#'when the rocks melt' earth is gone

[girlgenius1111]

make it better

a cure for frustration: part 2

warnings: angst / hurt comfort. smut. 18+. thanks for reading :)

2.3k words

If you had to pick a favorite part of Alexia's body, it would be her lips. Or maybe her abs. There were a lot of options, as you were reminded as you laid on top of her, lips meeting hers. This kiss was different than the ones before, less hungry. The first round had relaxed you both, and your mouth moved against her full lips, little sounds leaving her when your tongue entered her mouth. You loved her best like this; hands softly holding your face as she kissed you, her love for you evident in her gentle touch. You had no doubt that things would turn definitively less gentle soon enough, but you didn't mind. Anyway Alexia wanted you, she could have you.

You broke apart, both of you gasping for breath having gone far too long without air. You leaned your forehead down to press against hers, your eyes meeting her green ones. In the dim light of your room, her eyes were warm. You couldn't explain it, but they gazed up at you with such softness, you felt yourself melt. Her gaze was intense, and suddenly you were blushing, the light brush of your nose against hers, hot breaths mingling together. You move lower on her body, ignoring the sensation of your core sliding against her for now, pressing your face into her neck.

Almost overcome by a sudden wave of affection for the woman underneath you, you mumbled a soft "Te amo" into her neck.

Her chest rumbled under you with a small laugh. She was always amused by how much she affected you; both of you felt like the other was potentially the most perfect being on earth. Enjoying your spot against her neck, surrounded by the smell of her perfume and something else that was just so Alexia, you felt her hands drift lower on your body, until they were gripping your waste tightly, as she adjusted your lower half to settle over one of her thighs, and began to rock you against her. She bent her knee up slightly, planting her foot on the bed, and tensing the muscles of her quad. A moan slipped past your lips before you could stop it. You slid against her easily, still incredibly wet from your previous orgasm, only getting wetter as she guided your movements against her. She turned her head into your neck and began to suck lightly against the skin she found there. Her lips pulled away slightly as she spoke in a raspy voice in your ear.

"You're making a bit of a mess there amor" she whispered, and you shuddered. "Do you like to ride my thigh, hmm? You like it when I move you against me, and all you have to do is what my hands tell you?" her words were filthy, and you felt yourself pressing down harder against her, shifting slightly until the pressure on your clit was perfect, her muscles tensing even more up into you. You nodded against her, gasps falling out of your mouth, but she kept going. "Tell me. Tell me how much you like it" her fingers tightened on your hips, rocking you faster.

"Love it. Shit. Love how good you make me feel Ale, so good" she seemed satisfied with your response, as breathless as it was, and you chased your high, hips moving frantically against her. You could feel how wet her thigh was underneath you, her hands roughly moving you back and forth, her lips returning to suck a new mark on your jawline. It was perfect, all so perfect. "Gonna come. Please don't stop," you barely got the words out before Alexia did stop, suddenly flipping you over, your body now under hers.

Her legs were achingly far away from where you needed her, and you whined, opening your eyes to see her smirking down at you, her eyes hungry as they gazed down at you, clearly enjoying how ruined you looked. Your hips rose to search for any friction they could find, which proved to be a mistake as she lifted off of you completely, sliding off the bed, and taking her time to open the bedside drawer, searching for the perfect item.

Your eyes followed her hungrily, finding her ass as she bent over slightly, hands rifling through the many toys you had. You couldn't help yourself, the sight of her turned around being one of your favorites, sliding a hand down your body to rub harsh circles over your clit. The noise your hand made against you was very audible, and very obscene, and she turned, eyes narrowing as she saw what you were doing.

"Cuidado" she said quietly, the warning in her voice clear. The look on her face was enough for you to pull your hand away, but not enough for you to stop egging her on completely. Instead, you moved your hand up to your breast, squeezing tightly before pinching your nipple in between your fingers, keeping your eyes on hers. She quirked one eyebrow at you, but turned back to the drawer, finally pulling out a strap and fastening it around her waste. You were slightly unsettled by her lack of response to your actions, but quickly got distracted, noticing she'd picked the the dildo that had a smaller part that slid into her when she put it on.

She turned back to you, walking slowly towards the bed as you let your hand fall away from your chest. You gazed at her mesmerized, convinced she was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen. Her hair fell messily around her face, the blonde a sharp contrast to her tanned skin.

You were truly distracted by her beauty, and you let out a gasp, startled, as she grabbed your legs, yanking you down the bed to meet where she stood at the side of the mattress. She leaned over you, concerning breaking through the mask of dominance she'd put on, her eyes searching yours. You could only nod up at her, and she pressed a light kiss to the tip of your nose, before leaning back, straightening up and looking down at you with a pensive expression.

"Show me how much you want me, bonita " she paired her words with her her hand grabbing yours, guiding it between your legs. Instead of listening, you reached for the toy strapped to her waste, trying to pull it against you, eyes falling shut. You were normally much better behaved than this, but something told you Alexia didn't really want you to be good. At least not right away.

Gripping your wrist, she pulled your hand away from her and back to rest against your core. Her voice was harsh when she spoke.

"Are you being shy now? You were so eager a second ago. Venga mi niña bonita, show me how you fuck yourself." She guided your fingers into your cunt. "Show me how good you can be, and i'll let you come." Her words were still harsh, but tinted with a hint of praise, everything she knew you liked, everything you ached for.

You slid your fingers in and out, not wasting time as you curled them against your front wall. You let out a loud moan, deciding that if Alexia wanted a show, she'd get a show. You were absolutely dripping, and the sounds your fingers made paired with the sounds falling out of your mouth were pornographic. You whimpered Alexia's name as you neared the edge, not sure if she would let you finish.

Grabbing your hand and pulling your fingers out of you carefully, she hummed, softly running her hands up and down your thighs as your legs shook pathetically. You were a mess under her, and you opened your eyes to gaze up at her pleadingly.

"Not yet, bebe. Want you to come on my cock, vale?"

With that, she guiding you to flip over, lifting your hips into the air, and pressing your face into the mattress. She palmed your ass, before sliding the plastic dick into you painfully slowly. She let out a deep, long moan as she bottomed out inside of you, the little piece inside of her pressing just right, as the strap pressed against her small bundle of nerves. You gasped into the mattress. Deciding she'd dragged it out long enough, she began to fuck you, pulling the strap out all the way before pushing it back into you in one fluid motion.

"Fuck. Ale. Fuck." You were a mess under her, hands fisting into the sheets as moans of your girlfriend's name joined the filthy sound of her sliding in and out of you, the sound of her hips meeting your body loudly. Her moans above you only turned you on more.

"So good for me, bonita. Taking it so well, such a good girl," her words were breathless, her own pleasure catching up to her fast, still focused on making it good for you, making sure you knew how happy she was with you. You let out a loud cry as she pounded into you, one which she recognized as the sound you made just before you came. She wrapped an arm around your chest, pulling you up until you were pressed back into her. She thrust into you faster, moving her hand up to wrap around your throat, applying light pressure, moving her other hand to rub frantically at your clit. The new angle put more pressure on her, and she felt herself nearing the edge.

"Come with me bebe. Make a mess for me," she managed to gasp out the words, and suddenly you were trembling against her, screaming her name. The sound you made pushed her over the edge, and she thrust up into you one last time, holding you tight against her body. Your orgasm seemed to go on forever, until you were resting limp against her, head on her shoulder as she moved her hand away from your core and gently pulled out of you. She collapsed onto the bed, pulling you with her, as you both fought to catch your breath. Your eyes fluttered shut, her hand rubbing softly on your back, as you let the sound of her heartbeat bring you back down to reality.

----

You both had showered, put on pajamas, changed the sheets and climbed into bed an hour later before you decided to bring up her odd behavior in the locker room. You were resting in Alexia's arms, back to her chest, as she pressed light kisses against your temple, occasionally whispering sweet words into your ear.

"Ale?" your voice was soft as it broke the peaceful silence.

"Hmm?"

"You seemed upset earlier. In the locker room, when you looked at your phone." She hummed noncommittally at your words, neither agreeing or disagreeing with your statement. "Do you wanna tell me whats wrong?" At this, she sighed, resting her head against yours.

"It was nothing. Just. Everyone always has something to say. About my knee, about my contract, about the fucking goal. What was I supposed to do? Not make sure it went in?" You turn your head slightly, heart breaking a little bit at the tears pooling in Alexia's eyes. "I kiss the Barca badge and people still feel the need to question where I'm gonna go. It's just so much. All the time, it never stops." Her voice broke on the last word, and her eyes squeezed shut, trying to stop the tears from falling.

You rolled off of her, laying down next to her and opening your arms without a word, just tugging her hand lightly. She got the message, scooting down to bury herself in your warmth, face tucked against your neck. You felt tears hitting your neck, and you stayed quiet for a moment, holding her tightly.

"People are always going to have something to say, baby. I wish they wouldn't, but they will. They don't matter, what they say doesn't matter. What matters is how you feel, how the team feels. The team knows you, they know you wouldn't steal a goal, they know you aren't being a diva about contract negotiations." You pause, pressing a kiss to the side of her face. "I know you, and I know your heart. And I love it. You're my Ale, no one else's. What they say, what they think, doesn't matter. All that matters is you and me."

You hold your breath as you finish, hoping you said the right thing. Alexia was a very strong individual, and it wasn't often that you found yourself in this position. Often, it was the other way around. She always knew what to say, what to do. You hoped your words would be enough.

She pulled back, her watery eyes meeting yours as her bottom lip trembled. Her gaze searched yours, as if trying to determine whether or not you were being honest. You wiped a tear off her cheek with the pad of your thumb, before she pressed into you, her lips meeting yours in a wet kiss. She pulled back again after a minute, looking at you through her long lashes, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"Thank you. Te quiero. Te quiero mucho." Her voice was tired, but you could tell she felt less weighed down. You pulled her impossibly closer into your body, legs tangling beneath the sheets, as you pressed a kiss onto her forehead.

"Always, amor. I love you," you whispered against her forehead feeling as she relaxed into you, the long day finally catching up to her. You felt yourself drifting off too, completely surrounded by her warmth. Your last thoughts as you dozed off were that you felt incredibly lucky to be the one to get to be there for her.

-----

thank you for reading :) i hope this was what people were hoping for.

sidenote. i barely know how to work tumblr but let me know if you have anything specific you want me to write. smut or not smut. ill probably write for most people you request. finals are coming up so obviously i need something to do instead of studying.

#alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso imagine #woso #woso x reader

[strangerstilinski]

𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝟏𝟖+

𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐩𝐭. 𝟑 — 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; 𝐧𝐨 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲/𝐧, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 (𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠), 𝐯𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐥 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤

| 𝐩𝐭. 𝟏 | ⋆ | 𝐩𝐭. 𝟐 | ⋆ | 𝐩𝐭. 𝟑 | ⋆ | 𝐩𝐭. 𝟒 |

By the time you hear the telltale crunch and scuffle of footsteps approaching through the trees, you've been waiting for so for long that your butt has begun to go a little numb from the cold where you sit on the ground, knees hugged to your chest and back pressed against the trunk of a wide tree.

It hasn't quite reached the level of chill that'll have you seeing foggy clouds of breath as you exhale, but it's definitely nearing the time of year when it will be too cold to wait for Stiles outside like this. The late night temperature now is still just shy of it, warm enough that the crickets still chirp happily in the distance, frogs making their own music in the brook that you know winds through the woods just a little ways away.

The drink that you'd still been nursing when you snuck away was long gone, and your intoxicated buzz has settled into nothing more than a pleasant giddiness that swirls warmly beneath your skin to help fight the chill while you wait. Fallen leaves underneath your thighs are a mix of soft and crunchy beneath your fingertips when you pick at them impatiently, the rainstorms that passed through the day before having left the bottom layers damp and smelling strongly of dead earth.

You definitely hear Stiles coming long before you can see him; the quiet curses as he stumbles through the woods, the thump and scuffle of his feet getting caught every now and then on rocks and exposed tree roots. It's hard to say whether his difficulty is a product of his own intoxication or simply his penchant for clumsiness, but you find yourself stifling a quiet giggle as you watch him trip once more, his feet kicking up while his arms fly forward to brace himself for a fall that never comes.

He calls your name once he regains his balance but the lingering alcohol in your brain has you holding your tongue, a wide smile tugging at your lips as you carefully pull yourself up and peer around a tree to spot the dark shape of the boy just a few yards away.

Stiles spins on his heel when a twig snaps under your weight, his startled expression barely illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the steadily thinning autumn foliage on the trees above. He calls your name again, this time a bit quieter, his tone hushed as his feet carry him right past where you're hiding.

“If you're out there and trying to scare me, it's not gonna work,” He says somewhat weakly, his words not at all convincing, “Not to mention if you gave me bedroom eyes and then lead me out here only because you wanted to try and make me piss my pants, I'll kick your cute little ass.”

His delivery of the second statement is more believable, but the teasing only has you grinning wider, heart thumping with excited anticipation beneath your ribs.

“Babe, c'mon,” Stiles urges in a soft voice, “Seriously, where are you? If something happened to you and you're dying right now, Scott will actually kill m-”

“Hi, handsome.”

You murmur the words directly over his shoulder and Stiles flinches so hard in surprise that he nearly smacks you in the face as he spins in your direction. You only narrowly dodge his arm with a small squeak of surprise that quickly melts into a laugh and Stiles shakes his head in irritation even as his chest heaves from the scare.

“Jesus christ!” He exclaims quietly.

You only smile.

“Aw, I'm sorry, Stiles, did I scare you?” You tease sweetly as you close the small gap between the two of you, arms already looping around the back of his neck so that you can plant a kiss to his mouth. His lips taste of pizza and beer from the pack game night that's still taking place just a little ways up the hill. You want to lick your way inside of his mouth to get a better taste, and you're gearing up to do so when his head cranes back to break the kiss as his hands fall to your waist to hold you in place with a tight grip.

“You are such a shithead, McCall,” Stiles tells you with about as much annoyance as he can manage with your breasts pressed so tight against his chest, “I was starting to think something actually might've gotten you. I was about to stumble upon your body, and then, y'know, I figure whatever got you was likely to eat me next-”

“Mm, if you were really set on it, I could still eat you up,” You murmur against his mouth, your tongue flicking out to brush his lips in a teasing touch, “Though, with a house full of werewolves a hundred yards away, don't you think someone would've heard me scream?”

“Not if it went for your throat first,” Stiles retorts a little too easily, “Plus, the music's pretty loud up there.” He adds after a moment.

“Loud enough that no one'll hear if you make me scream?” You question seductively, fingertips trailing up from the nape of his neck to tangle into the soft strands of his hair.

His breath stutters as it slips out in a warm wave from his lips and onto your own, his hands falling to the curve of your ass and tucking into the pockets of your jeans to give it a squeeze. The action has heat pulsing between your thighs and lust has you pressing yourself against him a little harder, until you can feel the warm line of his cock where it's stiffening up beneath his pants.

