.

“You’re welcome, princesa.”

Your brow cringed. “Don’t call me that.”

His finger twitches. He watched as you froze for a moment, turning to look at him. With gentle steps, you approached and leaned down— tufts of your hair brushing against the temple of his forehead. At that moment, he swallows while taking in the scent of your perfume and its ridiculously sweet stench. How could everything about you be so sweet?

You plucked your pen out of his hands. “This is mine.” You reminded of him. Miles didn’t utter a single word til’ your eyes met. Even in the darkness, you saw, but you ignored— well, rather, you tried to ignore it, but it stung.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

Miles turned his head, forcibly pushing down the butterflies fluttering like haywire in his stomach.

Hands clammy, heart haywire, eyes unable to meet yours.

“Sure, whatever.”

That day ended there, but Miles knew then. He knew.

Eddie Brock couldn't look past the television store, as his eyes were drawn completely to the news. Not that he couldn't afford a paper, or a gadget of his own— he was simply nervous, figdety, and this ominous pit that holed itself into his stomach unnerved him like a pig carved up for the butcher. He'd known of the news already, honestly, something along the lines of the daily murders and crimes that weren't all too unusual to be fair, and rather than the screen's bright technicolored themes, he was hyper focused entirely on one thing.

The face of Will Barlowe, the almighty senator. Eddie had long been staring at that man's creased, brown skin and slick, blonde hair that was fading into this falsified shade of platinum all because of his whitening strands.

Damn the rich, all of them.

Eddie was no one, like everyone else. A drop of water in the ocean, a needle in a haystack. He was one, like the rest, with the hard workers who carried the economy with their white, blue, pink-collared jobs. He thrived, initially, three years ago. He was an activist then— a journalist in a crisp collared shirt and black dress pants, warning the young about the dangers of climate change, and speaking outwardly in regard to politics.

Now, he was nothing more but a wrinkled jacket-wearing, eccentric and amusing conspiracy theorist scraping the tiniest bits of his dignity to post videos on Facebook or Youtube shorts about how fucked up and dystopian America's grown to become.

When the Prowler, the younger one, decidedly linked him a location allegedly shared by the elites, Eddie wanted to think of it as a chance to shine, to end everything once and for all, and to avenge Anna. For Anna, and for what could’ve been their happy, serene life. But when he arrived, painstakingly clad in plaid while forging the identity of a lost tourist, he was disappointed entirely to find out that the warehouse had been burnt down.

He could still recall the charcoaled crevices of what could’ve been his salvation— that masked boy, the Prowler, promised him salvation in a what-could’ve-been some rich guy’s attempt of a house barbecue.

“Did I make ya wait long?”

A voice reminiscent of a growl. That same shade of neon magenta lingered, popping like a change of color in the melancholy of great Harlem. Eddie tries not to look, but the presence of the boy simmered like fire even as he hung like a spider from the ceiling. He was always like that— the Prowler. The boy was a tall, lanky thing who walked and talked suave. Dominican, he initially assumed. Eddie figured this little vigilante was likely a high schooler with hopes consequently dimmed by the recession.

“Nope.” Eddie attempted to appeal cooly, instead, he only crumbled more. “I’d been watching the news this whole time, tryna check if there was anything about the fire.”

He hears a metal click. “They prolly wouldn’t say nothin’. See, if they didn’t wanna hide it, it’d be all over the television. But it ain’t there, so that means the Chávez’s are hiding the fire from the other families. They prolly paid the witnesses to keep their mouths shut or bribed all the television networks to say it’s some barbecue party gone bad.”

A few passersby couldn’t help but squeak at the sight of the infamous vigilante hanging from a store sign, but they all seemed to know better than approaching him. Trouble was wherever he was, after all, or something the daily bugle said along those lines. They shared glances, sure. Curious, amused glances like how people would marvel at a lion in a zoo.

“It’s,” Eddie finally looked at him. “it’s something ‘bout the Chávez’s?”

With a momentary pause, the Prowler released his grip from the metal poles and dangled down for a second before decidedly letting his feet hit the ground. He was tall— truly, around an inch or two taller than grouchy Eddie. His braids seemed much longer than he’d last seen them. Did he recently get them redone?

“.. That’s right.” Prowler hummed. “.. But we might wanna move some place else to have this conversation, Mr. Brock.”

And where the cat went, curiosity followed down as it made its way to the dark alleyways.

Eddie had a million questions, like any other normal being. The Chávez’s, the Primos, the Barlowes, the Fisks, the Osborns, and all of the other wealthy families connected to one another were all listed down on his kill bill naturally, and he’d been dreaming about the day of crossing out their names with ink made from their blood. Cliché, but a threat either way. Eddie wasn’t a writer, but a journalist anyways. Creativity in terms of wording his hatred was limited and it wasn’t his forte.

“In your past facebook post, you mentioned the Chávez’s briefly,” The boy began, halting by the corner dampened by rain. “I need information about the whole family.”

“… Aren’t you supposed to know the basic information about your enemies?”

“If it were that easy, I wouldn’t be needing your help.” The two white shapes that proxied as his eyes narrowed, grimacing ever so lightly. “There’s little information about them in the black market, and within the scarcity, most of them aren’t factual.”

“They’re rich enough to be able to squander their wealth on silencing people,” Eddie kicked at a can. “Of course no one knows, but I do.”

“How so?”

Picking at something in between his cheek, Eddie sighed a long sigh.

“… My wife worked as their private attorney.”

He watched the boy take a step back. “.. Your wife?”

“Yeah.” Eddie nodded. “My wife, Anna. She was taught to keep silent about their crimes, and to find a loophole in every case.” A lump formed in his throat.

The Prowler stared. He couldn’t make out whether it was an empathetic or judgmental one. “.. So your wife covered up the Chávez’s crimes?”

“A part of it.” Eddie mumbled. “There’s more to the elite than we know, Anna had to burn her files after every case, so she couldn’t snitch or post them after she quits.”

His head turns. “… I see.”

He sees the boy shift, weirdly, fidgety. He couldn’t particularly describe the unease this young vigilante conveyed. It was almost like he was on the verge of asking something, but his mask made it harder to read what he was desperate to know about.

“.. So can you tell me?”

A simmering silence sunk into the gaps of their conversation.

“What’s in it for me?” Eddie asked, knowing he shouldn’t have, as it was obvious and painstakingly accusatory.

“Why do we have to have transactions when it comes to justice?”

Eddie paced. “Capitalism.”

“Fair point.” The Prowler sighed, rocking on the ends of his neon shoes. “Well, what d’ya want?”

Eddie thinks, and thinks. What could a conspiracy theorist— no, a journalist want? Could he ask for a man’s death? The head of Barlowe? The head of Chávez? Or could that only be achieved after this gamble? He looked at this boy, and Eddie pictured this teenager basking his hands in blood.

What would make him any different from the elites?

“… When you went to the warehouse, you guys.. Took evidence? Even a USB, right?”

He stared. “Yeah, we dug it up and we tried sending it to every news outlet we could find.. All of them rejected the information.”

“Why?” Eddie furrowed his brow. “Was the information incomplete? Did you send the evidence beneath a credible name as a source?”

“Credible name?”

“Yeah, if the information comes from a credible source, they might do something about it. Likewise, if the information is complete, they might take the risk, after all, the Chávez’s are old money, and they have a lot of influence in regard to politics. If they publish anything against them, without complete information, or if you’re just a bunch of trespassers regarded as criminals by the media,” Eddie held out a finger. “Someone will get shot.”

The boy swallowed.

“If not you, if not your partner, it’s the journalist. Always the journalist.”

And Eddie’s seen too much of his co-workers wound up as mere victims in a headline. ‘Journalist shot dead.’

And he didn’t want his name to be reduced to a John Doe in one of the many causes people are too afraid to fight for.

“… I’ll tell you all about the Chávez’s, if you give me the records you stole from the warehouse.”

The Prowler stood, seemingly caught up in his thoughts for a moment. “.. Okay, but I’m telling you, don’t make a large move without consulting me first.”

“I still want my head attached to my head, of course I’ll consult y’all first.” Eddie chuckled, his fingers pouring into his pockets. “Then, what do you want to know about the Chávez’s?”

Without missing a beat, he answered.

“You can give me all you got. Recent scandals, fuck ups.. Perhaps, you got anything from the collapse of the Aureum building three years ago?”

“The Aureum building,” Eddie echoed, reminiscing like a veteran released from war. “That was the messiest thing I’ve ever witnessed in the last ten years. The lawsuits, the bribes, and the social media mayhem—“

“The deaths.” Miles cringed, remembering his father. “Surely, that was the most fucked up thing.”

“Aside from the architecture? Sure.” Eddie pulled out a box of cigars from his pocket, wringing out a single stick. “Weak scaffolding, quick-dry cement.. Put two and two together, and everything collapsed as soon as the opening began.”

Miles wallowed, grimacing at the sight of the habit. “Could it have been planned?”

With a flick of his lighter, Eddie took one breath in and sighed. “Could? There’s no ‘could’, boy, it was planned.”

Planned? Planned by who?

Were the Chávez’s really masters at self-sabotage? Or were their enemies really just each other?

“You see, the Chávez’s specialize in human trafficking, slave trade, and child labor. The people they ship work tirelessly for other businesses without a fee— because we, you and I and the rest of us who had the freedom to earn education, refused to work under hellish circumstances and poor environments. Without us, precisely, without the poor, the rich are nothing.”

“Then the Aureum building?”

“The Aureum building was a cover-up for a bigger scandal.” Eddie tilted his head. “The people inside were likely witnesses, or people who knew about the human trafficking.. And when the building collapsed, they sued the construction companies involved, got the money, but damaged their reputation.. And I don’t see why they’d do all of that just to damage their reputation.”

Miles pondered and pondered.

“.. It was probably someone from inside the family who planned everything.”

“That’s what I think so too.” Eddie added, blowing off another puff of intoxicating smoke. “Someone who won’t suffer from the damaged reputation.. Yet someone who still manages to benefit from it all financially.”

“… Could it be.. Any one of the siblings?”

Eddie takes a step back, likely thinking about it. “.. Well, the other one’s in London, the other one’s too stupid, and the last’s a minor.”

“Minor?” Miles repeated. “How young are we talking?”

“.. Well, the last time I heard about the girl.. She was thirteen, and it’s been three years since then, so she’s probably fifteen to sixteen.”

It’s not as though a thirteen year old could possibly plan out such a meticulous plan… Well maybe, or maybe not, it’s not as though Miles was the only genius capable of great things.

“You know any of their names?”

“Names.” Eddie furrowed his brow. “The last girl’s protected by the law, since it’s illegal to paparazzi minors.. But the first two are Montrell and Anthony.”

Montrell. Mon. Three children. Two older brothers. One girl. Sixteen, sixteen years old just like you.

Miles swallowed.

It’s as though he could feel your hands blocking your vision, whispering sweet nothings into his ear.

He falters, alerting Eddie. “What’s wrong?”

“.. My head just hurts.” He mumbled, turning his head. “I think I kinda overworked myself. I still got a date.. Need to.. Rest.”

“Date?” Eddie blew. “That’s right. You’re quite famous, ain’t you?”

Miles rolled his eyes, able to freely express his distaste for the supposed compliment behind his mask. “I try not to be, don’t wanna make her think about it too much. The broad shoulders don’t help as much, though.”

“She know all ‘bout your..” With his cigarette squeezed between his ring, Eddie gestured at him. “Your little vigilante thing?”

Leaning his head against the brick wall, Miles crossed his arms and shrugged. “She better not. Don’t wanna make her daddy even madder.” He lowers his gaze a bit, his mask naturally zooming into the title of Eddie’s cigarette box. It was the same brand as your brother’s, likely a different flavor. Mint or something. Everyone around him smoked too much.

“She from the finer part of York or what?”

“The finest.” He recalls your brother’s luxury car. “.. But I think she’s tryna hide it.”

Eddie plucks the cigar out his teeth, a sort of accusatory yet mundane expression scribbled all over his scruffy face. Eventually, he laughs it off. “That’s all of what’s wrong with our society. The poor pretend to be rich and the rich pretend to be poor. They like romanticizing poverty but likely won’t be able to find comfort if they walked in our shoes for ‘bout a damn mile.”

“She ain’t nun like that.” Miles butted in. “She’s sweet, my girl. Cruel, sometimes, but that’s how ladies gotta be from time to time— seeing as how the world fucks them up every now and then.”

“.. That your first date?” Eddie asked.

“I guess. We’re kissing, but we got no label.”

Eddie scoffed an old man’s scoff. “Your generation’s got me fucked up. Y’all and your situationship bullshittery.”

“It ain’t like that.”

“It’s always like that.” Eddie narrowed his eyes. Miles similarly cringed, wondering how Eddie could be so bitter— having to remind himself seconds later that the man’s poor wife was dead. Dead as hell. As dead as his father. “If she can’t even be upfront about her wealth, she’s likely hiding something from you.”

“My man, I’m lucky she even looked my way. You know nun ‘bout her, don’t be like that.”

“And what if she’s from the oligarchy, huh?” Eddie exaggerated. “What if she’s a Fisk? A Barlowe? Hell, even worse, what if she’s a Chávez?”

Miles didn’t reply.

As the puff of smoke emanated through the damp air, suddenly, Miles pictured you holding a cigarette while grinning at him wickedly— and somehow, that tantalizing air.. Suited you like the slip of a glove.

“I’m just kidding w’ya, man.” Eddie laughed, flicking the cigarette away, crushing it with the sole of his wrinkled boot.

“Ain’t funny, Ed.” Miles grumbled. “People I loved died in Aureum.”

“But she’s still rich, though. You can never be too sure ‘bout the kind of secrets her family’s keeping. If push comes to shove, will you still be able to love her if you do find out that her family’s fucked up?”

