#Kick on vital Spot

[ashitakaxsan]

Satomi vs Misono

A fight,on the ring,between two female pro Wrestlers: Satomi Suzuki and Misono Mizuhara.

Below:Suzuki has placed Mizuhara on the rope,its pain.

Below:Suzuki gives her a Kick on vital Spot:

But now it's turned.Mizuhara executes a Figure Four Leglock

Wow,each girl is Beautiful,Strong and Cool:)

#women's wrestling #Japanese female pro wrestlers #DDT Pro-Wrestling #DDTプロレスリング #Satomi Suzuki #鈴木さとみ #BATTLE Organisation #Figure 4 Leglock #Misono Mizuhara #水原みその #Kick on vital Spot #wow she's beautiful #Beatiful Fighting Girl #美しい戦闘少女 #日本が大好きです #女子プロレス #beauties

[shotmrmiller]

tw: simon's mean and a sexist.

Simon who doesn't like you. He respects Laswell, who's intel is vital to their missions. Price as the leader of the Task Force. Gaz because he's proved his mettle time and time again, and Soap whose stubborn self has burrowed under Simon's thick, knotted flesh.

Not you, though.

You've yet to do anything substantial.

As a sniper, your job is to aim and kill; provide overwatch. Why Johnny insists on giving you praise for doing what is required of you is beyond him.

You aren't taken to below-zero temperatures as emotional support. Why you're taken at all is also another mystery.

Without your gun, you're utterly useless. And Simon proves it, time and time again during training spars at base.

He comes at you as if you're the enemy, with dangerous precision and quick movements. Simon gets enjoyment out of seeing your eyes widen when he moves, like an injured gazelle who's just spotted a ravenous lion.

His grip is bruising— the force that he slams you to the ground with devastating.

Simon can hear the air punched out of your lungs once your back hits the mat, and the time it takes for your vision to sharpen, he's already pinning you down viciously with a knee to the sternum.

Useless. Women don't belong in combat. He's seen that big brute from KorTac. He'd crush your pathetic little head under his palm, he'd kick your ribs hard enough to crack and the splintered ends pierce your lungs.

He'd kill you without a hint of effort.

And Simon intends to remind you that there is no place for weak, bitty things like you in the front lines. Unless you're to be used as a distraction by flashing your tits at the bad guys.

Out of place.

Every time you go up against him, he uses his size and strength against you, just like every other person will. He launches you across the floor with a single arm, only to watch you struggle to get up and continue this sham of a fight.

Confidence born of ignorance.

As if sheer will would ever beat physical prowess.

If your feet won't touch the ground, then the rest of your body will. Through spilled blood and bruised flesh, may you learn.

He whistles at Johnny, gesturing at him to take his place, only for the end result to be the same, albeit much more gently.

Simon watches you through half-lidded eyes as he leans up against the wall. You fight against inevitability.

Pathetic.

And then one day, you come at him with a snarl on your lips. Blunt teeth that have never had to sink into someone's neck and rip a throat out, out of utter desperation. An unblemished face that's never felt the sting of a sharp blade as it's sliced open contorted into 'rage.' Frothing at the mouth like a lap dog with rabies, barking out words that are as empty as your future.

A forceful wave of his hand abruptly halts you mid-sentence, causing you to involuntarily flinch in response. Good.

"If ya have a complaint, take it to Price. I am not obligated to humor your stupidity."

He spins on the balls of his feet, leaving you to sputter indignantly.

Then on a mission, you get shot. Simon grabs the handgun that's holstered on his chest, and places it in your bloodied hands. "Keep them off of us, or we're both dead!"

His fingers are curled around the thick strap of your tac vest as he drags you toward the LZ; his pace never faltering even while getting clipped by stray bullets. But you?

He'd think you got your legs cut off. Wailing like a cat in heat over a wound above your hip. A clean in and out, nothing vital hit.