“I, uh, I'm not sure it's that loud. Y'know, if the sound of your screams were, like, repetitive — I think someone might be more likely t-”

“Stiles.”

His words cut off with a quiet clack as his teeth snap together, eyes searching your own in the dark.

“I need you,” Your fingers comb through his hair, nails scraping against his scalp softly as warm breaths continue to mingle in the barely existent bit of space between you, “I need you.” You repeat, the words a little softer with vulnerability this time, a little more desperate.

“Right, yeah,” Stiles is already looking around the forest with wide eyes, the quick rise and fall of his chest moving your own where you're pressed together, “Shit. Fuck. Um, we.. We could-”

You're far too worked up to find his racing thoughts as endearing as you normally would, “Stiles I can literally ride you right here if you just-”

“No,” He cuts you off, smacking a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth in apology for his interruption before he's grabbing a hold of your hand and dragging you back through the trees toward the edge of the backyard, “No, you'll scrape up you knees like that-”

The sight of the house in the distance has you digging your feet in a little as he pulls you along, “Stiles, where are we- Are you seriously going to say no to sex because you don't want my knees to get a little dirty-?”

“Fuck, no,” Stiles looks back at you like he's contemplating just how well you even know him to make a deduction like that. In his distraction, Stiles trips over a tree root jutting up from the ground and nearly takes you down with him, narrowly managing to keep his feet underneath himself as he tries to keep you from stumbling.

“Then where are we going?” You question again.

“You'll see,” He glances back to catch the tail end of the eye roll you send his way, “Babe, just c'mon.”

Once at the edge of the yard, damp grass underfoot, Stiles banks left and you spot the shed that he seems to have set his sights on. Your arms snake around his waist from behind as he pulls at the loose padlock on the door, the hairs at the base of his tummy are soft under your fingers and you can't help but dip you hand beneath his waistband where the hair spreads further.

“Fucking-” Stiles fumbles with the door when your fingertips just graze his cock, the skin silky smooth under your palm as you push a little further so you can wrap your hand around him, “You're a f-fucking.. menace.” He tells you, not an ounce of bite to his words, more of a groan of approval than anything.

Your only response is to press your lips to the side of his throat, snapping a small nip of your teeth against his shoulder as you work your hand torturously slow.

Distracted by your touch, Stiles swings the door open with with a bit too much enthusiasm. He dives forward to catch it before it can collide with a pile of paint cans stacked against the inside wall and only narrowly gets a hold of it in time.

As soon as the door is secured behind you again, you're dropping to your knees in front of him, metal and leather clinking and slapping beneath your quick hands as you work his belt and get his jeans open enough to tug out his cock. It springs up as it's released, bobbing in front of you like it's taunting you for just how badly you want him. You eye the tip where he's flushed dark pink, shiny and dribbling already, noticeable even in the low light coming in through the windows.

Stiles lets out a groan that sounds more like a whine as you take him in your hand again and lick at the tip, savoring the small beads of precome that meet your tongue. You hum at the salty tang of them, dragging your mouth down the length of him, tracing the soft vein along the underside of his cock with your lips and tongue.

“Oh, fuck,” Stiles moans, his hand finding it's way into your loose hair nearly immediately, “You.. You don't have to-”

You lean back from where you'd been swirling your tongue around the head, giving his length a couple of short tugs as you look up at him through your lashes with a huff, “Maybe I want to, Stilinski. You ever think of that?”

He balks, hips jerking minutely and incidentally thrusting his cock toward your pouting lips, “I.. Um-”

“Maybe I want to suck you off. Did that not cross your mind? Huh? That maybe I like having your dick in my mouth?” You continue, voice dropping a few octaves.

A soft whimper falls from his lips when you lean back in to suck lightly at the tip and the sound has your thighs clenching together against the wave of arousal that curls in your tummy.

“Do you?” Stiles asks in a quiet groan, “Like it?”

“Mhm,” You hum around him, pushing further down his length to take in more of him, letting him feel the way your throat constricts around the head of his cock when you gag before pulling all the way off again, “Love it. Can't believe you didn't know that already.”

“I just thought- God. I, uh. You.. Shit. You're certainly ohmygod- g-good at it.” He struggles to get his words out when you take him back between your lips, but then he's huffing a quiet sigh of distress when you remove the warm heat of your mouth from his length once again.

“Good..?” You repeat in question.

“Huh?”

Stiles is blinking down at you dumbly, his hand flexing in your hair as he tries to clear his head. It's infuriatingly cute.

“I'm ‘good’ at sucking your dick? It's.. ‘Good?’” You say the word with distaste, one eyebrow ticking up on your forehead in challenge as you place his tip back against your lower lip. You let it rest there, one hand coming up to his waist to keep his hips from jutting forward as you part your lips and let a warm breath wash over the wet head of this cock.

“Did- Did I say good? I meant great! I, uh, phenomenal! M-mindblowing-” He moans loud around the word when you reward him by taking him into your mouth again.

You let him rest heavy on your tongue, sucking and bobbing your head in slow drags while he sighs out a desperate little sound at the feeling.

“Fuck. You- You're perfect, baby. You know that. Know how much you- Ohh-”

The whimper that cuts him off has you soaked beneath your panties, moaning around his length in response.

“-How much you rock my world.” He finishes weakly.

You pull off to give him an amused smile, jerking him in earnest with one hand and wiping spit from your lips with the other, “Oh, I rock your world, huh?” You tease.

“God damn it,” Stiles breathes the words, dragging you up by your shoulders until you're standing in front of him again, “You can't make fun of the things I say when you're suckin' my dick. New rule, enforced starting now.”

His mouth is on yours before you can respond, tongue breaking through the seam of your lips with a wide palm encasing the back of your neck as he leads you a few steps backward. Your feet drag carelessly over the uneven floorboards, loose nails and debris kicked aside as you both move farther into the dark space.

Where he's guiding you, you're not entirely sure. You're too lost in the way he licks into your mouth, enough that you can finally taste the beer on his tongue. It's some stupidly expensive ale that Theo always insists is ‘brewed through a better process’ and ‘tastes more full-bodied’ and Stiles is the first to mock him while still stealing a few for himself every time just to see the frown on Theo's face when he finds that they're all gone. The flavor is bitter and entirely too hoppy for your taste but when Stiles' tongue brushes it soft over yours, you find yourself moaning and tightening your hold on him, wanting more of it, needing more of it.

Your backside bumps into a hard surface and you yelp quietly in pain, the curve of your spine aching as you reluctantly pull away from the kiss to find you've run into a messy wooden worktop.

“Sorry!” Stiles says immediately, placing a small kiss of apology to your lips as his forehead falls against yours, “Shit. Sorry, I wasn't paying attention. Didn't realize it was that close.”

“'s okay,” You assure him, already frantically working the button on your jeans and simultaneously toeing off your shoes, “I'm fine.”

Stiles matches your enthusiastic pace as he strips out of his sweatshirt, reaching around to spread it over the dusty surface of the workbench behind you in an unspoken and endearing display of chivalry before he starts to strip out of his tshirt. You're in the process of pulling your own shirt over your head when he grabs ahold of your thighs, a quiet murmured demand of ‘up’ from his lips. You do as he asks, giving a little hop just as his grip tightens and he lifts you up the few remaining inches, dropping you to sit at the edge of the table, the material of his jacket soft underneath you as your naked skin settles over it.

“You're so hot,” Stiles tells you while he crowds forward, your thighs caging him in as his mouth meets the underside of your jaw, chests flush and moving a little rapidly in excitement, “Like, truly so fucking hot. 's actual torture to watch you play games on a team with Isaac n' Theo. Watch 'em both flirt with you and get absolutely nowhere because you're already mine.”

Your head falls back with a sound of approval as he nips at your skin lightly, carefully, kissing and licking the expanse of your throat in lue of leaving any marks. His hands grapple with the band of your bra all the while, unhooking the clasp while you simultaneously try to push his jeans farther down his thighs. Your bra straps fall loose around your arms and Stiles helps rid you of the article. He tucks the material into his back pocket for safe keeping before finally helping you out by pushing his jeans down to his knees, metal and leather of his belt buckle kissing in the silence between your bated breaths.

“Fuck me,” You beg softly, unashamed in the way you cant your hips as your ankles wrap around the backs of thighs, fingers digging into his shoulders in an attempt to pull him closer, “Please. Now. Need you now.” Your words fall from your lips in a whine as you watch him fumble with a condom, but you don't care, not as long as it gets him to give you what you want.

“I know. Shit, I know,” Stiles finally grabs ahold of his cock, dragging the rubber-covered head through the length of your folds, collecting some of the dripping wetness at your entrance and dragging it back up to rub soft over your clit. You gasp at the stimulation and he keeps it up, rubbing his tip over the bundle of nerves until you're tightening your legs around him in an attempt to force him closer with a whimpered plea. “Alright, alright. Got'chu babe, gonna give it to you.”

When his tip breaches your hole, the sharp stretch has you letting out a keening moan. He pushes in torturously slow, the glide smooth with the wetness of your arousal. Stiles settles his hips against the inside of your thighs once you've taken him all the way in, your cunt stretched wide around the thick base of his cock. He doesn't immediately move, breathing heavy as he tries to let you adjust, but after less than a minute you're using your legs around his hips to urge him forward in tiny jerks, not letting him pull out just yet, but forcing him to nudge at the deepest parts of you as you get used to the stretch.

You moan into his shoulder at the gentle grind of his cock inside you, fingers combing through his hair as you continue to guide his movements.

“That good, babe?” Stiles asks softly, hands rubbing nicely into the base of your spine, fingers digging into your skin, “You like being stuffed full of me?”

“Mhm,” You agree, loosening your hold on him to lean back and bring your foreheads together, your thumbs dragging soft along the length of his throat, “'s so good, Sti. So full. You always fill me up so, so good.” You murmur against his lips.

He groans softly, nose brushing yours, hips still rolling, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” You gasp, “You're so good to me. Fuck me so good. S-such a good boy.”

There's something about the way he tugs you against him in response, his hands digging into the curve of your spine as he drives in as deep as he can go, like he doesn't quite even mean to do it — the intensity has you crying out in time with his own shaky groan.

“Ohmygod,” You gasp, relishing in the slight sting between your thighs from the rough treatment, “Fuck.”

“Sorry,” He says breathlessly, sobering quickly, “Holy shit 'm so sorry, sweetheart. 're you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“'m okay.” You assure him immediately, still slightly reeling as you process what exactly it was that made him lose control, “No, 'm okay, it's okay, I'm.. I'm good. Ready.”

You loosen your legs in signal for him to begin thrusting for real and he looks into your eyes like he's checking that you're sure before he follows the silent command, pulling out in a slow drag and then driving his hips back to yours in a hard thrust. You wait until he finds a rhythm, until both of you are groaning soft between parted lips, before you choose to delve a little deeper.

“You are a good boy, baby.” You tell him, fingernails digging into the nape of his neck a little when his eyes pinch shut with a pathetic whimper, the sound ringing in your ears sweetly. Your puckered lips find his flushed cheek, then the corner of his closed eye, and finally the edge of his mouth, “You like when I tell you?” You ask breathlessly, “When I tell you how good you are? How good you fuck me?”

His fingers dig into your hips a little desperately as the pace of his thrusts pick up, the wet sound of his cock pounding into you growing louder in the otherwise quiet air of the small shed.

“Jesus.. I fucking- Babe-” Stiles pleads, though neither of you are entirely sure what he's pleading for.

“I.. I think you do,” You tell him, voice a little shaky against the hard slam of his hips against your own, “Think you fucking love hearing how good you make me feel. Love.. Love being reminded how f-fucking good your cock is.”

Another boyish-sounding whine claws its way up his throat and your cunt tightens around him like a vice, the noise igniting warm sparks of pleasure down your neck, down the curve of your arched spine.

Stiles licks into your mouth then and it's a messy thing, hungry and wet, all teeth knocking and heavy breaths mingling, but you rake a hand down his back all the same, blunt nails leaving tiny streaks of reddened flesh in their wake. Your hips cant in the hopes that one of his thrusts will finally catch on that spot inside you. You can feel how close he is to kissing it with his length, can practically taste it at the back of your tongue, and when Stiles pulls your ass just a little farther over the edge of the worktable, one of your hands forced to drop behind you to maintain your balance, the head of his cock all but slams into the spot you'd been aiming for.

You cry out into his mouth, the sound swallowed up by his tongue before your foreheads come together again, lips barely brushing. He drives in again and the same keening noise rips from your throat.

“Yeah?” Stiles breathes into your mouth, “That it? That right where you need me?”

Your brows furrow together as you nod, the lines of your body tense with every thrust that he sends exactly where you want him, “Yeah,” You finally manage in a hoarse moan, “Yeah, r- fuck! Right there, Sti. Please.”

You're not entirely sure what it even is that you're begging for, but somehow Stiles knows — because he can see that pinch between your eyebrows, the tremble in your thighs, feels the way your fingers are threaded into his hair like you're holding on for dear life.

“Holy shit.. You getting close?”

You intend on responding, on giving him an affirmative yes, because you are close, can feel your impending orgasm lighting up an inferno across every inch of your body, but before you get the chance to tell him, Stiles is dropping a hand over your heat and flicking his fingertips soft over your swollen clit.

The surprised moan that comes out of you is a strangled sounding little thing, and it pushes a shaky sigh from Stiles' chest as he redoubles his efforts.

“Ohmygod,” You finally manage to cry into his parted lips, “Shit. Fuck, I-I'm so close. I'm so, so-”

“Yeah?” Stiles pants, “I'm close too. Come on, baby. Come for me, c'mon.”

You try to speak, something beyond the soft little ‘ah, ah, ah’'s that escape with every pounding thrust to the bundle of nerves on your inner wall, but you're mouth does little more than gape for a long minute. Your orgasm creeps closer, eyebrows relaxing as they push up your forehead, fingers slipping from Stiles' hair so you can drop your arm around his shoulders.

“S-so fucking good,” You slur breathlessly, “You're so good. Baby.. Baby, you.. You're so.. Fuck.”

Stiles' hips stutter but the fingers working your clit keep steady, “Wanna.. Shit, just wanna.. give it to you like you deserve. Y're so perfect, pussy's so perfect-”

“You do! You do, you do, you do,” You tell him desperately, voice taking on an edge that leaves your words coming out a little higher than normal, “Fuck, Stiles. No one could ever- You're so good! So, so so-”

Your head falls back of it's own accord, Stiles' lips catching your chin as your thighs tense and your hips roll and you clench tight around his cock. He fucks you through your orgasm, his hips stuttering when his own high crashes through him. He's got a tight grip on your ass, his large hands squeezing the soft flesh hard enough to leave bruises right in the dimples of your spine.

The heavy thump of your heart echos loud in your ears, rattling your bones with its sheer strength. Stiles' warm breath falls against your cheek as he presses a soft kiss to the apple of your cheek, a sweet thing that coats your insides like a warm syrup as he moves in a line and presses another to your jaw, and then your chin, and the corner of your mouth.