“Stop it.” He angrily seethed. “Stop.”

Eddie watched with a certain stank in his eye.

“… Y’know, there’s a rumor that one of the Chávez kids are illegitimate.”

.. Miles left seconds after.

It’d not been his greatest day, and earnestly speaking, his gut’s been clamoring at him to listen, only for him to reject its pleas. He’d thought about listening— to whatever higher being was calling upon him to stray away from you.

His Mama told him to pray throughout his struggles. She’d not been a zealot, his mother. But she was no stranger to the novena, to pray and to call for help in such long days. He’d been subjected to it early on: the novenas, the masses, the lingering of frankincense in the air. Though she never truly coerced him to participate in the church, Miles simply titter-tottered throughout those dull Sunday evenings.

He didn’t want some higher being to stop him from becoming a horrible person; Miles wanted to be good on his own accord.

But you.. You made him question. Not you, but himself.

Though his dad always told him to question everything while he’s young, Miles couldn’t question you. How could ever question you?

An illegitimate child. Which one was it?

Your brothers, who had everything?

Or you, who had nothing?

And although Eddie left the alleyway unscathed, Miles felt that blood had stained his hands.

And you could still taste blood in your mouth.

You could still hear the crunch of that man’s neck echoing in your ears, his tiny pleads of self-preservation before the snap to his death. It rang and rang behind your eyes, between your ears, like a haunting melody you couldn’t help but repeat.

The memory of his fear merely energized your veins, but left you gawking in dauntness even as you worked your way through the hotel— showing Montrell the ropes and tending to the preparations for the upcoming charity event. The snap, the way it snapped— the way his neck snapped was a musical lyric that pulsed and pulsed in your mind.

Snap.

Snap.

ＳＮＡＰ.

The idea of fear intrigued you, cannibalism, however, not so much. The symbiote immensely argued with you, that it wasn’t your body in particular feasting on human flesh, but the symbiote itself. It needed to be fed, and it needed sustenance— but you didn’t know where else to find that sustenance.

“Miss?” Charlotte, the head housekeeper called out to you, snapping you back from the profanities of your mind.

Suddenly, you’re back staring at the new, tall, stained-glass windows— basking you in the glory of pale lights in shades of ethereal yellow and blue. It’s been under construction for quite a while now, but after your father had approved of the idea, you were willing to wait long enough to see its outcome. You’d only gotten the news just a few hours ago in regard to its completion, and now you’ve been staring at it for a while now.

“Yes?” You stifled airily, wallowing in a hundred emotions.

Charlotte bows her head for a moment, unveiling an approaching guest.

Before you could even process to question who it was, Montrell and his gentle eyes appeared before you. He seems to marvel at the windows before you as he takes another step up the stairs.

“Wow,” He huffed. “Is this.. Your design?”

You simply looked at the window with crossed arms and a smile. “I couldn’t forget about the windows when we went to Veronica’s wedding. I liked.. The colors and the drama it endowed.” You smiled, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “.. This was my final project in the hotel.. I’ve done so much to rebrand everything, but we still can’t do much ‘bout what happened in the past.”

The lights dawned upon the both of you.

“Does it hold any special meaning?” He asks.

You shrugged. “It varies on the person, I guess. I think, those who don’t really know me will try to put meaning into all that I do, but those who really know me know that my art is plainly.. Meant for aesthetic.”

Montrell frowned. “How can you make art without passion?”

“.. You pick up a pen.” You carved a smile. “And you just draw.”

You draw, and you draw. Carved it in, like how a knife would pierce a sack of flesh. Murder the canvas with each stroke, and if they ask you ‘why?’, answer with ‘why not?’.

“I think.. Only Miles can place meaning in my art. After all, my passion resides in him.”

“Like a proxy.” Montrell darkly laughed, shaking his head. “.. I wonder how hard you’d break once you lose him.”

You turned your head to look at your brother’s charming face.

“Is that a threat?”

“A warning,” He remarked. “After all, how could he ever love you once he realizes that our family’s responsible for his father’s death?”

You turned your head back to the windows. “… I feel guilty, actually. I don’t really know how to approach Miles if he ever comes to realize my identity.”

“.. Don’t you feel lonely having to constantly push away the people you love?”

You shrugged. “I’m a pretty girl. Pretty girls are never lonely.”

“Sure.”

Montrell looked at you. To be precise, he eyed you, and he looked at the way you casted your eyes downward. From a mile away, one would believe you fostered insecurity and shame in the way you’d stare, but knowing you and the way you were, that downcast gaze of yours imbued disinterest and a heightened sense of.. Superiority.

No matter how hard you try to appear empathetic, you were always and inevitably still a Chávez. Even in the way you pursed your rouged lips, or spoke with eloquence, or held your head high.. You and your siblings, who were forged to become heartless from the beginning, were never bound to be kind.. Or good.

But could Miles do it?

Could he actually change you? Humanize you?

Make you kind and loving, and normal?

You tightened your grip over your arm. “I.. Was going to escape tonight, originally.. For our date. He wanted us to have a halloween date. It’s so dorky. He’s so dorky.” The way you fawned was genuine, though. He could see it so clearly. “But after daddy mentioned the USB, I didn’t know how to face him without feeling guilty.. I came to meet Miles with the intention of using him to get his dead dad’s stuff but I ended up.. Falling for him. I never knew I was capable of feeling like this.”

“.. When we’re too busy to survive, it feels frustrating to have to care for someone else. That’s why our family doesn’t feel like one.” Montrell whispered.

“We’re not a Greek tragedy.”

“Exactly, which would mean,” He turns to you. “You’re likely still savable, [N/n].”

You lightly winced. “.. I haven’t heard that nickname since I was twelve.”

Your brother chuckles at the reminder. “.. We called you that since you couldn’t pronounce your name when you were three.” Montrell heaved a long breath, as though he were a dreamer reminiscing the times. Ah, he truly is a sucker for what’s long gone, huh? “Antonne and I were so excited to have you. Your first word was my name, actually, Mon. I had to sneak up into your cradle every night just to make you practice say my name. Mama used to hold you in her arms whenever I got home from school, and she used to read out my cards with you in her other hands ‘cause you were one energetic kid.”

Oh, so like a normal family?

We were capable of having that this whole time?

…

“[Y/n]?”

You snapped yourself back to reality, Montrell’s voice leading you out of your internal monologue. “Did you hear my question?” He queried. “You kinda zoned out there.”

“Sorry, I was thinking ‘bout something. You were saying?”

“Once you get the USB.. Are you going to leave him?”

The question seemed far fetched from the previous topic, which caught you off-guard. You turn your head. “.. I don’t know. I’d rather make him hate me, and have him leave me first, because I don’t think I can ever bring it upon myself to leave him.”

Such a romantic.

“Do you think you can handle it?”

“.. It’s not a question of whether I can handle it, it’s a question of whether Miles can handle it.”

Montrell murmured. “.. What if he gets revenge?”

“Revenge?” You repeated, the idea sounding funnily dramatic. “Revenge on me? I didn’t throw that building over his father’s head.”

“Ah, yes, but there’s a thing called karma.” Montrell spoke as thought to remind you. “It’ll be out there to get you, or at least, that’s what I’ve heard.”

You couldn’t help but aimlessly ponder. “… Why do poor people believe in futile things such as karma?”

The way you worded it, and the way it exited your tongue seemed unusually natural. Montrell, who’s been too used to such words, only shrugged. “Cause there’s nothing else to save them. That’s why they have a god, [Y/n]. They can’t save themselves, and so that’s why they believe something otherworldly will.”

Before you could speak, Montrell looked out into the glass windows before turning to you.

“Speaking of which, I think you should use daffodils for the upcoming party.”

“.. Daffodils?” You repeated.

Your brother nods. “Yes. I find them to be quite lovely.”

Since when did he have an interest in flowers? You internally squirmed. “Where the hell am I going to get daffodils in autumn?” You groaned. “We can use other yellow flowers for the golden theme.”

“Well, you’re not in charge anymore.” Was his attempt of a tease. “Surely there are still daffodils here in this season. We’ll have to find the best greenhouse in town.”

“But why?”

“Because I said so.”

You sweetly casted a glance at him, smiling as a thought crowed at you.

A sharp pain shoots through Miles’ head. A pulsing, familiar pain— resembling a bullet, dove straight into his subconscious.

He stumbles back as darkness clouds his vision, a sort of slithering and slimy feeling coursing through his system like a snake seething beneath his skin. His heart was hammering against his chest. It was like that time during the warehouse, where he felt genuinely uneasy and unsettled. The eyes of that figure behind the window, watching him tremulously stare back.

In the cage of his mind, Miles finds himself inside a dark void— where the silence was loud enough to hear the sound of a pin drop.

Then there was this drumming.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The melody was unfamiliar, but the voice nostalgic. Miles crawled amidst the darkness, searching for the voice, only to look up and catch the sight of a pristine, delicately made shoe. It kicked against the front of a desk, making a rhythmic pattern. Thump. Thump. Thump. With each passing moment, his eyes continued to linger upward, from the shoe, to a leg, to a waist, to your pretty face.

You sat there, above the desk, with your pretty hair and your pretty eyes, puckering up your pretty lips along with the song. You were so idly calm, so leisure while singing so softly, he could hardly make out the words exiting your mouth. A dim, green light cascaded against the silhouette of your figure, further accentuating the pink of your lips and the darkening of your gaze.

You smiled, but your eyes held nothing. Like you never knew what kindness was, even in his presence. You never looked at him like that before— like you hated him enough that you wanted him to die.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The thumping was growing faster and faster with each second. Upon seeing his struggle, a stifled laugh laces the lyrics.

Miles tried to move, but his whole body writhed in pain— like he was beaten, defeated. His arms itched in burns and scars. With the sound of your hum, Miles looks up, only to see you cross your arms before your chest, the tip of your shoe gently grazing against the skin of his temple. He feels as though he was being watched, idly, by an audience that had no interest at all in intervening. Like everyone was amused to see him.. Kneeling before you.

Click. Click. Click. The cutter clicked in your palm as the blade rose higher.

It’s like your presence alone was enough to blind him, and his conscience kept crawling back to you no matter how hard it tries to stray.

Really, who are you, [Y/n]?

Why was it whenever you lingered in his dreams, you were the cruelest person to exist?

And why was it that Miles knew that he’d probably still adore you with your hands around his neck?

“.. Miles?”

From a gentle shuffle, Miles awoke to the sound of his mother’s voice.

Miles jolted up, his skin half drenched with cold sweat. Unfortunately enough, his awakening was nothing avian. On the contrary, his awakening felt like a somber chore. The material clung onto him like glue, making him utter a groan. For a while, he helplessly looked around like a child lost between rows of linoleum aisles, his mind hopping from question to question. 'What just happened? What was I dreaming of?'

Like some hungover drunkard, he gently peeled himself away from the sweat-stained sheets and begrudgingly sat upright. Rio’s gentle hand cradled his aching head.

“Rest, mijo, you’re exhausted.”

“Mama, I—“ He broke, running a damp hand over his head. For a moment, he flinches, checking to see if his hands were covered in blood. “What happened?”

His mother’s dark curls lightly brushed against his temple. Her eyes were just as exhausted as he was, with dark circles rimming the doeness of her gaze. “I got home to you taking a nap but you kept squirming. I was so worried. Que paso?”

He looked around, realizing he’d dropped himself unconscious atop the sofa.

“.. Nightmare.”

Night terrors, to put it precisely. It’s been haunting him since the death of his father three years ago. He thought they’d long vanished after meeting you, but after his suspicions arose, his anxiety came crawling back like a dreadful stench.

Rio handed him a glass of water, to which he gulped down to its very last drop— like he’s been thirsting for all his life.

“Mama,” He called out. “… What do I do?”

His loving mother creased her brow, shaking her head. “What is it, mijo? What’s wrong?”

He runs his hand over his face, wondering how to begin. At that moment, Miles recalls your sweetest smiles, your loudest laughs, and your warmest hugs.

You held his hand, dragged him out of that maze, and you vandalized the hotel together. You tore yourself away from the expectations of your family, and went to him.

You chose him.

But could he go so far to assume that you loved him?

Rio shifted comfortably, trying to appear more welcoming to whatever catastrophe Miles was about to unleash. “What’s wrong, Miles?”

Miles couldn’t even admit it to himself, though he’d long noticed, he preferred to remain ignorant ‘til the truth was spilled from your own lips.. But he didn’t know how much longer he could last. Blood runs thicker than water, but both feel the same when your eyes are closed— and that could mean many things.

“A lot, ma.” He buried his head into his hands. “And Ionno if I could deal with it all.”

“You don’t have to deal with everything, Miles.” Rio frowned. “You’re only fifteen. Eres demasiado joven. Con el tiempo todo se arregla.”

“Me duele la cabeza.”

“Ponte vaporub.” Rio stood to grab the small, blue ointment. As she unscrews its green cap, Miles was immediately hit with its loud, minty scent. Digging her fingers into the substance, Rio smears the vaporub all over Miles’ forehead. “Sana sana colita de rana, si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.”

He lightly moved away with a sigh. “I’m not a kid anymore, ma.”

“I’m your mother, you’ll always be my kid.” As the cooling sensation sunk into his skin, he felt his mother’s palm cup his cheek. “And since you’re my kid, I always get worried about you. I know we ain’t got nothing much, but we got each other, Miles. You’re a great kid bound to achieve great things.”

He wasn’t too sure about that. That whole great kid thing. You had your fingers entangled all over his puppet strings, and it made him hesitate.

But what if that was exactly your plan? To ruin him entirely for your benefit?

“.. Ma, what would you do if the person you liked lied to you about their identity?”

Rio sat in silence.

“.. Que?”

Ah, fuck. That’s a stupid question.