Simon has seen Gaz fall out of a helicopter, dangle from a rope, and still use his gun. He's seen Johnny cross a town full of Graves' Shadows bleeding from his shoulder, armed with nothing but the makeshift weapons he crafted on the way to the church. Price inhaled toxic gas and made it out just fine. Even Laswell was taken hostage and didn't crack under the pressure, going as far as killing her captor with her bare hands.

And you're decomposing in front of his very eyes over a superficial wound.

Landing at base, he walks out without a glance back and heads straight for Price's office. He didn't join the 141 to babysit anyone, least of all someone who belongs in either intelligence or a kitchen.

#call of duty #simon ghost riley

[andrastepls]

A/SMR.

synop: reader lost her hearing after an explosion, simon has an idea to help her ‘hear’ him again

warnings: none i think ? canon typical violence & loss of hearing maybe knda spicy

not proofread we die like men

Adjusting to life without sound had been a trial on its own. It was something no-one really prepared for — silly as it seemed, now. Bombs and guns going off right next to a person for any amount of time was bound to cause damage at one point or another. Or, maybe, she just had shit luck.

The blast had come and gone so quickly, she had no time to react. No one did. It missed anything vital, but it had sent her rocketing into a wall; promptly breaking her arm, a few ribs, and rupturing her eardrums all in one fell swoop. If nothing else, recovery went relatively smoothly. As smoothly as it could have, at any rate, what with Soap and Gaz being absolutely glued to the chairs in the infirmary. Even getting kicked out a few times — luckily, Price and the Lt. were a little less chaotic. Be it because the medic on-site had a soft spot, or because Simon had intimidated the poor guy, he had been allowed to spend the first two nights in the infirm with her.

Being tucked away in his arms did wonders for her anxiety, but the cot was a bit small for him alone, let alone the pair of them. Blessedly, she had been given the okay to return to her own quarters after that.

A few months later, and her bones were good and well healed, but her ears were another story. The specialist kind. The off-duty kind. The waitlist was long, and going home, alone, in the quiet, sounded like her own personal hell. So, she stayed on base to wait it out.

The silence was her enemy, deafening in its lack of any and everything. She swore she could forget the music the world made in a moment without it. It was cold, void and lonely. Missing out on jokes, not ever hearing the booming shouts and laughter of the boys. Sounds she never thought she’d miss.

It didn’t go unnoticed. For all his grumbling and brooding, Ghost was terribly good at being good company. She was thankful for him, at least. Perhaps now more than ever. He was . . . oddly tentative of her. Making a point to brush a hand against her when he was near, what was previously a hovering palm near her back was now an open-handed reminder someone was there.

He made learning to sign feel so much easier. Subbing out some signs for military signals. A natural transition, when the other person knew how to speak it — even when he didn’t need to.

It was a kindness done solely for her benefit; a fact in which he would never admit, but she knew it to be true nevertheless.

• • •

She felt out of practice. Clumsy and uncertain of herself when he touched her, nothing like herself, and he noticed. He pulls back from her, hands curving through the space between their chests to say, “You okay?”

She swallows, looking away. Embarrassment flushes her cheeks a shade of maroon, the heat of it crawling up her neck.

“It’s not you.” she signs back after a beat, eyes finding his with nothing short of pleading in her irises, “I miss you. But the sound - ”

Lithe hands flop into her lap. She feels . . . inadequate. Incomplete. Hateful, to herself, knowing that she can’t be who he loved first anymore, “I miss hearing you.” it was a cruel thing for the universe to do to her; give her a man to fall in love with, a voice that lulled her to sleep, filled her heart, tightened her legs — and then take it away from her. Leaving her in this muffled prison.

He makes a face at that - not one of ill intent or anything of the sort - rather, one of confusion. She missed hearing him?

He never thought his voice to be something worth missing; though, he quickly understands when his mind wonders what never hearing her again would be like. His girl is quieter now, to be sure. But he can still hear her - the little noises she makes, when she hums to herself without noticing . . . among other noises . . .