The hard peaks of your nipples are still pressed to his chest, scarce hairs around his own nipples catching against your sensitive skin in a way that has you leaning back just a touch, your lips meeting his for a sticky kiss.

“That was good.” You tell him earnestly, still a little breathless.

“Oh, ‘good’, huh?” Stiles repeats in a grumble, “Just ‘good’?”

Your tinkling laugher fills the quiet shed, eyes crinkling in the dark as you tip his head to the side to scrape your teeth threateningly against his jaw, the sharp scratch of stubble meeting your skin.

“Better than good,” You correct, lips pulling up in a teasing grin as you run your fingers through the soft length of his hair, “Can I tell you a secret, though?” You whisper softly.

Stiles nods, his fingers drumming and drawing restless patterns over the skin of your thighs.

You lean close, lips brushing the shell of his ear as you fight to hold in a breathy laugh, “You kinda rock my world too.”

He pushes away from you with a grumble, spent cock finally slipping out of you and causing you to wince with a gasp as he tosses your bra and tshirt in your direction.

“So cruel, y'know that?” Stiles huffs, his smile giving away his true feelings.

Your laughter rings out again as he begins to pull on his clothes and you follow suit, securing the clasp on your bra and pulling your shirt over your head, “I'm only teasing you a little,” You tell him as you jump down from the edge of the table and flip your hair out from under your collar, “That was at least eighty percent genuine compliment.”

“Uh huh, I'm sure.” Stiles says unconvincingly as he approaches where you're tugging your jeans up over the curve of your ass with a little hop. He crowds you, a hand reaching toward your face as he pinches a piece of debris between his thumb and forefinger and pulls it from your hair with a small grin.

Just a few minutes later, your laughter continues despite Stiles’ constant shushing, two sets of stumbling steps thumping through the forest as he drags you along, his big hand warm where it's wrapped around your own.

“Stiles!” The two syllables drag slow from your tongue and you pull against his hold as you follow after him in amused confusion, “Where are we- Oomf!”

His arm curls around your waist, pulling your chest flush to his and smothering your words with a kiss that you can't help but sink into. One hand drags down your spine, grabbing a fistful of your ass through your jeans and hauling you up against him as his tongue flicks soft against yours. You can't hold back a moan, a sweet little noise of contentment slipping out into his mouth.

“Gotta be quieter than that, sweetheart. The music didn't sound nearly as loud back at the house at it was earlier. All our friends have supernatural hearing, yeah? I know it's hard to hold back, when I'm so-”

“God, shut up,” You groan, your fingernails digging a little meanly into his muscles forearm, “You're.. You're so fucking cocky sometimes-”

“You love when I'm cocky.” He says easily, and there's not much you can say to that, because, well, you do.

“Shut up.” You repeat against his lips petulantly.

He draws back from you with an entirely too smug grin, giving your ass one final squeeze before he's taking ahold of your hand once again and continuing his trek through the trees.

“Seriously, where are we going?” You try again, “I know you're not great with directions, but surely when we left the backyard you must've realized that the house is in the opposite direction-”

“Such a brat,” Stiles grumbles under his breath, dragging you further into the trees. You would normally be worried about getting lost in the dark, but Stiles' self-assured steps keep you from being too concerned. While it feels like the two of you are wandering blindly, Stiles walks as if he has a destination in mind, like he knows exactly where he's leading you, “Listen, you know what has to happen now, right?”

A snort of laughter breaks free at just how serious he sounds as slows he and pushes up behind you, warm chest pressed to your back, his hands on your hips so that he can continue to lead you forward.

“Jesus,” You laugh, “What- Are you about to murder me?” You tip your head back onto his shoulder in time to catch his unimpressed glare, “Sti, if this is about me teasing you, I'm sorry, but it's true! You rock my world! Your dick-”

“It's not that,” Stiles disagrees, his voice struggling to hide his own amusement, “And just for the record, if I wanted to murder you, we both know I'm creative enough that you wouldn't see it coming.”

“So reassuring.” You scoff, to which he merely shrugs, “Okay, ha ha. Now, seriously-”

Your words fade into a whisper before they die off altogether because you've just broken through the edge of the treeline and your gaze is focused on the house that sits up the bank in front of you. The patio and pool that take up a majority of the backyard are shrouded in darkness with scant moonlight, but the windows in the house itself are lit up, a surprisingly large number of rooms displayed brightly even at the late hour.

But Stiles is still nudging you forward with slow steps, his hips pressed flush to your own, urging you further into the yard.

“Ah, gee. Looks like someone's home,” You murmur when he doesn't say anything after a few seconds, feet skidding slightly when you try to hold your ground as you round the edge of the pool, “Bummer.. Looks like we'll have to explore your kink for breaking and entering another nigh-”

A hand pushes hard into your waist and cold salt water crashes around you before you get the chance to finish your sentence, the sound of it thundering in your ears. Your clothes are leaden with the extra weight as they soak through and the fabric is heavy as you push back up to the surface. You've barely broken through and begun to wipe salt from your eyes when a splash erupts right next to you, water spraying as Stiles plunges after you.

When he pushes up through the surface of the water, head shaking side to side before flicking back to flip his hair off of his forehead in an easy move, you're already landing a hard punch against his shoulder.

“Ow!” Stiles complains in a hushed whisper.

“What the hell-!” You scold in an equally quiet but wholly enraged hiss, water clinging to your lashes as your fist delivers another blow to his bicep, “-is wrong with you?”

“Ow.” He complains again and grabs your wrists with a chuckle, your body weightless as he pulls you toward him through the water. The hard planes of his chest are warm through soaked cotton when your forearms meet them and push the billowing fabric flush to his skin. His thumbs stroke the sides of your wrist as he tries to placate you, “Baby, baby!” Stiles says with a hushed laugh when you go tense but are no longer actively thrashing in his grip, “The pool is.. We needed to wash away the smell. Y'know, arousal, sex..”

Your gaze flicks slow over his dripping face, eyeing the painfully earnest look in his expression. You fists tighten in his grip once more as you heave a disbelieving sigh, eyes pinching shut for a moment as you rein yourself in.

“Stiles..”

“What?”

Your eyes snap open to meet his, purposefully even breaths falling from your lips, “How are we going to explain why we're soaking wet?”

“Easy,” Stiles laughs, “We tell everyone you dragged me over here to shove me in the pool.”

Whatever snarky remark you're gearing up sticks to the tip of your tongue as an outdoor patio light flicks on, the glow of it illuminating the far side of the pool. Stiles meets your wide-eyed gaze, his arm already wrapping around your waist to push you up out of the pool in a rush.

“Shit.”

𝐚/𝐧; 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐢 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐢'𝐝 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐩 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝟓𝐤. 𝐢 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝. 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐰𝐚𝐲… 𝐢'𝐦 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝 𝐨��𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐝𝐌𝐜𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲. 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐟𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞, 𝐨𝐛𝐯.

𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠/𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 (𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬?? 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤? 𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐣𝐢? 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠?) 𝐢 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬. 🤍

#stiles stilinski x reader #stiles x reader #stiles x y/n #stiles stilinski smut #stiles smut #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles stilinski #dylan o'brien smut #dylan o’brien smut #dylan o'brien imagine #dylan o’brien imagine #teen wolf imagine #stiles stilinski fanfiction #teen wolf smut #stiles x mccall!reader #mccall!reader #teen wolf stiles #don't tell scotty #*

[roanniom]

Hey! I just saw your post about Eddie Munson on consent is sexy, and it's just 100% yes! Wonderful brain, you have!! Just wanted to share this with you (food for thought, NOT a request): I bet he'd love the opposite, too. Like if his partner was on top and started doing all the consenty things to him that he usually does. I feel like he'd love that.

Aw thanks, glad you like the original blurb about Eddie finding consent sexy!

Eddie Munson Thinks Consent is Sexy (pt. 2)

Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY, unprotected/PIV sex, a lil bit of role reversal and a teeny bit of sub!Eddie

I actually have this feeling that Eddie would love it secretly but would also be frustrated by the way it delays you from using him.

“This okay, handsome?” you ask as you straddle him. He’d been reading a book but the second you hover over him he’s tossing it to the side and grabbing your hips to pull you down, making all of your weight rest on his thighs.

“Of course it is, princess!”

You make out like teenagers for a bit until you take the initiative to work your way down his neck. You press a delicate kiss to his pulse point.

“Okay if I mark you up a bit?” you whisper, causing him to shiver.

“Please,” he all but moans. You suck and nibble on both sides of his neck and down the column of his throat. Making sure he’s a whimpering pile of mush beneath you.

Except for his cock. That’s rock hard and pushing against you with each impatient roll of his hips.

“Can I take this off?” you ask, toying with the neckline of his faded Metallica t shirt.

“Yes,” he nods frantically.

Your kisses trail down his stomach till you run out of room and begin guiding him to move and lay down on his back on the couch. You make eye contact and smile when he moves swiftly to accommodate you.

“I’m gonna pull these down, alright?” You say, teasing a finger under the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Yeah. Yeah do it.” It’s a grunt as he watches you do so. Watches the way his thick cock springs out and smacks against his stomach. You smile at his lack of boxers and ghost your fingers against the skin of his abdomen.

“Can I play with your cock?”

“For the love of Christ yes, please. Jesus, you can do anything, you don’t have to ask.” He’s flushed dark red and his eyes are wide.

“But, Eds,” you hum, letting your hand slide over his balls and along his length, relishing in the way it twitches. “I need to ask to make sure you want it.”

At the end of your sentence you lean down to lick a long stripe up his shaft, ending with a wet kiss to his head. Eddie drops his head back against the arm of the couch.

“Fuck yeah I want it.”

You grin up at him and kiss a trail back up his body.

“Yeah? You want it, big boy?” you ask breathily, taking his cock in your hand and beginning to stroke it. You lean over him, the glowing sun above his awed earth. He blinks stupidly.

“Yeah.”

The bravado is gone. Melted into nothing. Just earnestness remains as you make him feel so good.

“Can I ride you, Eds?” you ask, nodding along sympathetically when he nods.

“Please fucking ride me. Please.”

How you’d been able to dissolve this playfully dominant man into a moaning, begging mess on a casual Wednesday afternoon is beyond you, but you are absolutely living for the contrast. You push up his shirt to lick and kiss the tattoos on his chest before pulling your panties aside beneath your skirt and sinking down on him.

His brow immediately knits and his eyes close in pleasure as you pet at his hair.

“So pretty, Eds.”

He cracks an eye open and laughs.

“No you are.”

“We can both be pretty,” you amend with a shrug, beginning to move up and down his fat cock. He groans and squeezes at your thighs.

“That’s impossible,” he argues. It’s your turn to laugh.

“Of course it’s not. Couples in porn are pretty. It’s totally possible.”

“What I’m hearing you say is that you want me to go grab a video camera so if you’d just hold on— oh fuck.” You start bouncing up and down more vigorously and he completely loses his train of thought.

He gets lost quickly in the slide, the slap, the rhythm, the friction. The wet sound of your need for him and the soft pants that fall from your lips, betraying the way you, too, are falling apart behind the facade of your control.

You’re both more or less still clothed, fabric just bunched and pulled to the side to make way for wandering hands and errant kisses.

You end up draped over him, languidly rolling your hips as you kiss him. Sweetly. Softly and in contrast to the way you’d bounced on him at first. It’s your tongue in his mouth. Your hand on his jaw. It’s got him swooning and whining and gripping you with a solid might.

“Eddie, can I cum?” You ask against his cheek, pulling back from a particularly deep kiss. You’re still asking for consent, but this time the nature of it is reversed. Eddie’s hazy eyes do their best to focus and he nods.

“Please cum, princess. I want you to.”

You give him the same permission moments later, met with a flurry of thanks and praise from the sweet, happy man beneath you.

~*~

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Thanks for reading, please reblog and comment to let me know what you think!

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader

[not-your-fucking-kacchan]

♡︎𝐒𝐢𝐳𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐄𝐢𝐣𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐮 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐚♡︎

Day 9 of Kinktober 2022

Summary: Eijirou's never been this vulnerable with you before, but you find yourself loving it.

920 words.

'What the fuck?'

These are your first thoughts as you're smacked right in the cheek with Eijirou's dick.

You had been getting awefully heated during what was only supposed to be a quick makeout session between you and your boyfriend of one year. That was, until you started to focus your attention a little more south.

Kirishima always wears loose pants. That's one thing you know about him. He can't stand tight pants. You've also never seen him wear the infamous grey sweats either, regrettably. That would be some real eye-candy right there, you muse.

There was one other thing, too. He always got nervous when you mentioned taking off his pants. Any and all attempts at getting frisky with your boyfriend were shot down with a strained "maybe later" or "I don't think I'm ready...".

Really, you had never had any problems with it. Sure, it was a little frustrating when it would leave you pretty much high and dry, but you never, ever thought to take it out on him. He's ready when he's ready, and that's all there is to it. Until now.

If you knew this was what he was hiding under here, you probably would've said something a little sooner.

All this time, your boyfriend has been hiding an absolute monster away from you, not even letting you have a taste.

A flushed face as red as his hair hides behind large, nearly kept hands as Kirishima avoids any and all eye contact with you. You thought he may have gained confidence when he finally told you that you could get his pants off, but apparently not, since he now refuses to show his face.

"I-is it too much?... I knew you'd hate it- I just don't want to hurt you! God- w-what if you break!?"

What on God's green Earth is this man talking about?

"Huh? Hate it? Eijirou, after all this fuss I was starting to think maybe you had genital warts or something- or maybe a dick roughly the size of a cornflake- n-not this!"

Wide eyes only blink at you in surprise and confusion, but then melts into pleasure the second your warm, wet tongue licks a fat stripe down the underside of his length.

Fuck. He could literally cum right now from just seeing that lewd display, but he has to hold himself together. Though, with every passing second, and each kitten lick to his aching girth, he finds himself unraveling. Each little kiss and stroke chips away at his control and he soon finds himself struggling not to throw you onto the bed and fuck you so hard that the walls shake.

Meanwhile, you continue to press tentative licks and kisses to Eijirou's cock, heavy and throbbing in your hand. The slit weeps a slow por of precum, the head all red and neglected until you fit just the tip in your mouth, sending involuntary shivers up and down your boyfriend's spine. Tonight, you're going to show your boyfriend just how blessed he truly is.

As you stand back up again, leaving him needy and panting for you, his eyes follow your form, lingering on your breasts and hips, and he finds his fingers twitching with the sudden urge to hold you there.

Red eyes zone in on your figure like a hawk, thick, strong hands embracing you and dragging you down to rest atop his built, rock hard chest, and immediately Eijirou's last defences are down when he sees just how irresistible your tits look squished against his pecs.

Eijirou is usually such a gentle lover, layering your skin with butterfly kisses and affectionate nips that always look so delightful come morning, but neither of you have ever gone this far with eachother, and when he's got three fingers working their way into your tight cunt it almost seems that he's gone completely feral.