“Nothing.” Miles turned his head. “Sorry, that was a stupid question—“

“No, Miles. I didn’t mean to— I just, you like someone? A girl?”

Miles shifted uncomfortably. Rio softened. “A boy?”

“No, ma!” He exclaimed, embarrassed. “I-It’s a girl. I like a girl.. Por los clavos de Cristo.”

“Oh, I was preparing myself.” Rio placed a hand over her heart. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d accept you no matter what, I just didn’t have a long wonderful speech prepared for it.. But what’s wrong with the girl?”

“Well, ma, it’s just..”

“Did she cheat on you!?”

“No! We’re not even together yet, ma. We were gonna have our first date today, but.. But her family’s been treating her horribly, and her older brother picked her up while we were out buying costumes for our halloween date only for him to directly tell me that it ain’t happening.”

“And then?”

“She talked ‘bout her dad throwing a fit, and now she hasn’t replied the whole day.” He slipped his fingers through his hair. “I even woke up at six in the morning just to get my braids redone at Tasha’s… And they invited me to a party at their house on Sunday.”

“Sunday? Then— that’s great!” Rio exclaimed, placing her hands over her son’s shoulders. “That would mean they’re open to getting to know you. Well, I think you can borrow some of your dad’s old clothes for the party, you two look great in suits anyway.”

“W-Well, ma, that ain’t entirely the problem, she’s..” He swallowed. “Ma, I think she comes from a very rich family.”

“Okay, and?” Rio raised a brow. “Did she ever make you feel inferior for having superior wealth?”

“.. No? Well, she’s been trying to keep it on the down low this whole time, but.. Whenever I see her, she acts so.. Proper and polite when she don’t even notice it. And her brother’s British too, and I— Ionno how the hell that happened, but he sound like the type to spit out tap water if I ever brought him to a restaurant.”

“Well, you’re dating the girl, Miles, not her brother.” Rio sighed. He thinks of it for a moment, then shrugs. Only then he notices his mother’s wide smile, her shoulder nearly glued onto his.

“So.. Who’s the girl?”

Miles fiddled awkwardly, unsure how to answer. Rio seemed adamant for an answer, so, after a while of internally mustering up sentences, Miles replied. “Her name.. [Y/n].”

“Mhm.”

“She uh.. Sixteen. I-I met her three months ago.. And we started doing graffiti together since then.”

“Oh, so she’s an artist?”

Miles gaped. “S… Sum like that, yeah.”

Your art varied. Your colors were blander while his, more vibrant. But there was something about the way you drew, that was so meaningfully realistic that it captured entirely how your mind pondered in its darkest moments. An art style that captured entirely the darkest of what life could bring.

He remembers going through your sketchpads, how your dabbles consisted of dull realism. Maybe it was only dull because it was exactly what New York’s become— cold and calloused.

But in contrast, you were able to set his world on fire in a way he’s never seen. Only you could paint over the dullness with scarlet, in a way that had him choking from the smoke emanating from your fire.

But he couldn’t tell his mother the way you’ve worsened him.

His mother wouldn’t let him get too close to someone as bright and dangerous as you.

“Why haven’t you mentioned about her before? I could’ve helped!” Rio tossed her dark curls to the side. They’d always reminded him of the dark sea. “Es puertorriqueña? Puede hablar español?”

“No,” Miles thinks about it for a minute. “I-Ionno, actually. She never told me anythin’ bout it, but she can’t speak Spanish so I ain’t sure.”

Rio attempted, no she really did try to attempt— to hide her disappointment. Were her grandkids bound to forever be free of her culture? How saddening.

“Pero creo que ella está estudiando español.”

“Oh?”

“Sí.” Mile seemed to lightened up. “She’s so cute. She can’t even pronounce ‘roja’.”

“But she’s trying.” Rio could not be any happier. “She’s trying! Eso es bueno! Ella ya me gusta. Not everyone tries these days, you know.”

He wondered if his mother was faking her enthusiasm just to ease him. He’d expected her to be more.. Angry about it.

“.. I’m surprised you’re not upset, ma.”

“Upset?” Rio furrowed her brows. “Miles, how could I get upset? You’re experiencing what every other teenager experiences, that’s great!.. I know you’ve been trying to act like an adult to help us, and you’ve given up so much just to keep us afloat. I’ve been getting worried that you’ve been focusing too much with adult responsibilities that you’re forgetting that you’re just a kid. You’re allowed to go around and be a kid. You’re allowed to like a girl— so long as she’s not a bad influence.”

Miles pushes back the thought of you being a smoker.

“She’s not a bad influence. She’s.. Just going through a lot.. She makes me happy, ma.”

Rio looked at him proudly. Only then, she wondered if her dearest husband ever brooded like this too upon realizing his feelings for her. She wondered if Jeff ever pouted the way Miles did, and looked out into the world with such admiration in his eyes as though he were shaping the void into an image of her.

Jeff loved, and thus, Miles could love too.

“If she makes you happy, then I’m happy.” She beamed. “So long as she’s not a brat or an alcoholic, or a racist, or any of those bad people, I’ll accept her.”

The mother shared a loving glimpse of her son, making out an image of her late husband in the way he smiled. Suddenly, she pats her lap and stands up. “Bueno, I’m making adobo.”

“I can help—“

“No, sit down, you’re tired.” Rio held out a finger. “Take a rest, Miles.”

“But Ma—“

“Rest.”

And he did.

Well, he tried. It was a subtle attempt. A poor one, at that. He sat upright by the sofa, listening to his mother chop up the potatoes. He tries to discreetly look into your messages, only to find you’ve finally texted back.

her ♡ || two minutes ago.

sorry i haven’t texted!! 😭😭

remember the party this sunday? my dad is making me help with the preparations so i couldn’t go to our date

i’m really sorry 🥺 don’t get mad

if you want, we can do it tomorrow.

Miles pouted. He didn’t want to reply immediately. He didn’t want to look desperate.

So he waited for another five minutes.

.. Even though you made him wait for six hours.

He switches the television on in attempt to distract himself from your message.

‘Last night, a horrific murder happened within Brooklyn, as the body of a beheaded man was discovered outside of a local bodega. Witnesses claim that an alien disguised as a teenage girl had ripped off, and eaten the man’s head.’

“The hell?” Miles burrowed his brows upon being greeted with the news on television. “An alien?”

He watches as the screen switches over towards one of the witnesses, a scruffy man with reddened eyes— evidently too lost in whatever he was taking to speak too calmly.

“.. They’re prolly high as hell.”

‘I’m ain’t even [censored] with y’all— some [censored] ripped off Kyle’s head— it was a horrific looking piece of [censored] made out of black goo or whatever the [censored]. The government’s [censored] making alien [censored]!

‘So far, there have been no records of the scene, as the cameras had been blacked out.’

“What the f—“ Miles grew mindful of his language upon realizing his mother was in the other room. “How the hell did that even happen!? Blacked out my ass.”

It was more or less, likely a murder related to the elites. One of their kids must’ve been hanging out with those junkies and killed a man for fun.

A phone begins to ring. Miles turns his head.

“Miles, can you get that for me?” He heard his mother, who was too busy chopping up something, call out.

He turns off the television, hops out of the sofa and heads straight into his mother’s room. As he flicks the light open, a king-sized bed greets him with its gray, large glory. He used to jump on that bed too much when he was a kid. Now, it looked.. Desolate, and almost deserted. With how large the bed was, he couldn’t help but ponder how lonely his mother must’ve felt, sleeping in a bed less warmer than three years ago.

Miles passes by the closet, and after foraging for a bit, he manages to find his mother’s phone atop a drawer— swiftly grabbing the gadget before turning to leave.

As he turns, his foot accidentally nudges against a box.

He peers through it, before kicking it away.

Making his way back to the kitchen, he hands the ringing phone over to his mother before curtly returning to the room to close the lights.

But as his hands reached out towards the switch, his eyes were drawn back to the sight of the box.

It looked like it’d been cast aside beside the closet.

Hearing his mother speak over the phone lightheartedly, something about something. Miles trudges towards the orange, cardboard box, kneeling by the floor with a single knee down on the wood. His hand curiously glazes over the top, feeling a pile of dust collect over his fingers.

Hesitantly, he takes off the lid, finding a familiar white, collared shirt. He pulls it up to the ceiling light and watches as it unfolds into a larger sheet.

This belonged to his father’s.

He looks right back into the box, finding a pair of black, dress pants neatly folded into a square. Meekly, he tugs on it, hoping he wouldn’t uncover anything sinister like a severed hand or an eyeball. After pulling the whole thing out, a longer line of black unravels.

A strange array of emotions lingered inside him.

Nostalgia. Wrath. Happiness.

It smelled like dust, and it was forever devoid of its owner’s scent and warmth.

“Miles, do you want juice?”

“Huh? Y-yeah.” He stammered. “Grape juice would be nice.”

His mother’s comment slips past his ears. For a moment, he pondered about wearing this to the Sunday party, but he couldn’t help but think how it likely wouldn’t fit him. His father was a giant, and he was quite lanky.

Upon hearing his mother’s footsteps, Miles hurriedly and clumsily attempts to refold the clothes, only then hearing a soft clatter. He pivots his head to the side.

There was a USB.

“For the florals, I think daffodils would be great.”

Your hands skimmed across the air in attempt of drafting an idea. From afar, you manage to earn a wider view of the banquet hall. Workers left and right helped with tidying up the refectory, scrubbing up windows and mopping up the floors. “It would match the golden theme, don’t you think?” You asked of Charlotte, who nodded wobbly with her dire age.

As of that moment, you’d been preparing for the layout of the party. As much as you didn’t want to listen to Montrell’s suggestion, you figured getting on his bad side would be a bad move.

The fundraiser, originally hosted by your aunt, was planned out to gather enough money to support Senator Barlowe’s projects. Your family was to auction off high-priced materials such as clothes, jewelry, paintings, and even estates for the sake of meeting the goal. Which would also mean that the highest of the elite would be attending the party.

And you were less than thrilled to be its co-host.

Charlotte marvels at your suggestion, taking it with a smile but a pique. “However, daffodils can’t usually be placed with other flowers, so I’ll have to make a special request to the florist to do the preparations extensively.”

You raised a brow. “Why can’t they be placed together with other flowers?”

One of the maids carrying a porcelain vase walk past you, making you gently remind her to put it aside.

Charlotte parts her palms. “They secrete toxins into the water. So whenever it’s placed among other flowers, the rest die.”

“Oh,” You widened your gaze, processing this newly found information. “How did you know that?”

Charlotte blinked, trying to think back. “.. Well, daffodils were used for your mother and father’s wedding. It was a struggle, since the day of the wedding, half of the bouquet had already wilted.”

You stood back in surprise, crossing your arms before your chest. “Mama must’ve been furious.”

Charlotte shook her head. “Your father plucked flowers out from the gardens and made her a bouquet himself.”

Wait. What? WHAT?

Wow, who knew your daddy was quite the romantic?

I’m just as shocked as every other person.

“M-My father?” You dumbly repeated. “My father plucked out the flowers himself? Or was it Mr. Nigel?”

“Your father, himself, Miss.” Charlotte laughed, finding your shock to be quite amusing. “He’s quite great at it too— flower arrangement. Your grandmother taught him from an early age.”

“My father truly arranged the bouquet for him and mama’s wedding?” You couldn’t believe your ears. “He has that sort of talent?”

“Why, of course!” She beamed a warm beam. “Like you, he used to oversee the interior of the hotel. He has great taste when it comes to color, and you’ve inherited that side of him.”

You tried to think about it, your father— who was now an old man with a permanent sneer on his wrinkled lip— arranging flowers in his youth, picking out pastel and cream curtains for the parties, and overseeing the menu. It didn’t seem like something he’d do, at all. Then again, your mother used to describe him in a way that made it tragic.

A good man, never a good father. Torn between yearning to be held in arms that never welcomed him and finding his worth beyond the standard of his own father.

You tried to sympathize with him. Your father.

Though he was who he was, he cared about you, in a twisted, fucked-up way. Your engagement with Richard Fisk was privately decided after the hotel went near-bankrupt had it not been for the Fisks and their mystical talent for cover-ups— and your father simply took most of your managing rights away just so the family you’d marry into wouldn’t use you for their own greed.

The fate wasn’t entirely horrible either. You’d marry into new money, sure, but their wealth would most definitely preserve the comfortable life you’re living right now.

It was your own greed that was worsening you.

Your desire to have a tantamount of power.

But what if you never needed it?

“Miss!”

What if all you needed was a peaceful life? Marry into the Fisks, host parties, and care no more about anything?

“Miss [Y/n]!”

.. But what about Miles?

He hadn’t answered any of your texts yet.

“Miss [Y/n], a call.” One of your secretaries came crashing through the doors with his phone. How you hated that word. Call. A signal of what would definitely exhaust you. Where was Montrell? Why weren’t they calling out for him? Were you really the only one able to handle all the messes in here? Workers left and right stopped as he trudged up the stairs, nearly tossing the phone over to you. You slip it close to your ear, making your way down with each click of your heel.

Charlotte watches as you listen to the caller with such intent. Silently, you eyed your surroundings before heading out.

As you reached the patio, you looked out into the dimming violet evening that was fading out along with the scarlet of the sun. The caller rambles on, something along about the recent incident.

“I’ve bribed the higher-ups to rush the investigation and to arrest the witnesses. We’ll release the story that they had murdered their friend after taking drugs.”

“Good.” You plucked out your vape from your pockets. “Report to me immediately once you find all the records about their families and their identities.”

“Understood.” You hear the sound of Morrison’s computer typing. Likely writing up a list. “I’ve also halted the investigation of the fire. I’ve told your father the information was tracked from an accidental leak after a delivery of the samples to one of the families had the address exposed. Sir Anthony will have to take up the blame since it was his idea.”

You took a long huff. “Good job. You did well.”