There’s a moment where he stays still, only his eyes moving between the two. She’s about to lift her hands so say something else, but he promptly cuts her off by taking one of her wrists between his fingers. Encouraging her to open her hand and bringing her palm up to rest around his throat.

She pauses, wide eyes blinking between their hands and his face — that frustrating little smirk of his curling his lips upward at the corners. She can’t make sense of what he’s doing at first, canting her head to the side like a confused dog, and then, he hums. The sound vibrating against her fingers. Her jaws drops open slightly in shock, eyes locked between her hand and his mouth, wanting to say ‘again’.

Alas, he was a step ahead of her, and mumbles out her name in a breath. Feeling her name in his throat before reading it on his lips.

Hm.

A/N: i dont know its 1am !!

#drabble #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x oc #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #cod #ghost cod #ghost fluff #simon riley fluff #ghost smut #simon riley smut #cod imagine

[delusionalfanficwriter]

head injury

Y/N had been an integral part of Arsenal Women's Football Club for three years. Her journey with the team had seen them through victories, challenges, and unforgettable moments on and off the field. During this time, Y/N had cultivated deep connections with her teammates, and they had become more than just friends and fellow athletes; they were her soccer family. As this season progressed, Arsenal found themselves facing a crucial match against their fierce rivals, Chelsea. Y/N, being her tenacious self, was right in the thick of the action. Her partnership with Leah on the field had always been one of Arsenal's strengths, and they synchronized like clockwork. Arsenal was known for its fluid passing and attacking style of play, and Y/N played a pivotal role in their success.

The first half of the match saw both teams battling fiercely for dominance on the field. The intensity was high, and both Arsenal and Chelsea were pushing their limits.

During a set piece, as Y/N went up to contest a header, an accidental collision with an opposing player pushed her back into the goal post, her head ricocheting off the metal post.

As the ball was kicked to upfield, everyone cleared around the goal, but the stadium fell into a hushed panic as Y/N lay motionless on the ground. Leah, her girlfriend, was the first to reach her. 

Kneeling by Y/N's side, her voice trembling as she cried out, "We need medics!" Leah shouted, her heart racing seeing Y/N's eyes closed. Leah reached out, placing her trembling hand on Y/N's cheek, hoping to rouse her. "Y/N, I need you to open your eyes for me. Hey, Y/N, come on. Open your eyes."

More teammates gathered around as panic swelled, their faces etched with worry. Jessie Fleming, Y/N's sister, dropped to the ground beside Leah. She reached out to shake her sister's shoulders, but Leah stopped her.

"You can't move her, Jessie," Leah cautioned, her voice strained with fear. "Her neck or back might be injured." Jessie nodded in understanding and opted to stroke little strands of her hair that have fallen from her ponytail, out of her face. 

Leah and Jessie tried their best to awaken y/n but nothing seemed to work.  

Finally, the team's medical staff arrived as well as medics, their expertise evident as they swiftly assessed the situation. They took every precaution to stabilize Y/N's neck and spine, carefully fitting a cervical collar around her and turning her over.

“We need some space guys.” The older medic informed Jessie and Leah but they remained in their spots. Jordan, McCabe, Kerr and a few other of their own teammates had to physically pull them back. They now stood a few feet away watching one of the medics speak to Y/N, trying to coax her into consciousness while another examined her vitals.

As the medics worked for a few minutes, Y/N's eyelids fluttered open, revealing her dazed and confused expression. She tried to sit up, but the medical staff gently held her down, reminding her not to move. Y/N mumbled incoherently, and Leah leaned closer, straining to catch her words before going right next to y/n side, hating the sight of seeing her so lost and scared. "It's okay, Y/N," Leah whispered, her voice trembling. "You had a tough collision, but the medics are here to help you."

“Y/n, you need to lay back down. Everything is going to be okay, but try not to move so much.” Jessie crouched down and spoke as she noticed her wanting to get up once again.