"Fuck-! Eiji! Give it to me-..."

Who is he to keep you waiting?

Barely an inkling of colour flashes in his eyes, overtaken by pupils blown out with lust, and the sight is met with another wave of liquid heat pooling beneath your legs, coating his fingers in your slick.

Once he finally deems you ready, his fingers are pulled from you without remorse, leaving you empty and needy until his lubed up head pressed up against you, slowly pushing inside of you and stretching out velvety walls.

The stretch is painful at first, causing your face to scrunch in a way that has his heart fluttering for you, little tears blossoming in your eyes and shining like gemstones.

A rough but comforting thumb wipes your tears away before they can properly fall, and your boyfriend graciously gives you a few seconds to get accustomed to the sting of his girth before he's bottoming out.

He pants and furrows his eyebrows, concentrating on not cumming the second he's fully engulfed by your hot cunt, and loose red strands fall past his shoulders as he bucks into you, chasing the same pleasure he got when you squeezed around him earlier.

With time, his cock is easier to take, and it's at this point where you begin to doubt that anything or anyone would ever be enough for you after this. Could you really go back to tiny vibrators after finally getting a taste of this?

"T-tell me if- Ah-! -if I'm hurting you-..."

It's a little late for that, you think, but he's just so adorable that you can't bear to hold it against him.

© 2022 not-your-fucking-kacchan

◃ 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 ▹

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #bnha fanfiction #mha #bnha #bnha fluff #bnha headcanons #mha fluff #bnha kinktober #notyourfuckingkacchan kinktober! #kinktober 2022 #kinktober #kirishima eijiro x reader #kirishima headcanon #kirishima x reader #kirishima smut #eijirou kirishima imagine #eijirou x reader

[redheadspark]

Druig with "Shh, it's just a nightmare. You're safe" and "You are so fucking powerful" for December prompt? 🤗

A/N - Ahh! This is lovely! I do like this request, thanks dear friend!

Powerful

Summary - Druig is haunted, but you bring him back to the living.

Warnings - Just a mix of Angst and Fluff

“Druig….Druig wake up!”

Druig woke up gasping for air, eyes wide and his breath short in his throat as the dimmed room on the Domo was all he was seeing.  Yet in the back of his mind, tucked away in the most vulnerable part he would rarely tap into himself, was the moment he was thrown to the ground by Ikaris and almost killed within seconds.  It felt so real to him, from feeling the wind whip around him as he was launched, to the rocks digging along his skin and armor as he was being pummeled deeper and deeper into the ground.  It was too much for him, no matter that it was in the past and he was safe away from Earth.  He was living it all over again.

But there were hands on his face, framing his cheeks and rubbing his clammy skin soothingly.  The sensation of body warmth next to him under the satin sheets, and a soothing scent that he knew for centuries was now flooding his nostril as a silhouette was seen perched over him.  He knew that face, it was the very face that he fell in love with.  No matter that it was dark in the room, he knew the dip of the nose and the round cheeks along with the long hair draped over the shoulder.

You, his wife of almost 2,000 years.

“Shh,” you cooed as you stroked his brown hair from his eyes that were still wide.  One of his hands reached up to grab your wrist, almost using it as his own anchor as the nightmare was slipping away from him like the water on the shore, “Shh, it’s just a nightmare.  You’re safe.”

Druig gulped, nodding his head as he felt his heartbeat go down again from rushing so quickly.  You sighed in relief, leaning over to kiss his head a few times to bring him a bit more peace, “You scared me good, Druig,”

“Sorry,” he mumbled his voice feeling raw and thick as you tutted.

“Nothing to be sorry about, my love.” You reassured him.  Druig looked away from you at the window, seeing the galaxy and the scattering of stars right outside the Domo, reminding him yet again that you both were away from Earth.  Thena and Makkari were asleep in their own rooms, your ship on its own solo journey to look for other Eternals out in the cosmos.  

“It was Ikaris again, wasn’t it?” You asked him tentatively, Druig’s head going back to see you give him a look of concern.  He said nothing, but you knew fully well that it was about Ikaris.  Taking in a long pause, you looked down for a brief moment to control your own fleet of anger that was festering out.  

“He can’t hurt me anymore, luv,” Druig said in a calm tone, his hand on your wrist tightened sightly to get your attention, “He can’t hurt us.  He’s gone,”

“Good,” You replied shortly, Druig sitting up in the bed as he was keeping his eyes on you, “And I’m glad I got a few good hits in on him from what he did,”

“Hey,” Druig said to you, seeing your eyes slowly drift back to him as he gave you a reassuring look, “I’m fine and alive thanks to you.”  

Maybe it was enough that you needed to hear since the cold demeanor you had in your eyes was now melting away.  Druig knew that you had beaten Ikaris down to a pulp after Druig was taken out of the picture to stop Tiamut. He saw the evident look of fatigue on your face and in your body language when you two reunited on the beach, his heart was breaking from seeing how worn down you were and still reeling with rage and anger towards Ikaris.  This was not what he wanted for you, knowing how good and deep your soul was and how filled with happiness and love you have been for centuries.  But he also knew how protective you two were of each other, considering each other as equals when it came to living a life together on earth.  

Ever since you both left the beach, Druig had nightmares almost every night.  He was never one to get nightmares to begin it since it was rare for all the time he’d been on Earth.  But Ikaris’s assault was vivid in his mind, almost engrained in his psyche, and Druig hated that he was reliving it over and over again.

However, you were always there to wake him up and bring him back to reality.  It always helped when he saw your face, when he heard your voice or simply felt your presence as his nightmare melted away.  You were a source of peace for him, even in the more troubled times in the past when he felt hopeless in stopping the humans from harming each other, you reminded him of his worth and all the good he has done on the planet.  

“Come here,” Druig urged you as you both fell back into bed together, Druig letting you rest your head on his chest while his arms were rubbing your arms up and down in a soothing motion.  You held him close, breathing him in as the soft hum of the Domo and its energy was floating in the room. Druig loved holding you like this, for as long as you two were together as a couple he would hold you in his arms as you two slept or simply embraced each other.  Being powerful beings, it seemed silly to be in such a vulnerable position together.  Neither one of you cared though, being open with one another was the purest form of love you two had for each other and there was no resistance for it.  

Now more than ever, after stopping the world from ending and almost losing one another, you both were never far from one another’s touch.  

“I’m beyond thankful for you,” Druig reassured you as your arms were still wrapped around him and you were listening to his heartbeat through his thin shirt, “You’ve saved me from being lost so many times in the past, even when I didn’t feel powerful enough to change what I wanted in the world—“

“You are so fucking powerful,” You said in a determined tone, Druig going quiet as you were staring out into the window to see the stars floating by at a slow pace, “You’re powerful enough to know what’s right and what needs to be done, Druig.  I love that about you, and I’ll willing to protect you and that part of your heart because of it, okay?”

Druig smiled for the first time that night, leaning down to kiss the top of your head as you two were embracing in silence again.  Druig loved that passion that you had, being the more abrasive one out of the pair of you.  He spoke his mind about plenty of things, but you were a pinch bolder with your own opinion and was never afraid to hold back. 

You would remind him every day how powerful he was, and you would pull him out of the darkness every time too. 

The End

Hurt/ Comfort Prompt Session

#druig x reader #druig x female reader #druig imagine #druig x eternal!reader #drug x female eternal reader #fanfiction #writing #barry keoghan #druig #eternals #my love #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #marvel mcu #mcu #mcu fanfiction #mcu eternals #mcu phase 4 #mcu fandom

[buzzkillers]

Fables and Parables 1|?

Pairing: Namor x Black!Reader

Summary: During a study abroad trip, you accidentally trigger a long-time tradition through a simple word: amen.

Warning: NON-CON, religious themes, non-consensual voyeurism, magical sex pollen, dream-walking, mentions of abortion, attempted forced pregnancy.

PART TWO

There's only so many words in the English language to describe heat, so you'll keep it simple: Oraxco, Mexico was hell on Earth, survival unlikely.

It was a sun-drenched mugginess.

Something heavy and thick that melted the sunscreen right off your skin and had your phone turning off in self preservation. And the worst part? This was before you left the airport; before you even left the damn terminal.

You didn't know what you expected. Oraxco wasn't particularly known for having Iceland type temperatures but no one said it was like this. Like you were kissing the sun. Like the heat had a mind of it's own.

And by the time you found your classmates, your clothes were drenched in sweat and your bags had gone slick in your palms. Thankfully, you weren't the only one.

Underneath what could only be a sunflare, there were only a handful of you, but your tongue went dry as you tried to greet them all. And you know, maybe you weren't in a city.

Maybe the airplane accidentally dropped you off in a Giants oven. Maybe you were being grilled alive. It was the only explanation really. For Christ sake, you've never felt your skin cook before.

And when your professor finally arrived, with suspiciously dry skin and an easy smile the conversations died easily. You couldn't pretend to be upset. You just let her talk and talk and talk.

Her tone, peppier and upbeat as she postponed going straight to the hotel.

Instead, she wanted to risk heat stroke to visit a nearby holy site. A hidden attraction that not many tourists visit. "It's only a few miles east, you'll thank me later," she insisted, the moment she saw the deadly looks etched onto all our faces. "It'll be fun, I promise"

A bold faced lie you thought as by the time you got there, you couldn't help but think it looked less holy and more—abandoned.

Through the heat exhaustion you took in what could only be described as a tall engraved pillar in a sea of dead grass.

It was made of smooth stone and touched by age and thick green vines that wrapped snugly up the pillars pits and grooves. The arms of the vines climbing up and up until it disappeared atop the statue's crest. Shit, it was so far up, you had to crank your head up to see it.

It was beautiful, daunting and as your professor promised: hidden well. The pillar far enough away from the main road that if you weren't looking for it, it would be easily missed.

Clearly, the stone was old. It had to be the fifteenth century, pre-colonialism maybe? The craftsman ship was intricate as well. Each mark and dig woven into rocks that made a story. No, that wasn’t it. Not a story but instead the never ending tail of a serpent that slithered its way to the top of the pillar.

With artful expertise, the tail formed into a man with a heart in one hand and what could only be an infant in the other. Smaller figures surrounded the serpent, their role vague until your professor spoke.

"—a popular myth dating back to the Mayan period. It's said that if you pray at the feet of his statue, the sea serpent will rise from his throne to come up to pick a concubine,"

"The concubine would go through a heat of sort that would urge her to stay in the land of the serpent god till next full moon, where she'll come back to her homeland gifted with pregnancy and rewards for the town,"

Around you everyone nodded in thinly veiled disinterest.

“You only have to pray, give him a request and the fullment will be your exchange for the child.”

You grimaced, “I pray that this sun would disappear, amen”

You’re met with grunts of agreement. The professor dutifully chose to ignore you; instead her mouth just continued to go on and on and on. By the time it was over, you no longer heard the sounds of cars racing by, the trees had become unnaturally still and you were pretty sure that half of your class was sprawled dead on the grass floor.

She did not have to convince anyone to get back onto the bus. You’re in fact the first in your seat, legs splayed out and your head leaning against the heated window. There was an unnatural silence settled onto the bus. No one wanted to speak and you couldn’t blame them.

Your eyes instead stayed stuck on the trees; on the grass that danced beneath the soft wind. The moon had begun to hang high. Its light washed across the city and leaked through the leaves.

Your thighs shifted in your seat, your hand pressed into your cheek. And then you felt it, something hot and sharp like honey that spiked in your belly. A warm sensation that made you droop in your seat before you blinked and looked at the tree line as the engine roared.

The statue peeked back at you in glances and ripples of the leaves that withered over it. You blinked and for a moment, the leaves flicked away completely; your professor said something, the bus began to move at a snail's pace, but you couldn’t listen, you were transfixed.

Utterly hypnotized at the sight of the serpent tail, concrete and covered in rock as it tightened around the pillar. Before the leaves bristled back into place and the bus left the place behind.

You blinked. The warmth in your belly bloomed. Then with a roll of your shoulders, you pretend you saw nothing at all.

__

A few hours later, or maybe a few minutes, a few days? It didn't matter. But it was at that moment, deep down below, beneath sea currents and molten rock; on a throne covered in bones and melted gold, that a God pricked his ears towards the surface and sighed.

#namor x reader #namor x poc!reader #namor x you #namor x y/n #namor x black reader #namor #namor x fem!reader #namor smut #namor x f!reader #black panther smut #namor fics #black panther fic #namor lemon #tw: noncon #tw: dark content

[yourtamaki]

of lifetimes and heartbeats

monster trio x f!reader

word count: 1.8k

warnings: pwp, double penetration, spitroasting, dumbification, spit, edging, creampie, snowballing, cum marking, safe words and gestures in place, aftercare, zosan crumbs

inspired by this ask from my lovely asce anon :3

the hands littered across your body may be the only things keeping you grounded to the earth. 

one cradles your face, warm palm against your skin and thumb sweeping across your cheekbone gentle enough to be a kiss. two more are digging into your hips, so hot you’re sure you’ll find handprints seared onto you in the morning. another pair wanders, leaving a path of goosebumps in their wake as they trail from your chest, fingertips grazing down your sides before one slips between your spread legs, tracing around your stretched entrance where you’re split open before two fingers press up against your clit. 

the passage of time feels as slow and sticky as the circles being rubbed against your clit, each moment yawning and stretching out for a quiet eternity before passing into the next, making it impossible for you tell if you’ve been sandwiched between three firm bodies for lifetimes or heartbeats. 

“you still with us, my love?” sanji’s voice pulls you free from your spiralling thoughts and back in the present. you peek up as best as you can with your nose buried in a neat blond tuft of hair, tilting your head to nuzzle into his hand. you’d probably smile at how his cock twitches where it’s buried down your throat if your lips weren’t stretched around him. he shoots you a soft smile before turning his attention to the man across him. “slow down, you brute. you’re going to hurt her.” 

“she’s fucking fine,” zoro punctuates his word with heavy thrusts that would gag you on sanji’s cock if it wasn’t for zoro’s iron hold on your hips keeping you in place. he shifts, leaning forward and draping himself over your back so he can reach around to wrap a hand around your neck, squeezing the sides just enough to make sanji groan above you and make your head spin before he presses his lips to your ear. 

“you’re okay aren’t you, baby?” the sincerity that lurks behind his question melts you, soft and shy as he kisses every inch of skin he can reach. you hum and you pat sanji’s thigh once to tell them you’re okay as you had agreed upon earlier. you can’t see his grin but you can feel it, all sharp edges and teeth. “that’s my girl.” 