The smoke lingers, and you close your eyes.

Sorry, Antonne. You’ll live, I guess.

“Morrison,” You called out to him. “.. How’s Miles?”

The typing comes to a halt. For a moment, the two of you shared a moment of silence. You picture him pushing his glasses up higher off the bridge of his nose.

“.. I’ve spent most of my attention on other things, so I haven’t been able to check up on him yet.”

“Ah, is that so?” You mumbled. “Never mind then, just continue on with halting the investigation. I’ll take care of the rest, and remember, if any of the witnesses start describing my face—“

Clack.

You turned your head.

What was that?

ＳＯＭＥＯＮＥ‘Ｓ　ＨＥＲＥ

No shit.

Beyond the gardens, the skies were beginning to dim. That familiar shade of magenta, it lingered like a ghost and it haunted you like your past. There was a click that set your mind off, and suddenly you couldn’t help but feel like the world was integrating itself into a technicolor, dotted comic.

Then and there, spying on you from the top of the six Corinthian columns of the garden, sat the young Prowler.

“Miss [Y/n]? You were saying?” Morrison pried from you.

You parted your phone from you ear, a side of your grin heightening into a catty smirk.

“… If any of them start describing my face, take care of it.”

Then and there, you ended the call with one light tap. You remained stubborn with your posture, seemingly amused and befuddled by it all while keeping your head high. The boy watched you curiously but stiffly, as if he were unsure of what to do. You were mutually frozen, but you couldn’t allow any sort of weakness to seep through the cracks of your confidence.

You took a step close, and he tenses. The sound of your heel clicking against the tiles sends an echo into the garden.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You greeted of him with sincere politeness, placing a hand over your hip. Was it an attempt to appear idle or what? “… It’s quite an honor to have you here as a guest.”

“Who are you?” The boy growled, voice delved baritones deep. “Really.”

You tilted your head.

“Who would you like me to be?”

His gauntlet unfolds, and suddenly, he launches himself at you, grabbing you by the neck.

[A/n: I PASSED MY FUCKING ENTRANCE EXAM GUYS]

#miles morales #42 miles morales #42 miles morales x reader #astv x you #miles morales x reader #miles morales x you #astv miles #astv x reader #astv x y/n #earth 42 miles x you #earth 42 prowler #earth 42 miles morales x female reader #earth 42 miles fluff #astv #earth 42 miles morales x reader #earth 42 miles x reader #miles morales prowler #miles morales x y/n #prowler miles #miles morales 1610 #d

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 16, Unaccompanied - Pt. 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language,

Word Count: 881

Previously On...: You were juuuuust about to leave for your first mission with Bucky, but have been felled by a nasty stomach bug, leaving Bucky to go off on the mission alone :(

A/N: Fuck it! I'm in a generous mood!

Dun, dun, DUN! NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when I update, please enable notifications from my Blog page!

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Taglist: (Sadly, tag list is closed; Tumblr will not let me add anyone new. If you want to be notified when I update, please Follow me for Notifications!) @jmeelee @cazellen @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @blackhawkfanatic @buckybarnessimpp @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @marygoddessofmischief @sebastians-love @learisa @lethallyprotected @rabbitrabbit12321 @buckybarnesandmarvel @fanfictiongirl77 @calwitch @fantasyfootballchampion @selella @jackiehollanderr @wintercrows @sashaisready @missvelvetsstuff @angelbabyyy99 @keylimebeag @maybefoxysouls @vicmc624 @j23r23 @wintercrows @crist1216 @cjand10 @pattiemac1@les-sel @dottirose @winterslove1917 @harperkenobi @ivet4 @casey1-2007 @mrsevans90 @steeph-aniie @bean-bean2000 @beanbagbitch @peachiestevie @wintrsoldrluvr @shadowzena43

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You woke up a few hours later. You felt a bit better, but an all encompassing fatigue still settled over your body. You stretched and grabbed your phone to check the time. Glancing at your phone’s screen, you saw you had multiple missed calls from Bucky, and text messages asking you to call him back as soon as you could.

Concerned, you hit the button to dial him back. He picked up immediately.

“Baby,” he breathed, sounding relieved. “I am so sorry, I have no idea how this happened, but I swear, I had nothing to do with it. I was fully prepared to go by myself, but—”

“Bucky,” you interrupted, “what are you talking about?”

“Fucking Carthage,” he seethed, and you could feel his anger through the phone. “She’s on the Quinjet with me. I told Steve I was fine going alone, but I set the autopilot for takeoff and she was just there. I’m so sorry, sweets. I know you got no reason to believe me, but I didn’t ask for this. I don’t want this. She’s the last person I want to be trapped in this bird with, let alone on a mission with. I locked myself in the fucking cockpit just to keep her the hell away from me.”

Your stomach dropped, but you could hear the anxiety and rage in his voice, and maybe you were stupid, but you truly believed this had taken him by as much surprise as it had taken you. “It’s okay, baby,” you told him after you’d taken a breath, not realizing you’d let the endearment slip through. “I believe you; it’s not your fault.”

“I promised you I’d cut her out,” he bemoaned. “This makes me a fucking piece of shit all over again, and I hate it. I hate what it must be doing to you right now. I’m so sorry.”

You were feeling nauseous again, though from your stomach bug or the current situation, you weren’t quite sure. “You can’t help this, Buck. It’s beyond your control, I get that. I really do. I know I can’t expect you to ignore her while you’re on a mission together. You don’t have to worry about breaking your promise to me right now, okay? It’s extenuating circumstances.”

“I’ll only talk to her about mission-related shit,” he promised. “I’ll ignore everything else, I swear.”

“Yeah,” you said, running a hand through your hair. “Yeah, that’s good. We can work with that, Buck. It’s okay; we can get through this.

“I’m so sorry, Pocket.” Bucky’s voice was mournful. “It’s another promise I made to you that I’m not keeping. 

You talked to him for a while longer, reassuring him you didn’t blame him for the current state of affairs, and that you weren’t going to hold any contact he needed to have with her against him. Occasionally, you could hear Jade pounding on the cockpit door, and Bucky would shout that, if it wasn’t about the mission, he didn’t want to hear it. 

After about an hour and a half, Bucky swore softly. “I’m sorry, sweets– looks like we’re heading into a storm. I’m gonna have to take the jet off autopilot and fly her manual til we’re through it.”

“Yeah, of course, Buck,” you said, knowing he was telling you he had to hang up. “Text me when you land, okay?”

“‘Course, doll,” he said, and you could hear him smile into the phone. “I’ll be doin’ everything in my power to get this mission over as soon as possible.”

“Just come home to me safe and sound, Barnes,” you told him. “That’s the important thing.” 

“Always,” he said. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Hey, Buck?” you asked, before he had a chance to hang up. “I love you, okay? So much.” You still did, despite everything, and you wanted him to know it.

“I don’t deserve you, sweetheart,” he said, “but I love you, too. More than anything.”

You said your goodbyes and were left in the quiet of your room. You needed to have a conversation with Tony, but before you set out to find him, you had one burning question you needed answered.

“Hey FRIDAY?” you called.

“Yes, Ms. (Y/L/N)?” came the disembodied Irish voice.

“Why didn’t you alert me when Sergeant Barnes and Ms. Carthage interacted aboard the Quinjet?” you asked.

“You asked for all interactions within the Tower,” FRIDAY replied. “The Quinjet does not technically meet the parameters of your request and thus was not included.”

You rolled your eyes. Of course the AI would get caught up in semantics. “Okay, fine. Adjust the parameters of the request to include any and all interactions occurring between the two on the Quinjet, as well,” you requested. 

The AI agreed, and you let out a sigh. You felt terrible about essentially spying on Bucky, but the truth was, you still didn’t fully trust him again. You wanted to, more than anything, but you just couldn’t. You hated what you had become, what the situation, his actions, had turned you into. If you were the kind of girl who believed in a higher power, you’d be praying to any deity who would listen that this mission would be over before your anxiety got the best of you.

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

[aspiring-artist-em]

Crimson Rivers, is it back? What now? Does that mean Zar is back?

So, like a normal, sane reader, when I get an AO3 notification, I immediately drop everything and check it out. In my little tiny brain filled with angst and smut, I was thinking that it was maybe a chapter being updated, or maybe someone I love replying to a comment I left about how their writing is so fantastic and giving them vivid descriptions of how I wish to burn it into my brain because how good it is. Turns out, that was not the case.

It was a fucking notification about Crimson Rivers being posted.

I sat on my bed, and just stared. My brain wasn’t working. I was halfway though a bag of chips that my dog really wanted and staring at an email that bizarrestars fucking posted Crimson Rivers.

And Best Friend’s Brother.

And Just Lovers.

And all of those fics I was dying to read were back. All the fics that had me frothing at the mouth with want and the insatiable urge to consume everything he put back out into the world. And so, I followed the link in my email and oh my god-

They were back.

All of them. 

Every single one of their fics was back up and I was fucking psyched because I have an AO3 account and I have access to it again. Me, along with many other fans of his works and readers in this fandom, texted friends and loved ones. We smiled and downloaded the files, swearing that we will never lose those works again. 

___

So, like a normal, sane author, when I get an AO3 notification, I immediately drop everything and check it out. In my little pea brain filled with ways to torture my readers and ways to get them off through my words, I was thinking that maybe someone had kindly left a kudos on my work, or maybe even comment on it. All my works are ongoing and to be honest, I was a little scared to open my email because what if it's a negative comment? What if it’s someone telling me that they hate me because I’m sick and twisted, writing the filth I do. What if it’s someone telling me that they hate how I made a certain character bisexual because in their mind, bisexual women can't also be attracted to women? What if it’s someone telling me that the trauma I write about is misrepresented and that I am an awful person for romanticizing it when I swear I’m not, when I know that I’m drawing from experience. What if it’s someone saying the aforementioned trauma is too dramatized, and that the way that I write it as something to be worked through, doesn’t fit their “one kiss and all the bad memories go away” narrative they have in their head. What if it’s someone telling me I should be ashamed, telling me that I am disgusting, telling me that I shouldn't write what I write even though I have hyperlinks embedded in my fics and even though I have additional warnings per chapter and even though I have so many tags the plot is given away. Turns out, that is not the case.

It was a fucking notification about Crimson Rivers being posted.

I sat on my bed, and just stared. My brain wasn’t working. I was halfway though a bag of chips that my dog really wanted and staring at an email that bizarrestars fucking posted Crimson Rivers.

And Best Friend’s Brother.

And Just Lovers.

And all of those fics people were dying to read were back. All the fics that had people online frothing at the mouth with want and the insatiable urge to consume everything he put back out into the world. And so, I followed the link in my email and

oh my god-

They were back.

All of them.

Every single one of their fics was back up and I was filled with fucking dread, because all I could focus on is how there’s a shiny new prongsfoot fic right there on the top of their page, the first thing people will see. All I could think about is how they talked about people not respecting their wishes with their fics  and how people on the internet are fucking relentless. All I could think about are the videos I will see with people complaining that they can’t read it because they don't have an AO3 account and people attacking them for the two chapter prongsfoot fic right there, and how people fucking idolized the guy, putting him on a pedestal and hailing him as the “best fanfic writer ever, right there along with misskingbean (who may or may not be Taylor swift (I swear, Taylor is NOT misskingbean))”All I could think about is the exit he, and MANY OTHER authors made because people got ahold of their work and were fucking rude about it. All I could think of is someone who was practically pushed off the internet for doing what he loves so well that people started hating when he wrote what he wanted to write, and how now, he’s back and honestly, it scares me a little bit because he didn’t deserve the hell people put him through.

___

Crimson rivers, is it back? What now? Does that mean Zar is back? Short answer, yes, yes, and yes. Long answer, yes but only if you have an AO3 account and ONLY IF people can be fucking nice this time around and maybe remember that zar is a fucking person with fucking feelings and something called a fucking mental health to take care of. Authors have feelings too, we aren’t some mindless fic generator. If you want that, go to chat gtp or some shit. We put our hearts and souls into our work and share it because we want to put it out there, not because we want to get bullied.

Now, I know what you're going to say, “oh, but I just really loved the guy, he was like the second coming of christ with his words like I just really wanted to read more because I loved him so much, like I forgot he was a human because I just loved him and a little love never hurt anyone.” 

But like, that’s also really fucking problematic and actually obsessive. Just think about it. Like this guy is a person and like, maybe you shouldn’t treat him like he is anything more OR ANYTHING LESS. Like honestly, he probably didn't start posting his work to gain fame, like this was probably really unexpected for him. AND EVEN IF HE DID, IT DOESN’T MEAN YOU GET TO TREAT HIM LIKE A FUCKING PRODUCT GOD DAMN. Like, this is a PERSON. Imagine if your best friend or little sibling came to you and was talking about people putting enormous pressure on them and being obsessed with everything they do and how they feel like they have to be perfect and please everyone because if they don't, they’ll get harassed online and like, it’s genuinely damaging their mental health. Like, imagine if that happened to you. What would you tell them? Well, hopefully, you would tell them that those people are fucking obsessed and that they need to take a break and maybe, just maybe remove the works so they could put their mind to rest, because that’s better than this. Like come on everyone, can’t you fucking see the problem with that? Idolization and bullying go hand in hand and the poor guy has been though enough. 

Also, remember, be kind to the guy and like, idk, treat him with fucking human decency? Don't deadname him maybe? Don't like, idolize him? Don't get mad when he writes what he wants to fucking write because you don't like it? And maybe like, respect his wishes? It should be pretty fucking simple tbh, but apparently it's a difficult task for some of you. He isn’t a fucking god and maybe like, before you comment, actually sit there and reflect on what you are going to say to him.