Y/N's consciousness wavered like a flickering flame. She struggled to comprehend her surroundings, her eyes darting aimlessly as confusion clouded her thoughts. Jessie's plea to stay still seemed to fall on deaf ears, and Y/N's movements grew more erratic.

Leah held her girlfriend's trembling hand, her voice quaking with concern. "Y/N, please, lay back down. You need to stay still. Everything is going to be okay." She desperately hoped her words would reach Y/N through the haze of her dazed state.

The medical staff worked with a sense of urgency, attempting to keep Y/N from further harm as she teetered on the edge of consciousness. They continued their assessments, monitoring her vitals, and told Leah and Jessie to try to keep y/n engaged in conversation to keep her awake.

Y/N's attempts to engage back in the conversation were sporadic and disjointed, and it became increasingly apparent that the injury was more severe than anyone had initially thought. Her responses were fragmented, and she struggled to maintain her focus.

Leah squeezed her hand, her voice trembling with worry. "Y/N, do you remember our first date? We went to that little café near your place, and it was pouring rain. You laughed when I slipped on a puddle."

Y/N's eyelids fluttered, but her gaze was unfocused. She mumbled, "Rain... yeah," but her voice was barely audible, and her response lacked the warmth and clarity it once held.

Jessie, trying to hold back tears, added, "And what about that time we played football in the park with Dad? You always said you'd be better than all of us."

Y/N's lips twitched in an attempt at a smile, but it was fleeting. "am... better," she mumbled, her words disjointed and distant. The memories, which should have elicited laughter and connection, now seemed to be slipping away from her grasp.

As Y/N's condition worsened, she suddenly gagged, her face contorted in pain, it was a distressing sight, and the medics reacted swiftly,  turning her onto her side to clear her airway and prevent any choking from the vomit that arose.

Leah's voice quivered as she tried to maintain Y/N's focus. "Y/N, stay with us. We're right here with you. Keep those beautiful eyes of yours open."

But Y/N's response was a mere groan, and her eyes slowly rolled back, her body growing limp. The medics exchanged concerned glances, realizing that her condition was rapidly deteriorating.

Without a moment to lose, they immediately placed an oxygen mask over her face, ensuring she received a steady flow of oxygen. Simultaneously, they carefully slid a backboard beneath her, immobilizing her spine and neck to prevent any further damage during transportation. Moments later, an ambulance sped onto the field. Y/N, still unconscious, was swiftly and gently transferred onto a stretcher, her body secured and placed into the ambulance. Leah and Jessie immediately followed behind inserting themselves into the ambulance not caring if they were in the middle of a match. 

As the ambulance raced towards the hospital, the sound of the siren echoed in the confined space causing Y/N to begin to stir. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she found herself disoriented, with the oxygen mask covering her face. In her groggy state, she attempted to remove the mask, her hands reaching up to pull it away.

Leah noticed Y/N's movement and gently placed her hand over Y/N's to stop her. "It's okay, love," she reassured, her voice soft and soothing. "You need to keep that on for now. It's helping you breathe."

"Y/N, it's okay," Jessie whispered, her hand resting on Y/N's arm. "You're in the ambulance, and we're on our way to the hospital.”

Y/N's eyes shifted from Leah to Jessie, her gaze still hazy. She attempted to speak but found it difficult. The words came out slurred and unfocused. "Why...hospital?"

Leah's fingers gently brushed Y/N's hair back from her forehead. "You had an accident on the field, love. The medics are taking you to the hospital to make sure you're okay. We're here with you, and everything will be fine."

Jessie leaned closer, her voice soothing. "Just relax, Y/N. The hospital will take good care of you, and we'll be right there beside you."

Y/N, though still disoriented and in pain, found some comfort in their presence. She nodded weakly and allowed them to reposition the oxygen mask, focusing on their voices to keep herself calm.