“ours,” it’s the first thing you’ve heard from the voice below you since he’d sunk inside your cunt and whimpered at how it welcomed him home. you pull off of sanji with a gasp, strings of spit keeping you connected to his flushed tip and glance down at the vision laid out below you. 

luffy looks as fucked out as you feel, cheeks flushed and dark hair matted to his forehead. yet his eyes are as sharp as ever, piercing through you so fiercely you’re certain he can hear every frazzled thought in your head. the whole room has gone still at his declaration, breaths held as the captain, your captain, commands everyone’s attention with a single word. you know what he wants even before he cranes his neck up to trying to reach you, burning gaze never leaving you as you dip to meet him halfway. 

the kiss is messy from the moment you crash into each other as luffy licks his way into your mouth, biting at already swollen lips and chasing the taste of sanji off your tongue. there’s a wet smacking sound coming from somewhere above you, a shuffle and a groan that’s echoed by an answering growl but you’re too lost in the hungry rhythm of luffy kissing and kissing and kissing you to pay it any attention. 

luffy’s hips start to rock once more, a slow, delicious grind that has his fat tip pushing right up against a spot inside you that curls your toes and makes your thighs shake where they’re straddling his waist. luffy swallows your squeal as zoro follows his captain’s lead, fucking into you in time with luffy, pulling when he pushes and pushing when he pulls. you let out a broken moan into his mouth as they stuff you full over and over, never giving you so much as a moment to catch your breath. your lungs burn, ribs scorched by flame and need.

you need to breathe. you never want to breathe again. 

just as your mind starts to go fuzzy and soft and dumb around the edges, luffy breaks away from you and lets you suck in greedy gasps of air, grabbing your face to pepper kisses across your face before he whispers against your lips, “sanji needs you too.”

a spike of guilt cuts through the haze of lust as luffy releases his hold on you and you snap back up to where sanji sits patiently waiting for you. he pumps his cock with full, lazy strokes, a slick clicking in your ear as he uses your spit to fuck his fist and follow the pace the other two have set. 

you barely need to lean forward to place a feather-light kiss on his tip, licking a broad stripe across his weeping slit before glancing up through your lashes. “i‘m sorry, sanji. i didn’t mean to ignore you.”

“don’t be, angel. i could watch you like this all day,” he bends down just enough to kiss your forehead and murmurs against your skin, “all full of cock and drooling for more. is that what you want? tell me, my love, and i’ll give it to you. i’ll give you anything.” 

“oh please,” you’re too far gone to be embarrassed by the naked desperation in your voice, too lost in the eyes that stare so lovingly down at you and the biting kisses trailing down your spine and hot breaths on your chest. “i want it so fucking bad. want all of you inside me.” 

“anything,” he repeats, weighed down by emotion too heavy for you to understand in your state. his thumb brushes against your kiss-bitten lips with quiet reverance. “open up for me now. just like that, good girl.” 

you hardly have a choice as he squeezes your cheeks together, forcing your mouth open wide for him. the contrast between his soft words and firm hand has heat rushing to your cheeks. your eyes flutter shut as you wait for the familiar weight of his cock to hit your tongue only to fly open when a fat glob hits it instead. 

“fuck,” zoro says, “do that again she got so fucking tight.”

for once, sanji doesn’t argue with him. more spit trickles into your mouth and with his grip on your jaw, you can do nothing but accept everything he gives you. nothing has ever felt more right. 

finally, finally, he lines himself up to your mouth and pushes in and you are once again floating, head stuffed full of clouds and bliss as the men use you to chase their pleasure, claiming you as theirs with every thurst. they’ve had you on the edge and dripping from the moment they crowded you into their dorms and stripped you bare and now, with your high just a breath away, it feels like the least important thing in the world. 

there are words bouncing all around you and it takes awhile for your slow, frazzled mind to make meaning of it, praise and filth that trail off into sinful moans that distract you from the fact that you’re seconds away from shattering to pieces in their arms. they are the only thing keeping you together even as they do their best to take you apart. the thought lights your nerves on fire and you want to relish in the burn for just a little while longer. 

“‘m gonna cum, ‘m gonna cum,” luffy whines, bucking up into you with sloppy, mindless thrusts. “take it, take it fuck you’re so good, so good to us. best fucking pussy, milking my cock baby so good i love you fuck—”

he cuts himself off just as you feel him spill inside you, endless heat that makes you moan as luffy grinds himself against you, forcing his cum as deep as he can before he collapses back on the bed. you’re desperate to look down and see the loopy smile you’re sure he’s wearing but your attention is dominated by sanji, vision filled with nothing but him.

sanji with his head thrown back, throat bobbing as he fucks yours. sanji, looking down at you with open adoration. sanji, pulling his cock out of your mouth to jack off over you, fist a blur as he nears his high. 

“stick your tongue out baby, please. fuck, that’s it, that’s a good fucking girl. that’s my angel,” the first thick rope hits the back of your throat, nearly making you gag before the rest lands on your outstretched tongue, bitter and hot. you swallow it all, barely getting your mouth back open before he’s bending low and pulling you into a bruising kiss, folding you in endless affection, so sweet it chases the bitterness right off your tongue.  

and through it all zoro is with you, rocking against you, pace as steady as ever. the moment sanji pulls away, zoro is there, holding you to him, hard chest against your back. one of his hands snakes between your legs to rub neat circles around your needy clit and luffy whines as you clench down around his soft cock sill buried inside you. you tremble in his grasp, all too aware of all the eyes trained on you as he pushes you past the edge you’ve been dancing on all night. 

“good girls get to cum,” he breathes in your ear. “and what are you?”

“’m a good girl,” you manage to slur out. “your good girl.”

“then you know what to do.” 

another flick of his wrist, a bite on your shoulder and you’re gone, vision going dark as zoro fucks you through your orgasm and you fall to pieces. over the pounding blood that rings in your ears, there’s a strangled cry of your name and you feel him pull out of you only to cum all over your ass, spreading his mess with his tip like he can etch it onto your skin while you float somewhere just outside of your body. 

a lifetime and a heartbeat later, you’re sinking into the largest bathtub aboard the sunny, large enough to fit the four of you more then comfortably with zoro and sanji on either side of you with luffy before you. you let their soft words and toothless bickering wash over you as your sore muscles relax with the heat of the water. they’re all holding you in their own way, an arm tossed around your shoulders, another around your waist, fingers laced with yours, keeping you included in their company while you slowly return back to yourself. 

there are hands on you, grounding you to the earth and nothing else matters.

#luffy smut #zoro smut #sanji smut #one piece smut #one piece x reader #luffy x reader #zoro x reader #sanji x reader #cw dumbification

[wifetomegatron]

krok finds humans disgusting. at least, that's what he tries to convince himself. afab!reader. nsfw. mdni! drabble.

Pores, hair, skin — they were filthy. Organics were an insult to evolution and an affront to nature. He stands by that even if he's not a decepticon anymore. Partly because the prejudice's always been there. And he'd be giving them too much credit to say it's some kind of hatred. Indifference was more like it. He couldn't care less about fleshies. About you.

Then again, words were much easier to believe when his body wasn't reacting to the sight of you wiping your brow with the back of your palm. Your chest, heaving up, down, up down to intake air. Sweat, dripping past your neck and down the fabric of your —

He stopped himself, manually turning off his cooling fans as they clicked to life. Appalled, he stood up from his position, abandoning the rest of the members who were arguing over the manual ( no one noticed that Spinister's been holding it upside down).

You called it a morning run. You need it to keep yourself fit. Which was stupid and weak and terribly inconvenient to think about — sinew and muscle burning and tearing to become stronger. At least that's what he makes of it. He doesn't care. Whatever it is, you've been doing it almost every day now. Ever since the W.A.P.'s been stranded on Earth. While the rest of the team busted their afts off to get the ship back up in the air, you've been indulging yourself.

The audacity.

Krok tells himself that this is his way of correcting your insolence. That rocking himself against your body, with both your thighs — so soft and sticky and obscene — straddling his hips, was all part of his plan to punish you for your transgressions. Your body was warm, breath fanning against the side of his neck cables. He wants to fight off the feel of your hair in between his servos — soft. Silky. He didn't discourage the urge to curl a few strands and tug, earning him a moan. 

There was a list in his head. Of things he wants to yell at you for. His vocalizer doesn't seem to work at the moment so he punctuates each complaint with a thurst forward: For not helping, for jogging, for looking up at him with eyes that widen and watered. His interface panel tightened as lubricant leaked out of your valve — cunt. That was the word for it. He should use the proper words. You weren't Cybertronian. Not with a pretty little, wet thing like that. And the smell. It made him heady. Made him want.

He readjusted himself, bouncing you against his upper leg. You yelped at this, mumbling against the side of his temple.

" More," You whined, " Fuck, Krok I —"

" What was that?"

He wasn't thinking. His palm squeezed your aft, plush and pliant, the surface was already turning red.

" Sir," You repeated, sounding breathless. Such a strange, alien way to describe it. And yet his cooling fans were now roaring, spike out, and pressurizing.

You were repulsive. No armor, no metal — your body was practically defenseless as it melted against the shape of his. Everyone knows he hates them. And he does. But in the small, space of his berthroom, when the lights are off and everyone's gone to look for spare parts in this barren, wasteland excuse of a planet, he can make an exception.

You ducked down to sloppily kiss his faceplate, hip surging forward. Yeah. Krok can make an exception.

#transformers #transformers idw #the scavengers #krok x reader #krok #the scavengers transformers #idw mtmte #idw transformers #maccadams #transformers x reader #transformers x you #tf mtmte #mtmte #transformers mtmte #mtmte x reader #mtmte imagine #lost light #transformers lost light #tf headcanons #tf imagines #tf idw #transformers headcanons #transformers hc #tf hc #transformers first aid #lost light x reader #lost light au #scavengers #crankcase #misfire

[sungbeam]

𝐚 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞

boo seungkwan x gn!reader

1.3k words, established relationship au, childhood friends 2 lovers, proposal au, fluff, super soft

a/n: for the love of our beloved boo 💖 im still obsessed w this photo of him

Boo Seungkwan asked you to marry him beneath the shade of an orange tree.

The two of you had only been about ten years old, but back then, ten years old was everything. You were two peas in a pod, forever and always. He had been pushing you on the tire swing attached to one of the sturdier, low-hanging branches, as he always did. You kicked your legs up, a grin splitting your face.

"Why are only older people allowed to get married?" he asked later that day, as the sun set across the pasture. It was one of those days where the sun's sinking broiled across the sky in vibrant rivers of orange and yellow, before bruising into deep shades of purple. You had your backs against the trunk of the orange tree, your knees pressed to your chest, and Seungkwan's hand just touching yours on the damp earth.

You gave a small shrug. "Dunno. Why do you ask?"

From the other side of his body, he raised his hand and showed you a coil of flower stems, intertwined into a miniature ring. He held it in between two pinched fingers, floating in the space between your bodies. "Wanna get married?"

Around fifteen years later, Seungkwan pulled his car up the long, winding dirt road up to the orange grove. You sat in the passenger seat, your chin settled on your arms over the open window as you gazed out at the pasture that had filled your childhood with joyous memories. In the distance, you could already make out the largest, oldest orange tree at the far end of the field, its branches plump with globes of ripe orange fruit. And, of course, the old tire swing still hung from one of its arms, drifting gently in the cool breeze.

Seungkwan parked the car where the road ended. He had been planning this picnic for a long time coming; you and he hadn't been back to this place for years now, having been occupied with your own constantly moving adult lives. And yet, he had managed to keep ahold of you—thank god, he had.

As he killed the engine to his car, he smoothed down the white button up he wore. Outwardly, his movements were natural—inwardly, the box in his pocket seemed to burn right through his skin.

"It'll be golden hour soon," he said to you softly, a smile gracing his face as he watched the strands of your hair dance across your forehead as you gazed out. He knew you felt it, too—the nostalgia. That creeping, sweeping sensation trekking down his nerves until he felt warm and fuzzy. Or maybe his chest hurt from youth long gone. But there was no time like the present to remedy that.

You lifted yourself from the window, that wistful expression still etched into your face. You met his eyes, and he nearly melted. He would never not be enamored by your every movement, your every stare. "Well, we better get going then, love."

Blanket, picnic basket—all the necessary items were withdrawn from the trunk. While you held the folded square blanket under your arm and Seungkwan with the basket, the two of you ventured into the green-gold sea of grass toward the edges of the orange grove, entwined hands swinging between your bodies.

"Wow, it's beautiful here," you said, voice barely audible. You'd hate to disturb the pure tranquility in the air.

Seungkwan gave a nod, allowing himself to get sucked into the landscape. He tilted his head back, inhaling deeply. "It is. Isn't that the rock you tripped over when we were, like, seven?" He chuckled, pointing to a rock fixture to the side of the path.

You made a face at the rock as you passed, then bumped his shoulder with yours. "Hey! I had banged-up knees for weeks!"

"Aish, what're you complaining about when I pushed you everywhere in that wheelchair?" He made a feigned noise of disappointment while shaking his head.

That made you smile. "You refused to let me use Chan's crutches."

"He probably broke them," he rolled his eyes. "I wasn't about to let you hurt yourself more from wrecked crutches."

"I'm telling Chan you said that."

"I dare you," he quipped, nose flicking up into the air. "I'm not afraid of him."

You giggled, and the sound made his heart pitter-patter like he was a teenager in love again. Then again, he wasn't so far off from then. It was strange how after all this time of being in love with you, he hadn't gotten used to the feeling. Everyday, you gave his heart a warm thrill. You were a reminder of how beautiful it was to be alive and by your side.

When you reached the foot of the orange tree, you and Seungkwan swiftly laid out the blanket, then set everything atop it. Before digging into anything, however, you walked over to the tire swing and tested the integrity of the rope, the rubber. You swept the tire seat clean from cobwebs and dirt and dust, delicately lowering yourself onto the inner ring.

Seungkwan didn't even need to be asked.

He came up behind you and grabbed either side of the tire, pulling it back a little, then letting it fly down the slight incline. "Wow, I didn't think it'd actually still hold."

"Woooo!" You cheered as you swung in the setting sun.

Seungkwan had definitely been right earlier—golden hour had approached swiftly.

He fidgeted as he continued to gently push the swing into motion for you. He had a plan—of course, he had a plan.

And when the two of you sat atop the blanket a handful of minutes later, your knees were pressed to your chest and Seungkwan's hand lingered close to yours.

He swallowed the thundering of his heart, his eyes set on the burning sunset in the distance as if even the sky were telling him that it was now or never. "Remember when I asked you that one time why only older people get married, or something like that?"

You passed him a curious, sideways smile. "Yeah. I still don't know the answer."

"Well—" he stammered, the hand on his other side struggling to dig the box out of his pocket as subtly as possible, "—do you think we're old enough yet?"

"Old enough? To get married?" You and Seungkwan had had lots of discussions about marriage before, but never had he brought up this one instance again. "I mean… I think we are. I think we're old enough to have experienced enough of life ourselves to determine when we're ready to share it with another."

Seungkwan closed his eyes as a small laugh fell from his lips. "Why are you so good at articulating these things, hm?"

You beamed, leaning forward onto your knees to peer at him with your cheek pressed to your kneecaps. "Maybe I've thought about it a lot."

Yours and his eyes met then, as the sun gave its final send off.