SO MAYBE, BEFORE YOU COMMENT SHIT, REMEMBER THAT ZAR’S, (and, for the record, every other author’s) MENTAL HEALTH IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN A 800K WORD STORY ABOUT DEAD WIZARDS. LIKE PLEASE, YOU CAN FUCKING LIVE WITHOUT ONE SPECIFIC FIC WHEN THERE ARE SO MANY OTHER FICS OUT THERE, AND SO MAYBE LIKE, REMEMBER TO RESPECT THE AUTHORS WHO WRITE YOUR STORIES.

MAYBE, JUST MAYBE, BEFORE YOU SAY SHIT, THINK ABOUT WHY HE FUCKING LEFT IN THE FIRST PLACE, DEAR GOD.

#bizzarestars #Marauders #marauders era #Sirius Black #Remus Lupin #James Potter #peter pettigrew #regulus black #jegulus #wolfstar #crimson rivers #just lovers #best friend's brother #respect authors omg #like for the love of god #hp marauders #a message to the fandom #zar #Lily Evans #marlene mckinnon #dorcas meadows #mary mcdonald

[birdiewriteslit]

wildest dreams

luke hughes x abigail abernathy

masterlist

okay ik i haven’t updated this in a literal month so im finally feeding you my apologies for the wait

“Get up.” Jack said, grabbing the pillow from underneath Luke’s head and throwing it across the room.

Luke groaned, planting his face into the mattress. “What do you want?” he asked curtly, voice muffled by the sheets.

“It’s 1pm, we have practice in an hour, you’re a mess, I’m mad at you,” Jack listed, yanking the comforter off of his body.

Luke shivered and rolled over, shielding his eyes from the sun streaming in through the window. “What have you got to be mad about?”

“I haven’t heard from Abigail since she left, which, by the way, I know was your fault. Plus, you’ve been moody ever since she did, even though you’ve got no right to be.” Jack paused, taking a breath. “And I know what happened on New Year’s.”

Luke sat up on the bed, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. “Then you know I’ve got some right. She’s the one who doesn’t.”

Jack rolled his eyes, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Fine, be an idiot. See if I care. Don’t take it out on Abigail when all she did was like you. You’re probably not used to girls liking you though.”

“She doesn’t like me, she’s fucking Rudy,” Luke mumbled.

“You really are an idiot. Seriously, get out of bed or I’m leaving without you.”

Jack left the room and Luke let his head fall into his hands. He grabbed his phone from the bedside table, staring at Abigail’s smiling face on his lockscreen, and feeling worse about the whole thing.

He listened to the voicemail, and he felt sick to his stomach. He knew he shouldn’t have yelled at her, but seeing her with Rudy set something off in his mind.

Granted, he had a jealousy problem since they were kids and Abigail would come to Toronto talking about all of her Boston friends, but things were a lot different now.

When Abigail got a job on Shameless, Luke couldn’t be prouder, and when it came out, she was so excited to watch it with him.

It was just her and him that night at the lake, the others having gone to bed. “I can’t watch this with my parents,” Abby had said, clinging to Luke’s arm in excitement.

He figured that meant she was topless in a scene. He’d seen Shameless before, and he couldn’t lie about being a little excited about her debut. He was 17, after all.

What he wasn’t expecting, however, was a full on sex scene between you and a costar, who still comments on your Instagram posts.

That was the moment he realized that things were changing in Abigail’s world. He thought about how other guys would be looking at her, thinking about her.

Then Outer Banks came around, and she started dating Rudy. He had to act like he liked the guy, but in reality he hated the way it made him feel seeing Abigail with another guy.

For a whole year he had to watch her with him. She even brought him to the lake once, and then after that trip, he broke up with her over Luke.

So, naturally, he didn’t like it when he saw Abigail was hanging around a guy like that again.

He replayed the voicemail. “Fuck,” he said out loud. “I fucked up.”

abyabynathy

tagged jamie.drysdale, philadelphiaflyers

Liked by jamie.drysdale, _quinnhughes and 1,967,346 others

abyabynathy baby’s first flyers game

View comments

trevorzegras the plot thickens

jamie.drysdale omg that’s me

abyabynathy @/jamie.drysdale sniped

cam.york we have fun

abyabynathy @/cam.york so much fun

philadelphiaflyers Have we converted you to a flyers fan??

abyabynathy @/philadelphiaflyers you gotta win first

jackhughes @/abyabynathy SHOTS FIRED

nhlbruins @/philadelphiaflyers Back off.

_quinnhughes why are you everywhere besides vancouver

abyabynathy @/_quinnhughes some day i might make it there

jackhughes this is interesting

trevorzegras @/jackhughes VERY interesting

abyabynathy @/trevorzegras stop conspiring

user1 what is going on

January 8, 2024

messages 10:36 pm

jack: if you’re trying to make luke mad it’s working

jack: but i can tell he feels guilty for whatever he did

jack: it’s actually a weird combination and i don’t like it

jack: pls fix it

abigail: i tried to fix it but he’s an ass idk what to tell you

abigail: i’m not trying to make him mad but it’s not my fault he freaks out when i breath near anyone else

jack: why the fart are you in philly then

abigail: bc i wanted to see my friend jamie

jack: and you had to do this in the midst of this drama

jack: you and luke need to figure this shit out cuz i’m tired of you hurting each other

jack: shit pisses me off

abigail: okay i admit i knew it would make him mad but he fucking screamed at me and hasn’t spoken to me since his tantrum

jack: he will he just needs time to cool down

read 10:43 pm

—

taglist: @alwaysclassyeagle

#birdiewriteslit #birdiewritesfics #birdie’s aus #birdie’s edits #wildest dreams au #luke hughes x abigail abernathy #abigail abernathy #luke hughes x oc #luke hughes #luke hughes fic #nj devils #philadelphia flyers #nhl #nhl fic #nhl au #jack hughes #quinn hughes #jamie drysdale #media edit #smau

[beesmygod]

today is webcomics day. i am bea and i make "A Ghost Story" - part 1: pre-gaming

webcomic day is a yearly celebration of the art form concocted by the screentones podcast team as a way for people to see how the sausage gets made. my webcomic "a ghost story" has been running for over 10 years, and yet i still don't think i can say i am good at making a webcomic. regardless, the comic is getting made because otherwise i become very, very sick in the head. today i would like to share with you the process of making a page of "A Ghost Story" from start to finish. either this demystifies the process or will make you think im so cool and strong for doing this 2x a week. instead of reblogging this one post until it gets very long, i will be posting individual updates that i will then compile and post on my personal website. block the tags now if you HATE comics and want them to EXPLODE.

if you have any questions, even things like "what the fuck are you even talking about" feel free to ask. i want to feel confident in what i make again and i think sometimes interrogation from an outside source is really

---

that said, let's get started. wait just kidding i want a cup of coffee first, hold on.

ok now im ready. i have a big glass of water. i have coffee. i have a headset for the parts of work that don't involve typing words. i can't type words and listen to some streamer babble in my ear at the same time, so it has to be instrumental music or nothing. i just took my meds so they should kick in after about 30 mins. i woke up late today, which is weird and annoying. but maybe i can work late instead.

first off, i need to know where i'm going beyond this one page. if i dont know where im going with something, then i usually create something that sucks that i have to deal with later. hold on my internet died, i have to reset the router. ok, anyway.

what's rattling around in my brain is that not only do i have to deal with maxine's current predicament, i am also dealing with multiple plot elements i need to wrap back around to from the previous chapter. luckily, im about to put maxine down for a nap, which means i can get back to those other elements:

i need to finish the exposition from the three ankou characters for this story arc establishing their motivations as the oppositional force in the story. the "villain" is not these three specifically, but their boss. they need to have a loose understanding of what's going on in order to communicate this to the audience. god this started turning into a huge ass paragraph so i'll just keep it short there.

we've jumped back to before jack's horrible day from the first chapter of this storyline so we have to make our way back toward that and then lapping it, which means wrapping up his various open threads like:

feeding victoria and learning something new about her

finding out alice is a very exceptional employee who is getting many awards

watching valdo call lily while interrupting her during something personal to ask her for help with maxine's situation.

jack meeting with valdo and lily the day after they first met so jack can just tell them straight up that lily has 4 sisters she doesnt know about.

help that girl with her poltergeist problem. remember that. i've had jokes for this rattling in my head for like 4 years. im going insane.

and also the fucking tilberi!!! that has a point its going somewhere!!! there's a larger menace here!!!

other things to set up the climax of this storyline. sexual tensions, hints at larger emotional problems not immediately evident to the reader

lots of moving parts. and i feel like im moving in slow motion to get to them. i can see them all weaving together in my head, its the process of putting that onto paper that's proving difficult.

ok that took an hour starting and stopping. -_- let me write the next part as i keep brainstorming on how to approach this page. taking a "rubber duck" approach to this might help. heres an image from the last page i worked on (i have a 5 page buffer rn so the site does not match the finished pages) to get us semi-situated.

also because images will help people understand what skill level we're working with here. i need to be able to communicate an idea to the audience; if the art also looks good on top of that, then that's just an added bonus. but the ability to communicate my ideas is sometimes hampered by my lack of artistic skill or comics language ineptitude. like those speech bubbles kind of fucking suck but at a certain point you have to just hit print on what you're working on in order to keep your already glacial pace.

webcomics is a tightrope act where you're also spinning 4 plates at once. the trick is to keep the audience from realizing how many actually fall or how wobbly they all are. the act sucks but technically its not a failure.

#a ghost story #webcomics #webcomic #webcomic day

[pennyserenade]

The Hollywood Hedonist Method

pairing: dieter bravo x you, dieter bravo x reader rating: explicit (oral sex (female receiving), pinv, unprotected sex, light dirty talk (a little degrading), sex in public place (?), soft dom!reader, soft dom!dieter tags: references to drugs, talk of suicide (not serious), a self pitying dieter bravo word count: 2.9k+ summary: dieter's movie is bad and he looks to you for a quick fix to a long problem. a/n: is this the most inspired piece i ever wrote? probably not but i did have a lot of fun writing it. i wouldn't say this is my usual writing style, but i'm trying something new on here and i hope you like it. if you'd like to be updated on when i post my writing, follow my writing updates blog @belovedinfidels

He fingers you on the black marble countertop, his mess of crushed ambitions transformed suddenly into a hardy joie de vivre as you accept his tongue into your mouth. Salacious stories be damned: this is better than any page six bullshit could cover, his strong body settled between your widened legs, his long fingers curled in the warm comforts of your body. He breathes you in, drinks you up. 

Your whiskey soaked tactlessness is divine tonight. It offers a heady respite from the impending dark cloud of his self doubt. He doesn’t even mind that you don’t realize how gloomy this shit makes him. He feels like one of those goddamn characters in Sunset Boulevard, switching between the dead bloodied man floating in the pool of his own ambition, and the frenzied, forgotten actress with the warm gun of delusion in her hands. He hates that he’s miserable over his fucking shitty movie, and he’s so hard it’s embarrassing, and a little confusing, and you’re beginning to squirm and he wonders if maybe his tongue might make you shake and—-

“Dieter!” 

You dig crescent shaped imprints on the pale, freckled skin of his shoulders. His tongue makes you shout–better than he could’ve ever hoped for. It’s the ego boost he needs. Plus, you’re so goddamn wet that it’s coating his chin and he’s only just got on his knees. That’s nice, too. 

He licks up to your swollen clit, tonguing it until you let out delightful little mewls and writhe beneath him. When you close your legs around his head, he lets out a moan. You taste like the closest thing to penitence he’ll ever get. He could eat your pussy all night if you let him. Really. There’s some things he knows for certain, some things even bad fucking movies and a deflating ego can’t rob him of, and his love for this is one of them. The act of spreading a woman apart and eating her like she’s ripe pickings from the Garden of Eden almost drives him to romanticism sometimes. He is sure he could write poetry about this. He bets your pussy’d look so pretty on a canvas. He’s never drawn a pussy from memory, but he’s gonna try it tomorrow and—

“Are you okay?” you rasp, looking down at him with a frown. 

Well, maybe it can rob me of this, he thinks bitterly. 

Your grip turns more forgiving in his hair, your fingers sympathetically pushing his locks back from his face. He comes up, his slick-glistened lips forming into what you suspect is meant to be a reassuring grin. It looks more like a grimace. You run a thumb affectionately over his cheek and he groans, pushing it off with his shoulder. He positions himself back between your legs. When you pull at his hair again, trying to get him to look at you, he winces sharply. 

“Dammit,” he mutters, dark eyes deep wells of glazed frustration. “If I don’t make you cum I’m going to jump out of the window,” he deadpans. 

You’ve always hated the kind of people who make you wonder what’s a joke and what’s not, because it’s a constant commotion of miscommunication. Life becomes a bad joke, a joke that is in constant need of explaining, and you’ve never liked that. Dieter is the sort that seems to be hanging on the edge of I don’t know, the kind who seems to be supplanting real answers for half funny, half serious ones. The uncertainty he posits is a product of the uncertainty he feels - you can tell already - but you’re not exactly enthused to decipher him for the rest of your life. 

You frown. You’d only met him under strobe lights not even two months ago, shouting over the music to get to know one another. He had tasted of stale cigarettes and early morning remorse, and he’d taken you in the women’s bathroom, pressed you against the bathroom stall, and fucked you with bruising intensity. Then he had written his number on the palm of your hand, and kissed you chastely on the mouth after it was all over. There’s no future here. You won’t be deciphering anything. 

“Sit on my face,” he implores. Dieter delivers the sentence like he’s asking you if he can hold your hand. His fingers grip at your thighs and his breath grazes the inside of your legs. When he presses his lips to the side of your cunt, you close your eyes against the sensation. He tongues the spot, laughing shakily as you ease underneath him. Your hips press forward and he takes it as acceptance. “Or don’t,” he says. His tongue teases at your lips, and you can hear the grin in his tone when he says, “I’ll eat you out like this. That’s just fine, too.” His tongue nudges into your opening and you gasp. Your hand finds his hair again. “But tell me you want it.” 