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #arsenal wfc #arsenal x reader #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson #jessie fleming x reader #jessie fleming #soccer #soccer fanfic #hurt/comfort

[candy69gurl]

POV: You are Sukuna's Vessel 5

Warnings- smut

wc- 2.3k

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 6

You awaken, free from pain and aches, but find yourself in unfamiliar surroundings. Everything is bathed in a deep red hue, and a sense of unease washes over you. As you sit up, confusion clouds your thoughts. In the distance, you notice something immense—a Tower of Skulls—with Sukuna perched atop it.

Your heart quickens, and adrenaline surges through your veins. With determination, you rise and begin to advance towards the tower, driven by urgency.

"You fucker," you call out, your voice trembling with anger upon seeing him.

As you draw closer to the tower, you see Sukuna seated on a throne, his head propped on his hand. His gaze meets yours, a chilling smile playing on his lips.

"Don't look at me without my permission, brat. I hate it," he growls, his voice filled with  menace. "Bow down before me,"  he orders.

Disobeying him, you inquire, "Where am I?"

"In my domain," Sukuna says, his voice sending chills through your body. "Malevolent Shrine. So you better be obedient and do what I say."

"How did I end up here?" you demand, glaring at him.

"Because you attempted to end your own life, brat," he retorts, a smirk dancing on his lips. "I couldn't allow you to perish, not yet," he continues, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. "Not until you learn the consequences of your actions."

You swallow hard, your heart pounding as you gaze at him. Summoning your courage, you take a deep breath, your voice quivering with anger. "Come down here, asshole," you command firmly. "I refuse to serve you, now or ever," you declare, your eyes flashing with defiance.

Sukuna chuckles, a cruel sound resonating through the shrine."You think you are brave enough to insult me?" he says, his voice laced with amusement. "Moreover, you broke the deal that we made."

In a surge of fury, you snatch up a skull, your rage propelling your actions. With all your might, you hurl it towards Sukuna. Swiftly, he leaps from his perch, landing atop you with a mocking laugh.

"Ouch!" you cry out, the impact stealing your breath.

"You don't get to disobey me, vessel," Sukuna snarls, pinning you to the ground and pressing your face into the bloody puddle.

Within a few seconds, he lets go of your head, letting you breathe again. "Get off me!" you yell, struggling beneath him.

"You will listen to me, vessel," he says, his voice cold. "Or I will make sure you regret it," he adds, his eyes gleaming with malice.

You struggle, but he is too strong; your efforts are futile.

"As I was saying, this is my innate domain. In other words, you are not dead yet. You missed your vital spot, so I was able to take over your unconscious body and heal it," he says, looking down at you.

"You're heavy," you remark, trying to deflect.

Sukuna releases you, grasping your neck to force eye contact. "You broke our deal by not allowing me to take over your body whenever I want,"  he says, staring daggers at you.

You study him intently, noting his imposing presence: the pink spikes of his hair standing tall, tattoos and markings adorning his forehead, nose, cheeks, and torso. He's wearing a white robe, the cloth flowing around him.

"Do you like what you see?" Sukuna asks, his voice mocking, "I look like a god, don't I?" he adds, a silly smirk playing on his lips.

"You're still an asshole," you retort, your voice shaking with anger.

"And I'm still the owner of your body, and do you know what happens to those who break the rules?"

You roll your eyes, your anger growing again.

Suddenly, Sukuna's hold on your neck tightens, cutting off your air supply. You fight against him, your chest burning for oxygen. Gasping desperately, your vision blurs.

Summoning your last reserves of strength, you manage to land a kick on his jaw, momentarily loosening his grip.

His eyes blaze with rage as he growls, "You insolent wretch," his voice seething with fury.

In a whirlwind of movement, you find yourself seated upon the throne, Sukuna's hands firmly gripping your waist, his eyes narrowed with unbridled anger.

"Remember, this is my domain," he growls.

Your heart races; panic is surging through you. "Release me," you demand, your voice trembling with fear.

Sukuna's smirk widens, malice glinting in his eyes. "Not so easily," he retorts, his tone chillingly indifferent.

You are now stuck with Sukuna, as he keeps you pinned against him, his hand tightly wrapping around your waist.