Seungkwan internally cheered as his fingers caught onto the ring from the pried-open jaws of the ring box.

He cleared his throat; why was it getting congested? Why now why now why now? "Then Yn Ln—" he forced stability into his voice, then presented the ring, held it between you two, "—will you marry me?"

Your breath caught in your throat. The ring—white gold band, diamond center and surrounded in petals of clear-cut stone like a blooming flower—glistened in the fading daylight. You exhaled your answer, inhaled it, breathed it out again: "Yes. Yes. Yes!"

And as Seungkwan fumbled to slide the ring onto your finger with shaky hands; as you clung onto him until he fell back onto the blanket; as the sky dimmed to periwinkle evening; you and Seungkwan were reminded of a beautiful life beneath the shade of an orange tree.

svt m.list

permanent taglist: @tayunji @im-a-big-mess @honeyhuii @y3jiishot @crazywittysassy @seomisaho @stopeatread @enhacolor @rnjfy @jaehunnyy @kpopjackie @spiderrenjunfics @soobin-chois @stayarmytinyzenmoa-l @mingiholic @ja4hyvn @vatterie @yogurteume @mythicalamphitrite @ana-is-losing-her-mind @super-btstrash-posts @otchae @luv4vernon @ashxxkook @thesunsfullmoon @hoohoohope @polarisjisung @dior-15 @ethereal-engene @yvnjin-s @noa-record @pearlygraysky @beautywine @kflixnet

#kflixnet #caratwritersclub #seventeen x reader #boo seungkwan x reader #seungkwan x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen oneshot #seventeen drabble #seungkwan drabble #seungkwan imagine #seungkwan fluff #seungkwan oneshot #seungkwan scenarios

[lewmagoo]

could you imagine going on a picnic with rhett around sunset and it ending in getting fucked surrounded by flowers 😩

this is my SONG.

there was a special spot rhett liked to take you. a little clearing in the woods that overlooked the property, but most importantly, it faced the west, and boasted of a breathtaking view of the sunset. tonight, rhett had taken the time to put together a little dinner picnic, complete with a gingham blanket, which he carefully spread over the grassy earth, in a spot surrounded by wildflowers. brilliant purple, yellow, and blue flowers dotted the countryside, just begging to be picked and turned into a flower crown. and that was exactly what you did. as the sun began to sink in the horizon, you weaved the delicate little plants together. a crown for you, and a crown for rhett.

he’d been watching you work, his eyes twinkling at your excitement. when you turned to him, you were beaming, holding up a finished crown. “for you!” you announced, placing it atop his head. he smiled sweetly, the apples of his cheeks rounding. “thank y’ darlin’.” then he reached for the other crown. “allow me.” gingerly, he took the flora in his large hands, and adorned your head with it. “beautiful,” he whispered as he admired you, reaching out to brush his fingers over your cheek. you leaned into his touch, and within seconds, he was pulling you into his lap. you giggled, your hands coming up to rest against his shoulders.

“don’t get frisky on me, cowboy,” you teased. you could already see the mischievous glint in his eyes. “can’t help it. gotta get my hands on ya.” his mouth was on yours, and you melted into him, kissing him back fervently. strong arms encircled your waist, and when he parted from you, he nudged his nose against yours. “you gon’ let me make love to you in this field of wildflowers, honey?” he asked. “that’s why you brought me out here, hm?” came your reply. a sheepish smile spread across his face. “maybe…” came his response. smirking, you rocked your hips against his, suddenly extremely glad you had decided to wear a sundress, with a pair of thin panties beneath. it would allow for the most delicious friction.

your cowboy gazed up at you, rays of golden, setting sun illuminating his face, catching on the random strands of blonde in his hair, contrasted by the colorful flowers resting on his head. “go on then. i’m all yours,” came your whisper as you brought your mouth to his again. he turned you, placing your body against the blanket, moving to hover over you. he was warm and familiar against you, and you found yourself leaning into his touch, needy for more. his hands on your exposed skin felt so good, and you breathlessly begged for more. it wasn’t long before your dress was entirely discarded, leaving you fully bare to him.

after ridding himself of his own clothing, he paused to admire you, and the angelic glow the sun cast upon your naked body. you looked ethereal, and it took his breath away. when he kissed you next, it was to swallow your moan as he slipped inside you. and when he took you into his arms, it was to soothe your trembling when he hit that spot inside you that made you see stars. “i’ve got you, darlin’. i’ve got you,” he hummed as he eased his hips in and out of you, all while you whimpered and whined into his shoulder. he knew how to make you feel so good, rendering you entirely speechless as he fucked you deep and slow. the whispered praise, utterings of “atta girl” and “takin’ me so well” made your body sing.

he fucked you as the sun sank lower and lower in the sky, and by the time the moon had made its appearance, you were crying out into the night, convulsing in his arms as fiery pleasure overwhelmed you from head to toe. by the time you returned to yourself, gone was the golden glow of the sun. instead, rhett was now illuminated by the pale glow of the moon, and you swore it made him look even more beautiful. like an angel sent in the night to watch over you. and that was exactly what it felt like as he so tenderly cleaned you up and helped you into his truck, insistent on taking you back home and administering proper aftercare, like he always did. “need to take proper care of m’ girl,” he said. “need to show ya how special you are to me.” and he did. because you were special, and you deserved to be treated as such.

#asks #rhett musings #rhett abbott fanfiction

[burningclocks]

HELL HATH NO FURY LIKE A WOMAN SCORNED

Say what you will but women in classical plays had the best rage-filled monologues

1. Beatrice’s Kill Claudio Monologue, Much Ado About Nothing by William Shakespeare

Kill Claudio! You kill me to deny it. Farewell. I am gone, though I am here: there is no love in you: nay, I pray you, let me go. In faith, I will go. You dare easier be friends with me than fight with my enemy. Is he not approved in the height a villain, that hath slandered, scorned, dishonoured my kinswoman? O that I were a man! What, bear her in hand until they come to take hands; and then, with public accusation, uncovered slander, unmitigated rancour, – O, God that I were a man! I would eat his heart in the market-place. Talk with a man out a window! A proper saying! Sweet Hero! She is wronged, she is slandered, she is undone. Princes and counties! Surely, a princely testimony, a goodly count, Count Comfect; a sweet gallant surely! O that I were a man for his sake! Or that I had any friend would be a man for my sake! But manhood is melted into courtesies, valour into compliment, and men are only turned into tongue, and trim ones too: he is now as valiant as Hercules that only tells a lie and swears it. I cannot be a man with wishing, therefore I will die a woman with grieving.

2. Iphigenia’s Monologue to Agamemnon, Iphigenia at Aulis by Euripides

If I could speak as well as Orpheus, Father, if I could use words to inspire the rocks around us to rise up and follow me, if I had that same gift of persuasion I would use it. But I have only one talent, my tears. I offer them to you. It is all I can do. I bend before you like a branch bending towards the earth, pressing my body against your knees. This is the body that your wife gave birth to. Don’t send me to an early death. It is sweet to see the sun’s light. Do not force me down into the darkness of the Underworld. I was the first child to call you father, the first you called your child. I was the first to sit upon your knee while you fondly kissed me. You used to say to me, “Will I see you one day, happy in your husband’s house, bringing honor to your family?” And I would say to you, as I pulled upon your beard, the same beard I now caress, “And what about you, Father? Will I welcome you into my house, when you are an old man, and take care of you in thanks for all the years that you took care of me?” I remember every word we said, but you have forgotten them, and now you are planning to end my life. By Pelops, by your father Atreus, by my mother, who suffered the pain of my birth and suffers more pain now, I beg you to spare me. What do I have to do with the marriage of Paris and Helen? Why should I die because of them? Look at me, look me in the eyes and give me a kiss, give me that at least to remember when I die, if you are determined to remain deaf to my pleas.

3. Medea’s Dead Children Monologue, Medea by Euripides

Women, my mind is clear. I go to slay my children with all speed, and then, away from hence; not wait yet longer till they stand beneath another and an angrier hand to die. Yea, howsoe'er I shield them, die they must. And, seeing that they must, 'tis I shall slay them, I their mother, touched of none beside. Oh, up and get thine armour on, my heart! Why longer tarry we to win our crown of dire inevitable sin? Take up thy sword, O poor right hand of mine, thy sword: then onward to the thin-drawn line there life turns agony. Let there be naught of softness now: and keep thee from that thought, 'born of thy flesh,' 'thine own belovèd.' Now, for one brief day, forget thy children: thou shalt weep hereafter. Though thou slay them, yet sweet were they. . . . I am sore unfortunate.

#classical plays #theatre #feminine rage #much ado about nothing #shakespeare #catherine tate #euripides #iphigenia #Iphigenia at aulis #medea #monologues #classics #my art

[beguines]

The theoretical physicist Carlo Rovelli, in his most recent book, Helgoland, has posited a theory that erases the distinction between the human mind and the natural world. The fact that observing the action of quantum particles influences the way they behave is well established. Rovelli says that quantum theory has hitherto been limited in thinking of this dynamic only in relation to us, when in fact quantum theory "describes how every physical object manifests itself to any other physical object. How any physical entity acts on any other physical entity." This leads to a radical conclusion, his "relational theory," which, if correct, upends the history of physics (and other fields as well):

"The discovery of quantum theory, I believe, is the discovery that the properties of any entity are nothing other than the way in which that entity influences others. It exists only through its interactions. Quantum theory is the theory of how things influence each other. And this is the best description of nature that we have."

Existence is relation. Full stop. If you cannot tell anything about how an object is relating to what is around it, then poof, there is no object. This is incontrovertible at the micro level. That it seems not to obtain at the macro level has led to many theories, some quite imaginatively provocative (many worlds, etc.) but all, according to Rovelli, requiring that we posit realities we can never observe—a leap of faith, if you will. For Rovelli, the micro and the macro mean one thing, which is nothing. Billions and billions of quantum phenomena are happening around us (and in us!) at every instant. Our life, our need to make meaning from it, is all a kind of blindness. "The solidity of the classical vision of the world is nothing other than our own myopia. The certainties of classical physics are just probabilities. The well-defined and solid picture of the world given by the old physics is an illusion . . . Centuries of Western speculation on the subject, and on the nature of consciousness, vanish like morning mist."

A despairing vision? Not for Rovelli. "There is a sense of the vertiginous—of freedom, happiness, lightness—in the vision of the world that we are offered by the discovery of quanta…. Watching what appeared to be as solid as rock melt into air makes lighter, it seems to me, the transitory and bittersweet flowing of our lives." Gone is the scientific and philosophical materialism and determinism that have choked the soul for the last century. If everything is its relation to other things, the future can hardly be fixed, no matter how refined one's understanding of the laws of matter are. (The hawk really is "random.") For Rovelli this represents the end of metaphysics, which has been gumming up the works between the mind ("brain," I guess he would say) and reality for so many centuries. He would be surprised and perhaps appalled, then, to learn that a religious person might feel as light and liberated by his vision as he does. Yet I do. Not only does it align with many of the modern artists and thinkers I most admire (Kandinsky: "The world sounds. It is a cosmos of spiritually affective beings. Thus dead matter is living spirit"), it seems to me perfectly trinitarian in its implications. Rovelli's "veil upon veil" that opens endlessly forever—this is God. ("If you think that you have understood God," wrote Augustine, "then it is not God.") The world that we still live very much in the midst of, the illusory rocks that slice us open and the faces made of infinitesimal and untouchable grains that we touch and love with everything we are—this is Jesus on the earth. He too was made of these grains; he too left not a wrack behind. And the elation that both Rovelli and I feel when we are so moved by this emptiness that is a fullness, this lack that feels so like love—this is the Holy Spirit working in ever new ways through the mix of time and timelessness that is our birthright. And none of this "exists" unless and until you turn your full attention to it.

Christian Wiman, excerpted from the forthcoming Zero at the Bone: Fifty Entries against Despair in Image Journal, issue 117

#christian wiman #zero at the bone #favorite

[zinjanthropusboisei]

The door in the meadow has been there for months. I enjoyed the enigma - I drew a little comic about it and now I have several thousand people in my notifications arguing about whether I should go through the possibly-magic-possibly-cursed doorway and embark on a heroic quest (For the record, having had a thorough education in, among other things, medieval Celtic literature and mythology and the perils of passage into otherworlds, I have not gone through the door).

The thing is, the door is still there. After my berry picking days of high summer, when I largely worked from home and walked that way every other day for an iced coffee and a break from the downstairs neighbor, I didn't go to the meadow until February. And it's still there. It's on university land, in one of the sprawling natural areas ancillary to campus, and I'd like to ask someone at the botanical gardens about it, but I'm worried that perhaps its continued presence is unsanctioned, and that drawing attention to it will run the clock out.

I'll be keeping a closer eye on the door these days though - that scrap of woods is also my calendar, the little brook usually surrounded by skunk cabbages poking up as the first sign of spring. The timing's all gone wrong the last few seasons, no snow then too much snow then floods. I last passed through on February 28th, and the cabbages were there - harder to spot without their blanket of snow. When a plant generates enough internal heat to melt a hole through a foot of snow, it tends to catch the eye. Less so when it's one spike of mottled burgundy-brown against a creek bed.

In my last visit, I was observed - several deer on the opposite side of the creek, separated by a small rill of water and a bank of reeds. I think I've failed to paint an adequate picture, from a topographic point of view. It's a place of nature, as dictated by the university's categorization scheme for its outer regions - a Natural Area, the So-and-So Woods Natural Area, a remnant of woodland that rises up and down around a small scrap of crick. In the middle is a meadow on top of the ridge, like a pause for sunlight, ringed by berry bushes. The ridge slopes down to the north to the stream, which is granted a brief reprieve between the severe constraints of an uphill golf course and the suburban neighborhood downhill where it is blinkered by culverts.

The door isn't the only human intrusion; there's a frisbee golf course on one end and a small seismic station on the edge of the meadow near the door (This at least will provide some truly unique scientific observations should there be a large-scale fairy invasion). It's the same kind of seismic monitoring set up that I used to rely on for research: a small solar panel and GPS unit at the surface, connected to the recording equipment in a big plastic tub weather-proofed as well as possible with duct tape and a tarp, all connected to the actual seismometer buried out of sight in the quiet earth, measuring its every twitch and rumble.

It's the GPS unit I'm thinking of; it doesn't only provide location, but also - more critically - time. To analyze seismic data - not just locating earthquakes but also things like identifying structures within the Earth - you need precise timing data. The calculations revolve around the time that it takes for seismic waves to travel through different rock layers, so you don't rely on local clocks in each individual recording unit; you use the GPS to synchronize. On one of the projects I worked on when I was a geology student, we were maintaining an array of seismometers across northern Tanzania, peering into the East African Rift. About a month after installation, the GPS units started to fail en masse across the array, and by the time we returned six months later to harvest all that lovely data that had been steadily filling up the SD cards, all but five of the clocks had failed. The timing was gone, and the data was useless - unmoored in time and therefore in space.