His lips press to the side of your pussy again. You gush involuntarily at the sound of a husky voice, at the way he hovers over you with the promise of more. 

“Mm.” You look down your body at him, making eye contact as he presses kisses closer and closer to your glistening clit. He nods his head at you, encouraging you as he begins twirling his tongue around the area. “Actors are so goddamn self absorbed,” you say. He nods wordlessly again, smiling against your skin. He doesn’t tongue your clit, though. You want him badly to take it into his mouth. To suck—

“Fuck, please,” you plead. “I want it.” 

His eyes glimmer. You feel his hot breath all over you, and can hardly stand the sensation of it. You want to ride his face, make him bring you to orgasm your own way. You nearly forget his sad, petulant attitude in your impatience. 

He takes your clit in his mouth, sucks eagerly as you stroke your nipple through the thin cotton of your dress. Dieter is greedy even in his giving, taking as much of you as you’ll let him. He enters a finger into you—a finger that goes in with an embarrassing ease—and then another when you moan lewdly into the enclosed air of this someone else’s bathroom. His face moves with your hips, letting you rock against the rhythm his own fingers set. You moan his name and he goes faster, and you feel on the brink of imploding. 

Your eyes close and you focus on his mouth, and the fury with which he works at your swollen clit, and you think of his fingers, and the way your cunt clenches around them, large as they are. As you cum against his mouth with an unapologetically guttural moan, he surprises you with the seriousness of his intent—how he does not look up at you or smirk against you, but works devoutly at building another orgasm up. You grip the edge of the sink and your head thuds against the mirror as it lolls back. The glass reverberates but neither of you care; your ass is gradually rising off the counter and his body is rising up, one of his legs kneeled on the ground and the other one hovering. He makes you cum again in a matter of seconds. 

In between your second and third orgasm, his belt buckle jingles open and he’s risen all the way up. He comes up for air, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and then he kisses you on the mouth. He’s wet with your juices down to his chin and he’s not afraid to spread the taste of you against your tongue. There’s a drop of pre-cum wetting the blue of his tight boxer shorts. You grab onto his jean loops and jostle him closer. He comes without protest. 

“You shouldn’t ask a man how he feels when he’s eating you out,” he tells you. His head is pressed against your chest and he’s looking down at himself, at the way his cock is strained in his boxers. He’s hard as hell. He looks back up at you with intense eyes. “It’s likely he feels pretty fucking good.” 

“Shut up,” you groan. You stuff your hand down the front of his open jeans and his neutrality fades into a smirk. His hips jerk as you palm him and he whimpers, desperate as ever. You fist his hair, driving his neck back so you can kiss along the column of his throat. “The movie wasn’t even that fucking bad,” you tell him. He laughs and you feel his Adam’s apple bob against your lips. You suck at the skin there. If he minds, he doesn’t say. His eye lashes flutter against his cheeks and he happily grinds against your hand. You think you could make him beg, if you wanted. You think maybe he wants to. 

You withdraw your touch suddenly and he whimpers, pupils blown wide with desire. He goes from confused to uncertain. “What?—“ 

“Ground,” you command. He nods curtly. 

He peels off his jeans and underwear on his way down to the cold, sterile tile, making no qualms about being bare ass naked on his employer’s bathroom floor. They are downstairs and they’re partying, and even if they weren’t he wouldn’t give a damn anyway. That’s the appeal of him, isn't it? It’s why the public buys the magazines and watches the movies he’s in. Dieter is a brilliant train wreck and they want to see. 

That movie they put him in was so goddamn commercial and so heartless, and so contrived. He hopes he gets cum on the black shower mat because of what they’ve done to him. 

“I’ve got no condom,” he tells you suddenly, remembering. This had been so spur of the moment. A hand on your knee under the table turned to a hand in your underwear and suddenly you were both up here. His face scrunches up, waiting for rejection. 

He supposes he could make do, maybe just ask you to talk to him while he masturbates this hard-on away. Are you into that sort of thing? He supposes it’s a little exhibitionist, and he knows that’s not everyone’s cup of tea but—

You don’t seem to give a shit. You straddle his hips and look down at him. You’re still a little loopy from your orgasms but confident in your approach-confident that he wants this badly as you think he does and goddamnit if you’re not right. He ought to be responsible and ask you the slew of questions responsible people ask before they bury their cocks into nice women such as yourself. Birth control? Have you fucked anyone else and do you think they might’ve given you something? When’s your birthday? Middle name? But he doesn’t. He breathes steadily beneath you, excited and so fucking worked up he’s afraid the first heavenly push into you might be the last one if you’re not careful with him. 

He doesn’t even know if you won’t tell the paps about this. Maybe you will. Maybe the price of this will be a magazine spread featuring a bad airport photo of him and the headline “DIETER BRAVO OUT OF CONTROL: L.A. FLING TELLS ALL.” And this L.A. fling will know all, will have everything to tell. In a matter of seconds he tries to decide what kind of person you are. He softens a bit, and you notice immediately, and that fresh Hollywood self pity is back and he softens some more.  

Before you can ask if he’s okay again, he heaves a telling sigh. “Too much or not enough drugs,” is his response. It was good while it lasted. What’s the worst that can tell them now? That he eats pussy to make up for his drug induced impotence on bad days? 

You look confused, maybe even a little wounded. No, you are wounded. He squeezes your hip as if to say “You did your best” and this hurt flashes more visibly across your face. Well. 

“Coward,” you tell him. His eyebrows raise to his hairline. 

“Hm?” he answers.  

You lean down, whisper it to him. “You’re a self pitying coward. It’s not the drugs. You’re making yourself miserable.”

“Listen—“ he starts indignantly, but you shake your head. Oddly, he’s getting stiff again. This has been the most embarrassing night of his whole fucking life—and perhaps the most telling. 

You look down between your bodies, pleased. “My theory was right.”

“Please,” he groans, “no more or I’m going to kill myself for real.” 

You laugh and it’s so genuine and that he laughs too, despite himself. You might be laughing at him for all he knows but it doesn’t feel like it. He decides once and for all, looking at you, watching you, that you won’t tell about this or about anything. If you wanted to, you would’ve already. And most importantly, he simply doesn’t want to believe you could be someone like that. He isn’t a coward. Not all the time. He takes a chance on you, here, now. 

“Are you on birth control?” he asks. You nod your head. “Have you been tested lately?” You nod your head again. He smiles. “Do you like me? Check yes or no.” 

You check yes — or at least he thinks. You kiss him tenderly, more tenderly than is good for him, and you both fall back into your hurried, lust riddled motions. You take his growing hard on in your hand and guide him into you. You lean your forehead on his and let him sheath himself inside of you. He goes slowly, wincing against the warmth of you squeezing around him. It feels so fucking good—dangerously good. He forgets about the stupid movie and the bosses down stairs and all that miserable shit about ruining their rugs.  

“Do you like it when I’m mean to you?” you whisper, once he’s fully inside. He looks at you, amused, and shrugs his shoulders. 

“I don’t know. Seems like it.”

“Do you think you’d like if…If I was controlling?”

He hums against your shoulder, bringing your body closer to his. “How so?” he asks. He begins guiding your hips, lifting you gently off his cock and slowly back down. 

“Make you beg,” you say quietly. “Maybe call you names, if you want. Maybe tell you how good you are when I think you’re good.”He twitches inside of you and you smile. He smiles too. 

“Actors are so self absorbed,” he jokes.

“Your movie wasn’t bad,” you assure again, more kindly. He doesn’t respond. He kisses the place between your neck and your shoulder. You quicken the pace that you ride him in and he nods gratefully, sighing softly. His knees draw up and you reposition slightly, feeling him more deeply inside of you as you grind back down into him. 

“Do you want to cum?” you ask him. You drive your hips up, gripping onto the hands he has on your hips, making him move in your slow, teasing pace once again. He bites at his bottom lip and doesn’t respond. You stop moving. He flashes his eyes up at you, annoyed and aroused and vaguely infatuated. “Of course,” he breathes out. 

“Tell me,” you taunt back. You resist when he tries to move you back down and he groans, but you feel him twitch in you again. 

“I know you want me to fuck you too,” he counters. 

“Sure,” you nod, “But remember: I’ve already cum three times and you’ve cum none. I think I can withhold far longer than you.”

He can’t help but smirk. That’s not good enough for you. You want him far gone for you, incoherent practically. You rise off his cock completely and he lurches forward, groaning. “No!” he says. “I want to cum!” he says, pawing at you. “Please!”

You hover over his glistening cock and pout. “Didn’t seem like it,” you taunt, moving your hips over him but not touching. His lips part but no words come out. “I want it to seem like it. You’re a big boy, Bravo and you can use your words, can’t you? I hate a man who can’t use his words—who’s afraid to.” You lean down, close to his ear. “I hate a coward.” 

“I—I can use my words,” he stutters. His fingers brush against your hips. “Please, just climb back on me and keep riding me. I—I need that.”

“Tell me.” 

“Fuck,” he grunts. “I need it so bad.” 

You grab his cock, stroke it lazily. “Again,” you say. His face twists up in what could be either pleasure or pain and he says, “Please. I need it. Need you.” 

He’s as hard and desperate as he was before. You kiss him hard on the mouth and allow him to take over again, guiding you down onto him this time. He flips you over, lays you down against the ground, and drives into you. You gasp and he smiles like he’s won a prize. 

“Can I—“ he fills you to the hilt. “—is it alright if I…Can I cum in you?”

You nod your head. He looks at you and you understand he wants more than just a nod. “Yes,” you answer. 

It doesn’t take much more than that. He gathers up your legs, drives into you with one or two more inspired thrusts, and then he’s growing rigid against your body, hot spurts of his cum filling you. He exhales softly into your neck. You think he might apologize for a moment but he doesn’t. Instead he thanks you. 

“Feel better?” you ask. He nods. 

“Much,” he says. “Hell—I might really be starting to think that the movie wasn’t so bad.” When he looks at you, you can tell he’s kidding. 

“Well,” you joke back, “At least even the bad movies get you fucked, huh?”

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo smut #the bubble #the bubble fanfic #pedro pascal fanfic

[kaaaaaaarf]

hi k! do you have fics that u rec for wolfstar?

HI CECI!! 💖 Boy, do I! I've selected a few that I think are not talked about as much as they should be:

A Brief History of Dragons by @eyra - along with Beneath a Big Blue Sky by the same author, this is my ultimate comfort fic. It probably has the most hits of any fic on this list, but I don't hear enough people talking about it. I don't know how to describe it, other than that it feels like a warm cup of tea on a rainy day. Better In The Morning by BrigidFaye - this is Sirius falling back through the veil six months after everyone thought he died. It's a one shot, it's fucking beautiful and there is a scene that hurts so good. Remus needs a gd hug. It also features a soul mate bond, which we love. Like Real People Do by third_crow - a coffee shop au for people who hate coffee shop aus. Remus has epilepsy, Sirius is raising Harry. It's wonderful, and even has a sequel!

Twin High Maintenance Machines by @behaveddestroyerrating - I can't get through a rec list without something from B. This is technically a WIP but every chapter acts as it's own separate story within a universe. This features maybe my favourite Sirius and Remus of all time. They are both unhinged and in love. It's hilarious. Remus is suffering (and he thrives on it). This is a forever fav and everyone should read it over and over. Drover by @krethes - cowboy wolfstar. that's it, that's the post...it's also extremely fucking hot. It's only 1k so it's a quick read, too. wine of the body and the shape of longing by @greenvlvetcouch - I couldn't believe how few hits this fic has when I checked. It is GORGEOUS! Yes, it's dead dove and there is so much blood (read the tags), but honestly that's the appeal. Underground fighting as foreplay. Hot as fuck. The Hut of the Mistold by @lynxindisguise - gorgeous fairy tale au!! It really feels like you're reading from an old collection of stories and they weave together beautifully!! Side note, it's a WIP, but updating regularily. The Mayors of Simpleton by @fruity-individual - I will bang on my drum about this until I die. WOLFSTAR DIVORCE! WOLFSTAR RAISING TEDDY! BLIND REMUS! Listen, the way Sash writes Remus is downright poetic. It's also a regularily updated WIP. her body is a temple down in the frozen food aisle by @achilleslikespeas - this one has everything: lesbian wolfstar. body horror. time loop. poetic descriptions of existing in a grocery store. The way Claude manipulates text in this to further the narritive is just — chef's kiss. Honey Sweet by @vajazzly - You know this one, Ceci, but HIPPIE REMUS. CITY BOY SIRIUS! This fic really made me smile so wide and God was it hot.

Okay, I could seriously go on and on and on so I will leave it at that! I hope you find something that you haven't read yet and will love!!

#fic recs #ceci tag #ask me #ao3 #wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #marauders

[deathblacksmoke]

Dramamine—Part 4

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Nick Ruffilo

Series Summary: Cynical, brooding bartender Nick meets too-earnest, pretty boy singer Noah when The Rabbit's Foot starts hosting an open mic night.

CW: angst, hints at past trauma, Noah being pushy and kind of annoying and not taking the fucking hint, mention of death

*Content warnings will be updated by chapter*

Word Count: 1.5K

Taglist: @concretenoah / @ladyveronikawrites / @circle-with-me / @darksigns-exe / @xxrainstorm / @monotoniscreaming / @agravemisstake / @iknownothingpeople / @cookiesupplier / @jiizzy / @bngurngheart

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged in future fics!

Author's Note: I'm finally back on track with my updates yay 🤍 POV switches to Noah in this one. Next part will be an interlude. Hope y'all enjoy <3

dividers by @cafekitsune 💐

NOAH’S POV

It’s been 6 days since Noah last spoke to Nick. It’s been 6 days since, mid-hookup, Nick stormed out of Noah’s apartment abruptly and without an explanation.