With a low growl, Sukuna's hands reach down to your pants. His fingers are brushing against your skin, your breath hitches, and your body is tense with anticipation. You try to push him away, your heart racing.

Sukuna smirks, his eyes gleaming with malice. "I've been waiting for this moment, Sama." His voice is low and seductive, sending chills down your spine. He chuckles darkly, his hands tightening their grip on your waist, before he pulls you closer, devouring your lips in a passionate yet rough kiss. His tongue dances with yours, dominating you completely as he takes control of your body, moving it according to his will.

"I know all your sweet spots," he whispers against your lips, letting you catch your breath for a moment before he yanks your pants off you.

You gasp as he slides his finger over your clit. "I am also aware of your virginity and how quickly you get wet,"  he chuckles, striding his tongue against your neck. Your mind keeps on wondering how he knows all this.

He leans down, yanking off your top and taking one of your nipples into his mouth, his tongue flicking against it, causing you to arch your back in pleasure.

Sukuna grins, pushing a finger inside of you gently, watching as you twitch and moan softly. "Oh, look how you are so wet for me." He coos against your ear, thrusting his finger deeper into you. You squirm in his grip, but he holds you firmly.

"Ah, I am hitting the right spot, am I not?" he asks, intentionally wanting to get a reply from you.

"N-no, not at all. Your nails.. They-," you lie.

"Quit lying, you like the sensation of my sharp nails gazing at your walls; I can read your mind; don't forget that you are in my domain,"  he thrusts another finger, making you whimper. He chuckles darkly, increasing the pace of his fingers.

"Trust me, I can see through your mind right now." He murmurs, his eyes gleaming with lust. His hands then move to your nipple, twisting and pulling, causing you to whimper into his shoulder. "Hmm. Gotta ruin your tough personality," he whispers as he thrusts his fingers faster, making you writhe in his grip.

You moan loudly, your hips buckling against him, desperate for release. "Nah, uh, you need to beg for it,"  Sukuna smirks, his finger sliding out of you, his eyes never leaving yours.

You try to think of something else, but your mind keeps on reminding your body about the pleasure it was feeling from his fingers.

He chuckles darkly, his eyes gleaming with lust. "Say it aloud; I want to hear it, though I already know what you want by reading this filthy mind of yours." He says, sliding his fingers back into you, twisting and pulling them, making you moan loudly.

"Please let me, Cum,"  you gasp, your eyes wide with a mix of pain and pleasure.

"Hmm? Already started begging? You are not as tough as I thought you would be. Guess, I am hitting your right spots," he mocks, bruising your sweet spot again and again.

Suddenly, his fingers leave you abruptly, making you whine in protest. You were so close, but he stopped. He laughs, still holding you firmly against him. "This is a punishment; I can't give you pleasure. Can I?"

He turns you so that he can see your face clearly, and your hands unconsciously wrap around his neck. "If you really want to cum so badly, then do it on cock," he said, his voice low and seductive, causing shivers to run down your spine.

"I don't need it from you," you lie, trying to sound tough but failing miserably as you can feel his laughter resonating in your ears.

"Oh, come on, I know you want it; your body is begging for it," he laughs, his lips trailing down your neck. "Your body is so slutty, you know that?" he asks, his hands roaming your back and your hips.

You shake his hold on you, trying to break free, but he grips you tighter. "Quit lying, I told you I can read your mind," Sukuna chuckles, his lips against your ear. "You really look good with that short hair," he whispers, his fingers tangling around your hair. "I apologise; if you truly care about your hair, it will grow back."

"Shut up, I hate you so much," you try to say.

"Kiss me then; let me fix us," he smirked.

You glare at him, but he doesn't seem to care. Instead, he pulls you closer, your lips brushing against his. His lips are soft against yours, and his tongue darts out to trace the line of your lips. You groan softly, your defenses crumbling. His lips press harder against yours, his tongue sliding into your mouth, claiming it as his own. This time he kisses you thoroughly, his hands roaming your body and touching your every sensitive spot.