It's an apt metaphor, if it even counts as a metaphor given how literal the unmooring feels when it's over 60 degrees in upstate New York in February. My internal clock is set to berry time and skunk cabbages and when the lake water gets to be a swimmable temperature, and my clock is losing time. The door is a nice distraction, but it's not the most unnerving discontinuity in the woods.

#climate thoughts #writing #nature

[brandwhorestarscream]

Tfe skyfire x starscream

I'm actually gonna draw from some previous source material we've made up here, and say that the bitties in question are the jettwins. They're not Skyfire's sparklings, but he's the one that steps up to raise them.

The seekers are all on the run and, if I'm being honest, have probably vacated the entire North American continent. GHOST isn't an international organization, after all, and flight makes travelling and escape so much easier than groundbound mecha like Tarantulas, for example. They've gone somewhere that's pretty much unreachable by humans: the highest point on the planet. Mt. Everest. The temperatures are nothing compared to deep space flight, and there's plenty of wind and solar energy for them to harness to get an energon synthesizer going.

They've been living on the dl for months and building up an actual base for themselves at the peak, when Starscream's newly rigged together scanners pick up a very peculiar signal under the melting ice caps of earth's poles. Looks like a cybertronian cache of sorts! They head out immediately, before anyone else can snipe the findings. Who knows what it could be? It could be incredibly useful, be it medical supplies or something that might be able to get them permanently off this Primus forsaken rock.

You know what happens here. They find Skyfire in cryosleep beneath the ice: with everything on this planet thawing, they were finally able to get an actual read on him despite being here for so long. Starscream is... god. There's so many emotions at once he doesn't even know what to call it. He's relieved, he's overjoyed, he's terrified, he's angry. They excavate him in a hurry and search for any equipment he may have lost at the time of the crash, but it's all beyond repair.

Skyfire is incredibly disoriented. He's so confused, he's so dizzy and his audials are ringing incessantly and why does Starscresm look so different? For him, it's only been a couple kliks since he got the warning that there was a critical failure in his systems and then he was falling. He blacked out, and now he's here. He's so sore though, and none of his systems are functioning properly, and Starscream is damn near hysterical that it's clear he's missed a lot. They get him back to their little camp, get him some energon, let him rest and decompress. The twins are handed off to Skywarp and Nova so the two reunited lovebirds can have a chance to talk. Starscream tells Skyfire the full story, not overwhelming him with details but all the main points. What happened after his disappearance, the whole mess with the war, earth's revolving circus of pitslag, GHOST, and finally... the bitties.

Skyfire doesn't even mind that they aren't his. Starscream suffered so much carrying them, having them forced on him, but is doing everything in his power to love and raise them properly. Sky's an overgrown lovesick puppy and adores Starscream for all that he is, and he falls in love with the twins the first moment he gets to hold them. They're so tiny compared to him, but so wiggly and curious. They're attempting to climb all over him, nomming on his fingers and poking at his face with their tiny baby hands, giggling and chirping as they clamber up on his head because Look How High!!!!! He passes the infant vibe check with easy and the sparklings are immediately smitten with them. Skyfire fondly remarks that they're beautiful, just like their carrier, and quietly mentions that... he knows it's been awhile, but if Starscream will still have him, he'd love to still be with him. Starscream just smiles and calls him an idiot: as if he'd let him get away!

Skyfire is such an incredible sire to his adopted sparklings. Literally the best they ever could have ended up with. Loves them like his own, so attentive and sweet and patient. He honestly coddles them even more than Starscream does, and has such a hard time telling them no 🤭 he hasn't built up an immunity to puppy dog eyes yet, so he's always sneaking them extra treats. He loves to hold them, they fit so perfectly in his arms, he's always volunteering to hold them for naptime rather than laying them down in their little crib. Starscream is happier than Skywarp and Nova have seen him in a long time, and the whole group of them are a perfect happy little family 💖

#ask game #skystar #on this blog adoptive relationships get love too

[vvatchword]

Sleeper

The last nightmare Delta had was also the worst, probably because it felt so real.

Usually, dreaming was great. In dreams, passersby were as small as children and he tramped through the halls in full diving regalia. Nobody bothered him. In fact, passersby usually sprinted off in the other direction. Then he’d laugh, although it came out in slow motion. Lasted for hours sometimes. His throat hadn’t been right for ages. He’d had a bad cold since… well, he couldn’t remember, but it had to be months at this point.

It was hard to tell where he was dreaming. Most of the time he dreamed he was in a city under the sea, skyscrapers and everything. The floors were patterned in repeating geometric flower motifs, and brass fish arced up against ceilings, and everywhere was green, green, green, a deep fishy green. Past the city lights was the solid blackness and the distant neon flickers of abyssal life.

He liked it. It was quiet. It was dark.

Sometimes he thought he might be escaping in these dreams, although he couldn’t think of where he wanted to go or why it was so important to leave. While he saw bathysphere stations and airlocks, he never seemed to reach them. He would remember: he couldn’t leave yet because he needed to take something with him.

He’d lumber off to find whatever-it-was. He hadn’t ever found it that he could recall.

The worst dreams were when the lights had all gone out and he heard far-off popping sounds. Holes blown in the floor. Fires burning in a clothing store. A mannequin melting. Horrible raspy screams that went up forever.

Fewer of those pretty dreams anymore.

But there was one good thing that never let him down:

Sister.

Whenever he craved cigarettes, she appeared. It never really made sense, but dreams didn’t have to make sense. He’d start to see her, first faintly and in blips. Then he could see her crawling on her hands and knees through the wall, like a faint impression in TV static, and his heart would lift. When no one was looking, he’d knock on the wall. This was how he told her that the coast was clear.

The vents here were huge. Cartoonishly enormous. Big gusts of fresh air blasted out and fogged his viewplate. When the technicians fucked up the seal on his helmet—which they often did, they were harried these days—he could smell fresh earth. Somewhere, there were forests.

Eyes flickered in the vent like burning coals.

“Daddy,” whispered Sister.

“Ohhhh,” he said, and reached out. His voice came out deep, sonorous, strange.

The nightmares usually started when she tumbled into his arms, all stick limbs and scraped knees. She was the only good thing about them—they were together—they were complete. For at least a few moments, everything was fine.

“Look! Look!” she said, flinging her arms up. “It’s you!”

She plopped a yarn doll up against his faceplate. It had a baseball for the head and a broken wristwatch for a face. The second hand flicked, flicked, flicked, at a second to midnight.

“I made it!” Sister said, smearing it against the glass. “It took me days and days and daaays.”

He groaned appreciatively. Granted, he would have made the same sound if she had held up a rock or a tin can.

For a minute, he would hold her up, feel as though something had locked into place—something was correct—but he was missing an ingredient. Worst part of the nightmares was feeling like they had to go somewhere, and not remembering the location.

“Come on, Daddy!” she said, sliding down his arm. “ADAM!”

She stuffed the doll underneath her arm, yanked her syringe out of her sash, and grabbed his hand with both of hers. He took a step, rumbling, his tone a question.

“Fa-ster,” she said. “Fa-a-aster! Slowpoke! I can smell the ADAM!”

ADAM.

Get ADAM. That’s right.

He followed at a slow trot. He was always slowest and heaviest in nightmares. He couldn’t drag his gaze away from the little brown head bobbing ahead of him. His hand swallowed hers, but he held it with inestimable gentleness.

There was a flicker of movement in the hallway just ahead.

His thumb pressed tightly over the back of Sister’s hand.

It had been there just a moment. A fish’s shadow? A man’s trousered leg? Whatever it was, it was gone.

Didn’t care. He swung up his drill. It was longer than Sister was tall, originally meant for hollowing stone and boring holes in hulls. He never took it off.

Sister’s hand slipped from his. She pattered away as quickly as a cat.

He staggered after her, lowing.

“Hurry uuup,” said Sister, stamping at the top of the stairs. “There’s an Angel!”

A beam of light from an emergency bulb threw her shadow against the wall. She was waxy white, her eyes so bright he couldn’t even see the shadows of her pupils.

For a second, he remembered her standing against the glass in the day lighting, bottom lip sucked under her teeth, pinafore balled up in her fists. She had freckles. He remembered her eyes being blue and her hair being all mussed up. Covered in grime from sliding on her belly through cracks all the goddamn time, and bruises and scrapes all over. Cute fucking kid. Not a good kid, obviously, but that had always reminded him of himself.

Then he tried to remember what he was like as a kid and the whole kit and caboodle slipped away, and all he had was Sister, white and glowing and alone.

Fear tingled all the way to his fingers. He felt distressingly heavy. If she would only stay close… everything would return to normal. Everything would feel better.

“Angel is this way! Come on!” She pattered into the blackness.

He took the stairs three at a time, fingers resting on the lever inside the drill. Jogged through circles of light and deep pools of shadow. He thought he saw movement just ahead. Could have been her.

No.

It wasn’t her little padding feet. These were heavy plastic soles, big pounding scrapes.

He charged down the hall and skidded around the corner.

Sister was alone, kneeling beneath a tilted street lamp. An Angel sprawled below her. She plunged her needle deep into the Angel’s liver and waggled it one way, then the other. Stabbed again, plunged straight through the muscle. Rich red liquid flowed into her bottle; she hummed.

Lowering his drill, he breathed in.

Held the breath.

Breathed out.

“Lily-poppies,” she said in a sing-song voice. “Li-lies. Po-ppies. Sca-bbies.”

Shoulders sinking, he plodded to her side. The Angel rocked beneath her ministrations. A whisper started in the back of his mind.

Bad.

The Angel was fresh. Looked like someone had shot it point blank in the forehead. And this one was nicely dressed, too; nice tuxedo, pressed white shirt, carnation in the buttonhole. His wallet lay beside his upturned hand, the clean bills peeking out of it. He lay on a tarp that stank of fish.

From down the hall, ghosts whispered.

“Is that the one? Is that it?”

“Gotta be. That’s an Alpha. I haven’t seen one of those in ages.”

“Don’t jump the gun. What’s the symbol?”

“Triangle! That’s it! We got ’em.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Nope. Now get out there.”

“No, you do it. You’re the big assassin here.”

“Buddy, you’re the one with the grenades. You don’t even have to get close.”

“I… I can’t. Grenades just… they don’t do shit, man. You saw Joseph. He was in four parts. Four parts.”

“That’s the difference, you idiot. Joseph went alone. We have the Family.”

“Fuck the Family. I’m not suicidal, man!”

“Shhh!”

“Fuck it! You do it yourself!”

Footsteps rushed away down the hall.

“Hey! Hey! Asshole! Come back here!”

Three sets of footsteps, a slammed door…

Delta had already flicked the lamp on his helmet. Nothing. He and Sister were standing in a hub where four tunnels converged. A statue of a man lifting a sunburst leaned against the wall, glittering with glass. He had been felled at the shins; rebar twisted out of the base like dead stalks. All the lights had been blown out except for three emergency bulbs still glowing palely against the ocean.

Sister tilted the bottle back and sucked busily, her doll leaning against her hip. She was sitting. He wished she wasn’t sitting. They might need to start running.

“Hrrrrup,” he said.

She sucked down the dregs, burped, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Syrupy stuff streaked across her cheek.

“Come on, Daddy,” she said, and bounded up to her feet and across the room.

He groaned and charged after her. The doll lay lonely behind them.

“Hurry!” she called. “More Angels!”

She took a tunnel that sloped toward the seabed. On either side, the buildings flew up, a thousand walls and neon signs, shoals of mackerel shifting sluggishly. A Greenland shark drifted by, so dark and still that it might have been dead. For a few minutes, Sister and Delta sprinted alone through the pale green light.

The tunnel terminated at another hub. This one was remarkably clean. The sister statue to the previous hub’s still stood upright, with floodlights throwing dramatic colors over its shoulders in oranges and reds. The plants around its feet still lived, and the fountain still trickled. Fresh water. No rubble. Shining tile. Delta’s boots squeaked on the floor. Through the glass, long rectangles of yellow light; dancers in bright colors wavered.

Maybe this would end up a good dream after all.

Sister raced straight ahead.

“This way!” she said.

She was making a beeline for a door framed by neon. Over it, an animated sign: “NARCISSUS.” The frame flashed from white to red to white again, and gaudy flowers opened over and over and over. Inside the petals were grinning faces. He couldn’t read it; he knew that he should be able to, somewhere in his mind; but the letters were like hieroglyphics, acknowledged, colorful, bright, but meaningless.

Sister threw the door open. Light flooded the corridor, blew out the contrast, hazed everything in gold and white. But he did not hesitate. He charged over the threshold, from tile to carpet. Thick carpet, plush carpet.

“Wipe your feet,” said someone far away.

Delta snarled. Busy.

Two men with guns framed the door. Big, broad-shouldered boys in turtlenecks and black trenchcoats.

“Big Daddy coming through!” one yelled, and dropped his gun, raised his hands, flattened back against the wall.

His friend did the same, but not fast enough. Delta shouldered past him. One elbow was all it took. The trenchcoat hit the floor, hard, and the gun’s stock cracked on the wall. A woman screamed.

The music squawked off. A room full of tuxedos and silks turned as one. Women with ivory barrettes in their hair. Bright red lipsticks. Roses, mums, forget-me-nots. The band, standing on an alabaster dais, with a mirror behind them. Delta saw himself then, hemmed in by scarlet carpet and golden ceiling, stirring up the cigarette smoke. At his feet, party-goers in all the colors of the rainbow, small and perfect and pretty, and Delta like some hulking astronaut from another planet, the uniform color of shit. But Delta only had eyes for one person. He could feel her presence flying ahead of him. He plunged through the crowd, past the marble bar, the waiters in matching vests. Sharp gasps; a soft cry.

The closest partygoer turned, making a face.

“What is that god-awful stench?” he said.

Delta brushed by. The man slammed so hard against the bar that he threw his martini over his shoulder and baptized the bartender.

“Just a Big Daddy, folks!” someone was shouting. “Just a Big Daddy! Don’t touch the Little Sister. Careful. Careful. They’re just passing through.”

“Can’t wait until this war is over,” someone slurred. “Can’t even go for a drink…”

Door marked “Exit.” Delta could see it closing slowly, and there were two more trenchcoat men with their hands up against the wall.

Delta banged through the door. Behind him, startled chatter rose up, as did the ragged upswell of swing. He had entered a utility hallway leading to restrooms. Only a handful of people lingered here—smoke-breakers and hangovers. The carpet surrendered to tile. A trash can with a polished cap.

The dark mouth into another hub.

He could vaguely see his Sister through the dream-sight then. She’d found an Angel, all right. Another one, lying on a tarp, this one scruffy, no wallet, hadn’t shaved. Shot point-blank between the eyes. In his hazy other-vision, he could almost feel the dimple in the skull.

Sudden color against the checkered tile.

Sister screamed.

An electrical jolt flashed through Delta; his heart missed a beat.

“Give it here, you brat!” a man said.