At least he said he was sorry before he slammed Noah’s door, shaking the room and extending the crack above the door frame. Even so, Noah can’t keep himself from replaying the night in his head, trying to figure out what went wrong. Was it him? What had he done? How does he fix it?

He tried texting him, but when enough texts went unanswered, he decided to cut his losses. He can leave Nick alone if that’s what he wants.

It’s only been a few weeks since they met, but the thought of not having Nick around turns his stomach. He had cracked what seemed to be an impossibly tough exterior, and he thought they were both having fun. He thought Nick liked him too, but just as soon as he was in Noah’s life, he was gone.

His absence aches, leaving something painful and hollow in Noah’s gut. Nick’s tea mug had been left untouched on the coffee table for days—Noah couldn’t quite bring himself to move it to the kitchen and rinse it out. He’d love to say it didn’t have an effect on him when he came home from work to find it had been washed and placed back in the cabinet, but his heart sank.

He changes his mind. If Nick wants to be left alone, he’ll have to tell Noah as much or block him.

Please Nicky, I just want to know if you’re okay.

The text goes unanswered again. He doesn’t know what he expected.

The thought of going to The Rabbit’s Foot to have Nick ignore him straight to his face doesn’t sound appealing to him at all, but he doesn’t want to let himself be pushed out. With or without the promise of seeing Nick at the end of the night, he’s loved doing the open mic nights.

He doesn’t want to let Nick stop him. Against his better judgment, he hopes that after he plays, he’ll be able to pull Nick aside for a talk. It’s wishful thinking, but it’s the same wishful thinking that’s kept him going for this past week. Goddammit, he barely even knows Nick, but he feels like he’s flailing not knowing what’s going on with him. He really did mean it when he said he just wants to know if he’s okay.

When he steps through the door, he sees something he hasn’t seen once in the weeks he’s been coming here. His stomach drops. Behind the bar, there’s no Nick. There’s Jolly and there’s the bouncing barback and there’s some guy he doesn’t recognize, pouring Guinness more shamefully than he’s ever seen. Nick would hate seeing that, but Nick isn’t here.

Noah wonders if it’s his fault but pushes the thought away, can’t allow himself to get caught up in it. He can’t let himself spiral out about it. He just had really hoped Nick would be here, if only so he would know that he’s okay.

It’s agony.

“Hey, you’re up there next,” he’s taken out of his thoughts when Jolly sneaks up on him, a strong hand on his shoulder.

He wants nothing more than to ask about Nick. Second to that, he wants to get the fuck out of this bar and never come back to The Rabbit’s Foot again.

“Thanks, man,” he says instead.

He wants to go home, but he won’t. He’ll go up there, he’ll introduce himself, he’ll sing his song. He’ll pretend he’s not being torn up by Nick’s nagging absence.

Because the thing is, once Noah starts playing, it becomes clear to him how much he’s grown to rely on Nick’s presence here. He’s become dependent on Nick’s bright blue-grey eyes burrowing into his fucking skull, how the focus he places on not getting distracted has made him better. He remembers all the chords he had fucked up or missed altogether that first night, when Nick stormed out for whatever reason it was. He didn’t ask. He’s noticing himself missing them now—his voice is cracking. He feels humiliated. He wishes Nick was here. Nick should be here.

He just has to make it through the song.

There’s no blame for how our love did slowly fade And now that it’s gone, it’s like it wasn’t there at all And here I rest, where disappointment and regret Collide Lying awake at night

Blinking back his tears, it’s clear he picked the wrong one.

It takes all of his resolve not to bolt out the door when he’s done, but he’s feeling brave. More so, he’s feeling like if he doesn’t get an explanation soon, he’ll lose his mind.

His nerves spike as he approaches the bar, especially as the barback spots him and fails to hide the narrowing of his eyes. He wonders what he knows. He wonders what Nick told him.

“Hey, um—” Noah starts when he’s in front of the bar, ignoring the other bartender completely. The barback looks at him expectantly, a little irritated, and it makes him feel uneasy. “I’m sorry, I never caught your name.”

“I’m Nick,” he answers, and Noah has to stop himself from laughing as he raises an eyebrow. “Folio. You get Yuengling, right?”

“I do, but I wanted to ask you about something, actually.”

He’s suddenly more nervous than ever, as Folio fixes him with a look of disgust. He wishes he’d never come here tonight, and especially that he never came up to the bar. But he’s come this far, and he’ll keep going, even as upset as he feels that maybe Folio knows something about him that he doesn’t.

“If you’re looking for Nick, no one has seen him since he took you home last week,” Folio tells him, and a shiver runs down Noah’s spine. It’s worse than he thought. “I don’t know what you did, but no one can get more than a ‘no’ from him when we ask about work or if he’s okay.”

He wants to say that he didn’t do anything wrong and then leave. He feels tears welling up and threatening to fall, and he feels mortified. But he really needs to find out what’s going on. He hates thinking that he involuntarily, maybe, ruined Nick’s life.

He sticks with the exact truth, instead. He sticks with oversharing to a stranger. He tells Folio fucking everything.

“Does he not like guys, or—” Noah starts to ask. He’s horrified to even bring it up. He finds the whole ordeal mortifying enough. “I just can’t figure out where I went wrong.” 

“Honestly, Noah, I was surprised you made it as far as you did with him,” Jolly interjects. Noah had no idea he’d been listening in and his cheeks heat. “He hasn’t really liked anyone or anything for years. Not since Jazz.”

He wonders if Jolly should be telling him this. He almost regrets asking, but he needs to know who Jazz is and what happened to make him like this. He needs to know why everything went from fine to disastrous in the blink of an eye.

“What happened with Jazz?” he asks, and Jolly’s shaking his head as soon as he’s done asking.

“Not for me to tell you. You’ll have to ask Nick.”

But he can’t ask Nick. Nick won’t respond to his fucking texts, but he’s always been persuasive. He leaves the bar with Nick’s address scrawled on a bar napkin, and he feels like a stalker. Maybe he kind of is, but he feels more hopeful than he has in a week.

Nick looks like a wreck when he pulls the door open. Noah peers past him into the apartment, and it’s even worse. He doubts he’s gone outside since the moment he stepped foot back in, and he doubts he’s slept much either, if he goes off the deep blue circles beneath his eyes. 

“What are you doing here, Noah?” Nick asks, sounding exhausted. He expected anger or distaste when he showed up at Nick’s door unannounced, but he never could have anticipated the look and sound of defeat he’s met with instead.

“I wanted to make sure you’re okay. No one’s heard from you and—” Noah starts saying, but decides to get on with it instead. He figures the best way to get his answer is to cut to the chase. “Jolly and Folio told me about Jazz.”

“They wouldn’t have.” Nick says, rolling his eyes. He’s right enough.

“So you got dumped, Nick—”

He stops before he can say the rest, because Nick growls in a way that scares him a little, makes him feel fucking ill. When Noah meets his eyes, there’s a fiery anger that, even from one of the grouchiest people he’s ever met, shocks him. He half expects the door to be slammed in his face.

“Oh, they really didn’t tell you shit,” Nick starts. This is where the disgust Noah was expecting was hiding. “Jasmine is fucking dead, Noah.”

#bad omens fic #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens rpf #nick ruffilo fic #nick ruffilo fanfiction #nick ruffilo rpf #nicholas ruffilo fic #nicholas ruffilo fanfiction #nicholas ruffilo rpf #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian rpf #noah sebastian x nick ruffilo #noah sebastian x nicholas ruffilo #deathblacksmoke works #fic: dramamine

[margowritesthings]

ROMEO AND JULIET: I

𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐬, 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲…

series masterpost

pairing: low honour!Arthur Morgan x O'Driscoll!reader (f) word count: 4253 words warnings: 18+ minors dni, sexually explicit, low honour Arthur, rough sex, fingering (r receiving), blood play, knife play, touch of cnc, dirty talk, degradation, enemies while lovers authors note: here it is! the first chapter of my most requested, most talked about series. I'm so excited for this one, y'all. I really pushed myself out of my comfort zone and wrote some absolute filth. I hope you enjoy the first official instalment of Romeo and Juliet! update - this is a reupload after the orignal didnt show up in tags! taglist: @cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @counteveryfreckle @elifsukirdaghehe @reaveries @delilah-grimes

It’s always astounded you, the way those warm orbs of light hang over the streets, glowing bright no matter the time of night. Saint Denis is a city that never seems to truly sleep. There’s always some lady of the night stalking her prey, some street urchins playing in the street no matter how high the moon, or, in the case of tonight, a shadowed outlaw sneaking through the hidden alleys and veins of the town. Arthur Morgan, enforcer and right hand man of the infamous Van der Linde gang.

It’s not the first time you’ve been assigned a job like this, following Morgan around gathering scraps of whatever intel he’s collecting at the time to get a head start on any jobs around. You’re by far the stealthiest of the O’Driscolls and Colm knows that, hence why you get sent out every time. This time, you’re pretty sure it’s a home robbery in one of the apartments atop a store in the city. Arthur has been scoping the same building out for the last 10 minutes, making circles with the turns in the streets and alleys he takes. 

You’re always 10 steps behind him, so used to the skill of following someone through their shadows that it comes naturally to you. You’re so light on your feet that your boots hardly make a sound against the cobblestone streets. Currently, your fingers clutch at the corner of a brick wall as you peer around a bend, watching Arthur make that face you’ve learnt over time means he’s got something. Despite the fact the two of you have never actually spoken a positive word towards one another, you know far too much about each and every little mannerism Arthur has for your liking, but when his lip twitches at the corners, you know he’s pleased with himself. You hate that you know it, but you just goddamn do.

Thinking about it, you hate a hell of a lot about the Van Der Linde. You hate that he’s there at every turn, with his cocky smirk and that drawl. You hate the way that every time you get one up on him, the next time he’s right there giving it back. You hate his stupid fucking smirk and the way he outsmarts your idiot family every damn time. Most of all, you hate that every time you cross paths, he lingers in your mind, hidden in the darkest shadows until it’s the dead of night and it’s just you, all by yourself in your tent. 

…anyway. 

Fuck Arthur Fucking Morgan. And his stupid goddamn shit-eating grin. 

Following his eyeline, you can see what he’s grinning at: it’s a back entrance, with a rusty old ladder just barely clinging to the bricks of the building. It would be all too easy to follow Arthur in and attempt to get to the loot before him, but why expend the effort when you can let him do all the work and pickpocket him on his way out? It’s the perfect plan, or it would be if Arthur hadn’t disappeared in the few seconds you spent looking over the ladder. Where you were watching is now completely deserted, the street lamps casting orange-hued light and striking shadows over the backs of the stores and apartments. Arthur is nowhere to be seen and your brows pull together with the strongest confusion. The ladder remains untouched, home un-looted and yet Morgan is gone? 

Your voice is barely audible as you whisper to yourself, “What in the-”

You’re cut off as metal cooled by the night air is pressed firmly against the tendons in your throat, to the point where swallowing might just break the skin. Your breath hitches in your chest when you feel a hard, large body press against your back, an arm snaking around your waist to keep you firmly in place. The sharpness of the weapon is so evident, you daren’t breathe.

“Now now, just what do we have here? A little stray who lost her way…” Arthur’s voice rumbles in his chest, low and throaty as his breath dances right on your ear. He’s so close, pressing the knife into your windpipe so that the only relief you can get comes from pushing your back further into him. It’s near impossible to think as you feel the outline of his cock against your ass, but you have to, because there’s literally a knife to your throat. And it’s Arthur Morgan and his cock should not matter. 

“Get the fuck off me, Morgan.” You hiss, voice restrained by not wanting to move your neck too much.

“Not a chance, O’Driscoll. Just what do you think you’re doin’, followin’ me like this? Can’t get your own leads?” He’s speaking through gritted teeth, the whiskey on his breath intoxicating your senses.

“I ain’t- argh!” A sharp pain shoots up your neck as the very tip of the knife knicks your skin.

“Don’t lie. Or it’ll get worse. What’s your plan, little stray? Gonna jump me? Stab me from behind, kill me in the shadows like the rest of your backward coward cousins?” 

Your eyes roll with the low blow. You’re so much better than your idiot cousins in every way and Arthur damn well knows that. He knows you’re the only one to match him, the only one he ends up head to head in heated, spitting arguments because you’re the one who can keep up. He also knows how much it makes you seethe to be compared to the bastards. 

Your movements are quick, as to not have your neck slashed open, but somehow you manage to whack Arthur in the stomach with your elbow. The second plays out like an hour when you spin out from under his vice-like grip and manage to grasp your own hunting knife. It’s jabbed into Arthur’s side, but not before he can push his arm into your chest and pin you to the wall, his knife back on your neck. 

Now, your chest is heaving against Arthur’s, the cold brick of the wall cooling your flushed back. It seems to have taken both of you considerable effort to dance around each other and end up like this, as you’re both fighting for breath. A defiant fire burns in your eyes as you look up at him, refusing to be the first to move or break this stalemate. Your knife presses firmer to Arthur’s side as the blade on your neck actually starts to steam.

“You know full well I don’t need to get you from behind, Morgan.” You spit, trying not to let Arthur’s distinct scent, that one that haunts you when you’re all alone, distract you. Instead you focus on the sensation of the sharp tip of Arthur’s hunting knife threatening to rip your skin again. This time, you barely flinch, not even breaking eye contact with the knife’s owner as it nicks you again. The cockiest smirk tugs on Arthur’s stubbled lip as his free hand reaches up to caress the origin of the sting.

“Oh, sure, you’re doin’ just great right now, princess…” A shiver rushes through your veins and runs down your spine when Arthur’s calloused finger swipes across your neck, spreading bright red blood in a line across the tendons. He brings the finger to his mouth, sucking the crimson clean off in one smooth movement. He actually moans, low and deep and you swear you can feel it in your cunt. The tiny cuts burn, but not as much as the scorched, invisible gash Arthur has left on you with his mere touch. 