"Don't you want to feel the king of curses's cock inside you?" he whispers against your lips, his hands cupping your breasts. You moan softly, feeling his hands on your breasts, causing you to shiver in pleasure.

"I-I don't need that," you stutter, your body betraying you as it moves against him.

"Don't lie; you know you do," Sukuna murmurs, his lips trailing down your neck. "You are already imagining me fucking your little pussy, mhm." He chuckles darkly, his hands roaming your back, causing you to feel embarrassed.

"Stop reading my mind." Your hands travel to close his eyes. "I don't want your dirty cock inside me," you resist.

"Then why are you grinding against it? Why do you envision me fucking you?" he gently moves your hands from his face to his cock. "Can you feel it throbbing?"

You jolt at its thickness and say, "I-impossible."

He chuckles, a low rumble in his chest that vibrates against you. "Is it?" His hands slide down your body, pulling your pants off. "Don't worry, you are loose enough," he murmurs, guiding your hands against his hard shaft. "Are you telling me you don't want this?" he asks, his voice low and husky.

You bite your lip, your body betraying you as your hips rub against him. He chuckles evilly and says, "I want to hear you. Tell me you want this inside you."

You hesitate for a second, your eyes wide with confusion and desire. "I think, I do," you stutter, your hands gripping his robe tightly. Sukuna chuckles, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

"Is that so, little slut? Fine, let's see how you react," he says, his hands pulling your legs apart. His cock slides against your clit, causing you to gasp and moan.

"Please…" you whisper, your eyes pleading. "Please, what?" he asks, and he continues teasing your clit. "P-put it inside,"  your eyes pleading with him.

Sukuna's smirk never leaves, his eyes gleaming with victory as he positions himself at your entrance. He thrusts inside you, making you gasp and arch your back.

"Yes, that's it; take it," he murmurs, his hands gripping your hips. You moan loudly, your hands tugging on his robe. "Good vessel, take it all," he praises you, thrusting in and out of you.

You moan loudly, your hips buckling against him. "Hmm, nice and tight," he murmurs, his eyes gleaming with lust. "Tight as I thought you would be." You whimper, your eyes wide with pleasure and pain.

Sukuna chuckles darkly, his thrusts becoming faster and harder. "Where is the fierce girl you used to be?" he mocks, his nails digging into your hips. You moan softly, your body writhing under his touch.

He kisses your neck and, with his fingers, your hair. "I'll make sure you never forget this," he growls, his hips thrusting faster. You moan loudly, your hips buckling against him. His thrusts become faster and harder, and your body shudders under his touch. He bites your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. "Do you know, get it, who's the owner of this body?" he growls, his eyes gleaming with lust.

"Yeah," your voice quivering with every demonic thrust.

"You look so good, taking my cock, so submissive," he murmurs, thrusting harder. His words send shivers down your spine, his cock sliding in and out of you, making you whimper. "I can feel your walls trembling around me," he growls, his hands wrapping around your neck.

You whimper, your body shaking terribly, your toes curling.

"Cumming already?" he asks mockingly, his hips thrusting harder.

"A-ah, I-I," you gasp, your body betraying you. You arch your back, your body quivering as you reach your climax. Sukuna groans loudly, his hands gripping your hips tighter.

"This body, these breasts, this pussycat—every inch of your body belongs to me," his low growl echoing through your ears, his cock pulsing inside you. He thrusts deeper, his orgasm coming hard, filling you up. He gives you a peck, and your body is still quivering from the experience.

"Now you know who owns this body," he mocks, his hands running down your body. "Next time, don't dare to deny me." You nod weakly, your body still under the effect of the intense climax. He smirks, slowly pulling himself out of you, his cock sliding out of your body.

You pass out, slumping against him. Sukuna chuckles ominously, his eyes bright with triumph.