Delta roared and charged down the hallway. He shoved one half-drunk man out of his way and the hapless fellow jabbed an elbow through the wall. Far behind him, the party went silent again; pretty heads peeped out.

Delta slid to a stop on a balcony. Just below, lit up as though on a stage, was Sister, circled by four pacing ne’er-do-wells in threadbare pants and patched jackets. Worst of all was the bulky man who struggled to yank her needle from her hands. He flung her back and forth—back and forth and back and…

Delta’s heart throbbed—another electrical jolt sizzled through his chest, this one twice as painful as the last—

Hang on, kid!

Delta flung himself over the balcony. Moment of weightless glory, then the full brunt of all 1,500 pounds came crashing down. He smashed the first man under his boots like a beetle. Yanked the lever in the drill and it roared to life, rattled his bones all the way up and down his spine. The attackers spun back, dipping, ducking, like hyenas around a rogue lion.

“The bigger they are!” cried a man on Delta’s left, and lunged, swinging.

His pipe clanged off of Delta’s shoulder. The next second, Delta’s drill bored him a second navel. The man gurgled, a kittenish sound, before his ribcage split open like the leaves of a book.

At the same time, the only woman in the pack leaped on Delta’s shoulder, pounding him with her wrench until his head felt like the clapper in a bell. She was screaming something, but hell if he cared what it was. Spinning, flinging the legs and trunk of the first man into the air, he hurled her against the tile. She bounced, leg cracking beneath her, and slid over her partner’s blood. It was no getaway. One good uppercut, a solid strike beneath her chin, and Delta launched her across the room. She cracked against the wall and flopped wetly to the floor, her leg bent at an awkward angle and her head torn half off.

Glaring at him from the foot of the stairs was the final attacker, the thickset man with small eyes. He had curled his elbow around Sister’s neck with his left arm, jammed her needle into his right, pumping the ADAM-rich slurry into his body. Blue light chased the outlines of his veins, glazed his fingers in crackling light.

“Want some, big guy?” the asshole hissed.

Screaming with rage, blind with terror that was half his and half his Sister’s, Delta flung himself up the stairs.

He didn’t even see the flick of the wrist; all he saw was the beam of lightning. The impact boomed against his breast. He reeled, slid, staggered through the banister, somehow didn’t go over. Lights and dials sputtered. Liquid fire roiled beneath his skin, and every muscle tightened in his arms and legs, and his chest seemed to be bound with iron. His heart seized up again. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t breathe.

“Da-ddy!” Sister wailed.

All he could see was Sister’s face, twisted up in horror. Everything else around her faded. The thickset asshole backpedaled, dragged her further toward the doors at the top of the stairs. Sister kicked and bit and clawed, stretching out her arm, like she could pull Delta back up onto his feet by will alone…

Groaning, reaching toward her, Delta jabbed the point of his drill into the floor and lifted. He took one staggering step forward. Then another. And another. Faster, and faster. This time, when the asshole flicked his hand, Delta ducked—thunder boomed over his shoulder—and in two swift steps Delta clenched him around the throat.

Hacking, eyes bulging, the man dropped Sister and her needle and his hands flew to Delta’s arm. He flashed with light just as Delta’s thumb punched into his windpipe. The explosion blasted them apart. Delta skidded, tumbled, crashed on the staircase. Above, the light-spangled ceiling slipped sideways.

The thickset man hadn’t fared much better. He rolled over the ground, spasming.

Little pattering footsteps.

Sister threw her arms around Daddy’s elbow. Delta patted her on the back. His hands were still quaking. The stairs shuddered beneath his formidable weight.

Twitching, moaning, Delta heaved himself to his feet. Sister scrabbled up his side and snuggled up against his helmet. Delta whirled to face the thickset man again, raising his drill.

“Unzip him, Daddy,” Sister whispered in his ear.

Panting, spitting blood, the thickset man dragged himself to his knees, snapping his fingers. The electricity on his palms faded quickly; he folded his hands together, and when he raised his palm again, there was a dripping green polyp balanced on his hand.

“Go to hell,” he rasped, and pitched.

A pop like a water balloon. Wet green flesh burst all over Delta’s faceplate. A wave of confusion swept through him, tingled down his spine. It was far more disorienting than the electricity. His muscles seized up, one after another.

Groaning, Delta dragged to a stop. The point of his drill hovered at the attacker’s throbbing throat.

“Unzip him, Daddy! Unzip him!” Sister said. “What are you waiting for?”

Delta commanded his arm to move, but it wouldn’t. Could not fold his fingers. Couldn’t even make a sound. He labored to breathe. Fear billowed up in the pit of his stomach.

The attacker reached up slowly, pushed the drill away with the flat of his hand.

“Hold your breath,” he whispered.

Delta hacked. His throat seized. A wondering groan started in the pit of his belly.

“Bad man!” screamed Sister.

She sprang off of Delta’s back and onto the thickset man, stabbing him in the shoulder with her needle. Screaming, he threw her off, and she rolled down the steps. The thickset man charged after her, wrenched her to her feet.

“Brat!” he said, backhanding her.

“Da-addy!” Sister cried, her voice strangled.

Delta choked, coughed. He sucked each breath down with effort, and turned — it was like trying to move through molasses. He stretched his arm out — his drill sputtered to life. But the thickset man flung his hand out and splayed his fingers wide. Delta released the lever and the drill wound down again with a disappointing whine.

“That’s right, big guy,” the asshole whispered. “Wait right there.”

A door opened at the head of the stairs.

“Told you, right he… oh my god!” said a man.

“Eleanor?” said a woman with a British accent. “And Louie.”

The thickset man whirled around. Sister squirmed in his hand.

“Doctor Lamb!” he sputtered. “This isn’t what it looks like!”

He dropped Sister. She stamped on his foot — he hissed, leaning over his knee. With a squeal, Sister raced to Delta’s side.

“Daddy!” she said, tugging on his hand. “We’ve got to go, Daddy!”

Delta managed a gurgling sound.

Sister swung on his leaden arm, wailing. “Wake up! Wake up!”

“Eleanor,” said the lady, stepping down toward them. “Eleanor. Come here.”

Sister and Delta locked eyes with each other. An unspoken question ran between them.

“What happened?” asked the man behind Doctor Lamb. His voice was strangled.

“Knuckles, you cunt,” rasped Louie. “Doctor Lamb, this fucker is worse than useless. The minute he saw the mark, he ran. Of course he took the grenades and fucked up the entire plan and now everybody else is dead.”

The little man cringed. “I’m… I’m sor…”

“Fuck off.”

“Louie, Knuckles, please.” Dr. Lamb gripped Sister’s hands and pried the tiny fingers free. The girl stared up at the woman, slack-jawed, as though she wasn’t sure what she was seeing. Dr. Lamb’s face was severe—high cheekbones, sharp chin, shark eyes. Not a hair out of place. Not a wrinkle in her suit.

“She don’t recognize you, doc,” said Louie. “They never do.”

“What was wrought with these methods can also be unwrought,” said Dr. Lamb, prying the tiny hands free.

Delta swayed on his feet, and his strained gurgling grew frantic. His heart felt like it would wrench itself out of his chest. Lamb looked him in the eye in the same way one might examine a statue.

His fingers itched.

Dr. Lamb dragged Sister to the base of the stairs. She kicked, wailed, screamed. Dr. Lamb’s knuckles were white and tensed, her arm stiff, but the way she pressed her hand to her breast was with the same unhurried emphasis as an actor on a TV screen.

“This is not your daughter,” she said. “Do you understand? Her name is Eleanor. And she is mine.”

“Doc, he’s an automaton,” said Louie. “He can’t…”

She held one long finger up. Louie sighed and fell silent.

“Now. Kneel, please.” The lady extended a hand to her side. Knuckles, small and shivering, handed her a pistol.

Delta dropped to his knees. His arms relaxed.

“Remove your helmet,” she said.

He reached up to his helmet and patted around for the wingnuts. Every time he’d gone in for maintenance, the techs had started stealing them for other projects, and he had been left with just two—one on his right shoulder, the other on his left. They were loose enough; he tossed them to the floor with trembling hands, then pressed the hilt of his drill against his helm and twisted it free. The pressure within equalized with the room, and his eyes and ears popped. With some effort, he lifted the helmet off and laid it beside his drill. The air burned against his eyes, but he did not blink; his eyes were still locked with Sister’s. Her face was even more ashen than before.

Knuckles gasped.

“Woof,” said Louie, and whistled.

Dr. Lamb did not blink. If she were horrified, she didn’t show it.

“Now. Take this pistol,” she said, holding it out.

With agonizing slowness, Delta folded his hand around the stock. Could everyone hear how fast his heart was going? Fuck, he still couldn’t breathe.

“Hold it to your head.”

He fought the impulse with all his might. But slowly, inexorably, he raised the muzzle to his temple. Sister covered her mouth.

Dr. Lamb folded her hands across her lap. “Fire.”

For a second, his heart beat in tandem with Sister’s, and he knew that she understood. In that single moment, when all he could see was her terrified face, he could hear her voice in his head—a stream of terrified gibberish, something he had only heard once before.

Don’t leave me Daddy please don’t leave me please oh please

He pulled the trigger.

All he felt was the impact. He did not hear the shot, only her voice, a scream that surged up from both of their hearts at once. He never heard it end.

UPRISING: BLACK SCRAPBOOK HUB

This Chapter on AO3

#bioshock #bioshock 2 #subject delta #eleanor lamb #sofia lamb #fanfiction #writing #uprising #only man #my oldest chapter circa March or April 2010 #heavily edited of course #more notes on AO3

[fic-crews]

Out of Texas

Requested by: @x-littlemoth

You were growing anxious. The heat finally getting to you. Thomas and you were waiting for the sun to set on this desolate Texas town. You sat on the edge of the bed, clutching one of his shirts to your chest. Laundry was one of the tasks you'd been given. But you always washed Thomas's clothes with extra care. That way they always smelled strongly of him. He did usually get more blood on his clothes than the rest of the family did.

Hoytt and Monty were out down by the station, which was in the opposite direction of town. And Luda was down at the shop. You left a letter on her pillow. Thomas and you both decided it would be too difficult to tell her to her face. The look she would give you, it would break both your hearts. But you needed this, Thomas needed this. You left a little rose from the garden atop the note.

You walked around the house one last time. Gazing your fingers against the now nearly pristine walls. It had been two years since they kidnapped you and killed all your friends. At first, you thought it was Stockholm syndrome. But you didn't care anymore. You loved Tommy and that's all that mattered now. In the two years, you'd stayed, they'd grown to trust you quickly. You got out of the basement in only a month. Since then you helped fix up the house and split chores with Luda Mae.

Hoytt often suggested using you as bait. It was no secret you were quite handsome. You could distract the ladies, while the family got everything set up for the slaughter. Luckily Thomas instead you stay far away from the killing. You didn't mind it it didn't scare you, you simply weren't the killing type. You only raised your hands in anger if it was life or death. That's how Thomas grew to love you, you were so kind, and you saved his life.

You finally made it to the basement door. You took a deep breath and carefully crept down the stairs. You peeked your head around the corner at the bottom and were greeted by Tommy's large frame. You cleared your throat gently so as to not startle the giant. Your giant. He turned to look at you with his gentle eyes. They never held malicious, not when they were trained on you.

"It's time." You said.

You approached him and ran your hand along his spine.

"The house is clear, everything in the truck. But I need to make sure you're ok with this. There's no turning back once we make it past the post office."

He grabbed your face in his large hands and forced you to look at him. The two of you stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. He removed one hand before signing:

"I love you."

It made your heart melt. You guided his hand to your chest and placed it just where your skin met your heart.

"And I love you more." You spoke.

There was not a single trace of doubt in your voice. You meant it wholeheartedly. There was no person on this earth more suited for you than Thomas Hewitt. He was your rock, the sun in your sky, the rain to your garden. You didn't find yourself until you found him. You lead him up the stairs and to the truck out back. He got into the passenger seat and you climbed into the driver's seat.

You turned to him once more to ask if he was sure. Thomas took off his mask and placed it in his apron pocket. He pulled you in for a long loving kiss. That was all the confirmation you needed. You turned the key and backed out of the driveway. Hoytt would be pissed you stole the truck, but you didn't care. You wouldn't accept him and Monty's abuse anymore. And Luda would never dare to leave her brother.

Your heart began to race as you made it to the post office. So far so smooth. You speculated that everyone must be heading back to the house by now. They'd know you were gone and come out looking for you. Luda's heart would be broken, but it was a necessary evil. You didn't want to hurt her, but you were afraid Thomas would get himself killed if he stayed. Thomas noticed your anxiety and squeezed your clutch hand tightly.

You didn't dare to stop driving until you made it out of the state. You left no indication of where the two of you were going in the letter. You prayed that they couldn't find you, because there would be hell to pay if they did. Thomas asked for you to stop the car when he noticed your eyes drooping. Thomas was shy and didn't want to startle the receptionist, so you paid for the motel room alone. You let out a surprised yelp when someone lifted you up the minute you were outside. Once you realised it was your boyfriend, you relaxed, playfully hitting him on the chest.

Thomas carried you and the overnight bag into the motel room and threw you on the bed. Your laughter brought a smile to his face. You patted the edge of the bed for him to sit.

"I'm so proud of you baby. I know this was hard for you, but it will get easier. I love you more than life itself, you know that right?"

And for the first time since you'd been together, Thomas opened his mouth to speak.

"I love you more." He quoted your earlier praise.

His voice was gruff and scratchy. You could tell it hurt him to speak, which made you wince. But you couldn't help the feeling building in you at hearing his voice. It was insanely attractive.

"Come on, let's get cleaned up for bed."

You led him to the bathroom. The two of you wasting no time stripping naked. You admired each other's bodies for a while. Of course, you intended for this to just be a calming shower. But you couldn't blame your mind for going blind with lust when your man stood naked before you. You doubted either of you would get much sleep tonight. The emotions were high, and Thoams wanted all of your fear and worries to melt away.

He'd worship your body like no other man ever could. Thomas knew how to please you, and you knew how to please him. Looking at his size, you assumed he'd be the more dominant one. But you were pleasantly surprised a few months into your relationship when he wanted to be submissive to you. It made you feel so loved that he tristed you that much.

This was the start of the rest of your lives. You were moving across the country to a state where queer marriage wasn't illegal. You wanted your marriage to be legit. Something you could proudly show off. Thomas Hewitt would be your husband, and you his partner. You didn't need anything else when you had each other. You could go out and get a real job, and Thoams would stay home and take care of the house. That had been the dream for a while now, and it was finally going to come true.

"I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you Baby Boy." You said as you turned of the lights. You gave him kiss on the forehead and he pulled you into him. You spent the rest of the night safe in Tommy's arms. Right, where you belonged.

AN: I hope this is what you were looking for lol. I tried to make it as fluffy and gender-ambiguous as possible. I like it a lot!

#Fang writes #texas chainsaw massacre #thomas hewitt #Thomas Hewitt x reader #slasher #slasher boyfriend #slasher x reader