You can’t buckle, can’t for even a second rely on anybody else to keep you upright, especially not the enforcer of the gang your entire family practically devote themselves to the ruining of. So you put all your focus into not thinking about the heat pooling between your legs again, and you try to keep the strength in your limbs. It’s near impossible when he leans right into you, his lips a hair away from the lobe of your ear. 

“Twice now I could’ve killed ya’. Slit that pretty little throat and watched the life drain from those big doe eyes… You’re losin’ your touch, little stray…” His breath on your skin is too much and you feel your instincts turning your head, but you can’t tell if it’s to get away from him or to further expose yourself. God, you hope it's the former. You’re terrified it’s the latter.

The cool metal is pulled away from your flushed skin, instead replaced by Arthur’s huge palm wrapping around your neck, his fingers winding upwards to cup your jaw and force your glare back to him. Arthur dips his head to the tiny patch of skin between your ear and jaw not covered by his grasp and, god help you, he sniffs. You can hear the growl catch in his throat as you do so and it takes everything you have to keep the gasp in your mouth. So much so that the grip around your knife falters, even if just for a second, letting the blade go slack against Arthur’s jet black shirt. 

He chuckles, forcing you to realise your mistake and rectify it with an even stronger hold, “See? I bet I could have that knife clanging on these cobblestones before anybody would ever know we’re here…”

…oh?

Your pulse is pounding against Arthur’s palm and you’re sure he can feel it’s quickening as you realise exactly where this is going. It screams your true thoughts, those carnal, forbidden desires out to Arthur despite the demeanour of resistance you’re so desperately managing to cling onto. Your pulse is pounding in other places, too, and it’s making it ridiculously difficult to stay focused.

Your jaw opens and closes helplessly, mind racing to find a smug enough quip to rival Arthur’s annoyingly quick wit. You’re coming up empty, having to put all your energy into not collapsing into his weight and letting him have his way with you. Arthur’s thumb creeps up your jaw to caress your cheek, kneading the reddening flesh with a tenderness that juxtaposes everything about this moment. The fury burning in your stare, the hatred engrained in years of butting heads and foiled jobs and venomous words spat at each other. For as long as you’ve known of Arthur Morgan, he has kept this fire burning in you. It’s the anger, it’s the fury and the hatred and the venom and the tension… and…

And fuck if you’re not about to shatter at the hands of this man.

You’re squirming under Arthur’s grip, your legs starting to feel like jelly as his intense stare burns at your skin like glass on an ant. You don’t know when it becomes inevitable, maybe it’s when your lips part for his thumb to run over the bottom one, or maybe it’s when your tongue darts out to lick his pad, or maybe it’s when he smirks at you, dipping right next to your lobe and taking it between your teeth. It doesn’t matter when it becomes inevitable, only that it does. And oh, god, does it.

You’re both wordless, the sounds of the people of Saint Denis existing around you and two hot, panting breaths the only disruption from an otherwise silent air. 

The knife returns to poke your cheek, leaving the faintest trace of your own blood on your skin as Arthur pulls the blade down your neck, chest and stomach. It’s featherlight, almost tickling until it reaches the crotch of your jeans and another gasp gets caught in your throat. 

A single seam rips open. 

With it, the smallest sound of the knife slicing the cotton becomes the loudest noise you’ve ever heard in your life. Arthur’s brow raises, and you hate that he gives you this second to back out. Even more so, you detest that you can’t seem to bring yourself to do it.

Arthur’s hand clamped on your throat, his knife physically warming at the heat he’s creating right between your legs, you mirror his expression, knowing speaking these three little words will be your undoing.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

There are two things you know about Arthur Morgan with absolute certainty: he never backs down from a challenge and he’s the out-and-out last person you should trust. 

…so why does your composure never once falter as Arthur cuts the crotch of your jeans clean open in one swift, expert movement? 

Each individual stitch tears effortlessly against the edge of the metal and you finally allow that gasp to escape you. The cold night air seeps through and clings to the wetness starting to soak the cotton of your underwear and you can feel the most furious blush alighting your skin. You’ve never felt so exposed, emotionally, as Arthur feels just how wet you are for him with a drag of his index finger up your covered slit, and physically, as he hooks said finger into the band of your panties, ripping them open effortlessly. At this, your cunt clenches around nothing and you have to stop yourself from crying out. You can’t lose your composure, won’t let him win even if you’re all but dripping down your own leg.

“Tsk tsk… All this for me, hm? I don’t think Uncle Colm would be all too happy to see what a mess you are for mean old Arthur Morgan…” He’s sneering, his teasing too much to bear, especially when considering both the angel and the devil sitting on your shoulders telling you to get the fuck out of here and definitely not-

“Are you gonna shut the fuck up and-”

You’re rendered unable to finish your demand, struggled out through Arthur’s grip, when two long, thick fingers plunge into your cunt and curl up inside you. You cry out, a strangled, pathetic sound before Arthur lets go of your throat and clamps a hand over your mouth instead. The rush of blood returning to your head sends you dizzy, mixing with the intensity of Arthur’s fingers oh so deep inside you to the point where it’s difficult to form coherent thoughts. 

Good. Coherent thoughts are not what you need right now, for they would tell you that this is the worst decision you could possibly make right now and/or ever and you really don’t think you could make yourself stop right now. 

You coil tighter and tighter each time Arthur pumps into you, trying in vain to stop the whines that vibrate the outlaw’s palm against your lips. You’ve never climaxed without some sort of clit stimulation, but you’ve also never been handled so… expertly. Arthur somehow knows you, inside and out as he pulls you right to the edge, pushing his fingers in as deep as they can go and tickling your walls with a come hither motion. In that moment, you’re sure you’d follow him to the ends of the earth… even if you’d shoot him there afterwards. 

Your own weapon is still tightly fisted in your grip, still pressing against Arthur’s side because you cannot lose this bet, despite the fact that you’re seconds away from cumming all over one of his hands and have your jaw clamped into the flesh of the other. You’re watching him, seeing the ever so slight concentration tugging his brows together a little before his blue-green eyes, darkened by the shadows to the point of near-blackness, meet yours. It’s the most intense eye contact you’ve ever experienced and it washes over you like ice water. 

Your jaw hurts from the force Arthur is applying to it and you feel so full even from just his fingers and when you’re sure you can’t take any more stimulation else you might break into pieces, you feel another inch slide into you and that cold metal press against the hood of your clit.

Because of course he hasn’t put the knife down. 

Fucking Arthur fucking Morgan. 

The pressure and the sensation of the cold on your clit hangs you over the edge like a damned man awaiting the gallows, and there's an excruciating moment that drags out a lifetime before your whole body is wracked with white hot pleasure and red hot pain pulling you apart at both ends. The very tip of the knife pokes at your inner thigh exposed by the large rip in the denim of your pants, but you can’t stop your legs shaking and pushing together. Your skin breaks just as you reach your pinnacle and you feel both sensations everywhere. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt, opposing forces at war in your very being, leaving splattered crimson on your leg and tear tracks on your cheeks. 

You don’t even realise you’ve dropped the damn knife, the clatter echoing around the alleyway over your mewls and the downright obscene sounds of Arthur working your soaked cunt through your high, fingers pumping in and out of you. 

It’s over with the force of a wave cresting and crashing. Blood rushing in your ears, you whimper when he slides his fingers out of you and follow his gaze downwards when he begins to chuckle again. He’s looking down at your knife, long discarded on the floor, and he’s smirking that smirk that makes you want to smack it right off his face. 

Arthur’s eyes drag from your weapon back to you, raking them over your whole body as he releases his clamp on your mouth. Air rushes to fill your lungs and you stretch out your jaw to ease the ache. He looks so fucking smug, especially when he lifts his hand to his mouth, inserting the two fingers he just had inside you past his lips. When he removes them with a tiny pop, he holds his knife up to catch the nearby street lamp. The tip is scarlet, shimmering through sticky blood, but the blade itself is covered in your slick.

“Looks like I win…”

Fuck. 

The regret is creeping around the corner, ready to set in and have you running down the street away from the man you hate most in the world, but just before it does, Arthur grasps your cheeks again,   forcing your jaw open and squeezing until there’s no room in your mouth for your tongue and you have to stick it out. It trembles, suspended in the tiny space between you and Arthur until he lifts the blade and runs the smooth edge over the muscle. You taste the metallic tang of your own blood and the sweetness of your juices mixing together. It’s lewd and carnal and disgusting and so fucking hot you could just cum on the spot. 

“Ah, see? You can be a good girl when you wanna be, can’t you? Cleanin’ up your mess…”

But you can’t. Not again, at least… You have to get out of here, away from this fucking devil in disguise who just made you cum quicker than you’ve ever cum in your life.

But you can’t think straight, can’t even hold yourself up, really, the rough brick of the wall behind you burning the back of your neck from the weight you’re putting into it when Arthur lets go of you completely. You hate that you feel the lack of his touch burning you worse than acid. You have to go. Now. 

“I… I have to…”

But Arthur isn’t listening. He’s already unzipping his pants, the shadow of his cock branding down his thigh.

“Oh no, I don’t think so. I’ve gotta get my prize, don’t I?”

Oh god. 

Oh god. 

You have to craft an expression of distaste, cannot under any circumstance let on that you can’t think of anything you want more in this moment. The distaste shatters quickly, however, when Arthur sheathes his knife and pulls his hard, thick cock out of his jeans. It’s a fucking masterpiece, twitching and pulsing, his deep veins and rosy head practically entrancing you. 

…until Arthur begins to palm his throbbing erection and his growl reminds you just who’s cock you’re all but drooling over.

“I ain’t a-“ 

But your protest is the next victim to die at the hands of the Van Der Linde as he grasps an ass cheek in each hand, effortlessly lifting you to your tiptoes so he can spear into you. He wastes no time or gentleness, invading you to the hilt first time. You’ve never felt so full. It’s almost too much, your sensitive nub still reeling from its first orgasm, but you take it like the most beautiful punishment you’ve ever experienced. You bite down onto your bottom lip to keep from screaming out, watching from the hidden shadows of the alley as a lawman walks past, completely unaware of the carnal sins of the flesh being committed just feet away from him. 

That thought only winds you further and higher as Arthur’s hard, relentless thrusts pound deep into you. He’s hitting the same spot his fingers were curling up into only seconds ago every damn time, completely overwhelming you and stealing the breath from your lungs. 

Arthur leans in close to the shell of your ear, “Oh, I bet you just fuckin’ love this, don’tcha princess? Little whore, comin’ undone like this just for me…”

“F-Fuck off-" you stutter out, barely managing to gasp for the air required to do so. You can’t finish your insult as calloused hands grip tighter onto your thighs and pick you up fully. It exposes you even more and allows a new angle for Arthur to fuck up into you and you see stars. You think your lip is bleeding from the way you’re biting on it, but you probably couldn’t count to ten right now. Who knows what’s going on around you when Arthur is so deep inside you. 

You’re hurtling towards another orgasm even without the external stimulation, feeling everything. The lewd sensation of Arthur’s balls slapping against your ass, his fingernails digging hard into your fleshy thighs, the mixture of the both of you dripping down your leg and soaking your newly ripped jeans, the taste of your own blood filling your moaning, mewling mouth. All of it.

“Don’t fucking cum in me, Morgan, or I swear I’ll-”

“Shut up.” he demands, his grip on your legs moving to wrap them tight around his waist so that he can release one side and pin you to the wall by your throat. It shuts you up, alright, as you can barely manage the gasp ripped out of you when he uses his other hand to smack your ass hard. His thumb squeezes your neck in just the right place and your vision starts to blur, and just when you think you might black out, he thrusts up into you, gyrating his hips in a circular motion. The head of his cock feels like it’s massaging you, the pressure in your temples growing and the throbbing in your cunt intensifying to the point where it feels like the earth is shattering around you. Arthur is growling into your ear, your nails scratching deep marks into his neck, ripping open the skin every so often.

“Oh fuck, oh Arthur d-don’t stop, don’t fucking stop I-I-” Your voice is croaked but somehow you manage your demand, and Arthur obliges, continuing to spear you. His pelvis is grinding down on your clit in perfect time to the pulsing waves you feel all over and at one point you swear those orbs of light hanging above seem to dance around your vision. Your complete release comes at the same time as Arthur’s release of your neck, the blood rushing back through your veins and making everything feel distant.

Arthur’s grunts and moans vibrating against your ear guide you back to Earth, your tight cunt feeling that much fuller after its second climax of the evening. You know you can’t take much more. You’re a drooling, mumbling mess in his arms. Arthur lifts your chin, taking the weight of your head in his hand to force your eyes onto him as he thrusts in and out a final, intense, invasive, wonderful time. 

He slips out of you just in time, his hot seed spilling out in between the two of you and splattering over your shirt. If you had enough pieces of your own mind to gather a coherent thought, you would probably be furious, but your tired limbs ache from being suspended for so long, the skin of your neck burning from the rough brick you’ve been forced against. 

It’s the most gentle he’s been all night when he places you onto the floor, supporting your weight until your legs have enough integrity to do it themselves. You can hear the teeth of Arthur’s zip, feel the cold air on your exposed jeans as everything starts to sink in.

“Here.” Arthur grumbles, as if it’s the last thing in the world he wants to do is help you, but you just about manage to grab the jacket he throws at you. You’re speechless, that fire once fuelled by lust now holding pure fury and hatred. Hatred for Arthur and his stupid fucking smirk, fury for yourself for giving into him… and now here you are, tying Arthur Morgan’s jacket around your waist after fucking him in an alleyway, his spurs clicking against the cobblestone as he leaves you alone in the middle of Saint Denis.

                         …God fucking dammit.

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