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Dividers from @cafekitsune

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #jjk sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen x reader #jujutsu kaisen ryomen #sukuna ryomen smut #jjk ryomen #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna ryomen x you #jjk sukuna x reader #jjk sukuna ryomen #itadori yuji #itadori yuji x reader #yuji itadori x reader

[gagethewrestler]

The perfect body swap

In the sultry embrace of twilight, amidst whispered promises and lingering desires, a mysterious phenomenon unfolded. Two souls, entangled in a dance of fate, found themselves drawn together in a breathtaking exchange of essence. With a shimmering glow, their identities merged, leaving them to awaken in each other's bodies.

As the morning sun kissed the horizon, I found myself enveloped in the body of Conor Gallagher —an English footballer whose every look radiated power and allure, a baller whose movements were poetry on the field, weaving tales of passion and sexual desire with every goal and kick. With each movement, I reveled in the sensation of his muscles flexing beneath my fingertips, a symphony of strength and vitality that pulsed with every heartbeat.

Gazing into the mirror, I was captivated by the raw magnetism that emanated from his reflection—the sculpted jawline, the piercing gaze that seemed to pierce through the very depths of my soul. Running my hands over his perfect abs. I shivered with anticipation, intoxicated by the heady rush of desire that surged through my veins. I jerked on the spot pulling my new dick out watching how my new body is tensing with every stroke. I loved my new face I love how my new body is accepting me as his rightfull owner. With the last drop of my new cum out it was a deal Conor is mine forever.

Stepping out into the world, I was met with a chorus of admiring glances and hungry stares. Women and men and also team mates alike their heads as I passed, drawn to the magnetic pull of Conor’s presence like moths to a flame. And as their eyes lingered hungrily on my form, I felt a thrill of exhilaration coursing through my veins, a primal urge to embrace the carnal pleasures that lay within my grasp.

In Conor's body, I was a God among mortals, a sensual deity whose every movement promised ecstasy beyond imagination. With each match, each new tournament, I reveled in the intoxicating pleasure of playing this sport. Football was now part of my fucking life. I loved how after every match I would get home and start flexing my new muscles gazing lustfully at my new reflection living the life of my dreams.

But it was in the quiet moments, alone in the privacy of Conor's home, that I truly discovered the depths of his desires. Running my hands over his sculpted physique, I marveled at the exquisite sensitivity of his skin, the way it responded to the lightest touch with a symphony of pleasure.

Exploring every inch of his body, I reveled in the sensations that washed over me—a kaleidoscope of pleasure and sensation that left me gasping for breath, craving more with each passing moment. And as I surrendered to the intoxicating allure of Conor's essence, I knew that I had discovered a world of sensual delights beyond my wildest imagination.I also love my new feet and I will find someone worthy for worshiping them. Right now I’m fucking horny and full of my new seed.

As the days turned into nights and the nights into eternity, I know that this is my new life so I need to live it as it is.

#alpha jock #body switch #dick bulge #gay men #hunky guy #football #conor gallagher #Conor Gallagher body swap

[kyber-kisses]

Hear My Voice

Captain Rex x Jedi!Reader

Summary: being trapped in an underground bunker with a deadly virus wasn’t how the reader wanted to spend her last moments. . . But here they were.

A/N: have another terrible piece of writing by me! I’m just up in my Rex feels and I’m gonna make it everyone’s problem.

Warnings: none.

“I’m disappointed.”

“General?”

Letting yourself fall back against the wall behind you, you slid to the floor, your legs kicked out in front of you.

“I always thought I would go out guns blazing atop a pile of battle droids not by some virus.” Looking up at the captain across fromyou you gave him a weak smile, though Rex only shook his head in return.

“You’re not going to die. No one else is dying.”

Letting out a sigh you cast your eyes around you. Several of the remaining clones mingled in little groups, taking in hushed voices as they sat on the ground. A foot or so away from you Padme was leaned against the same wall, Ahsokas head in her lap as they both slept, their bodies no doubt fighting the virus like yours was.

“I hope your right.”

“General Skywalker is getting that antidote for us as we speak.”

“And he’s half a galaxy away.” Letting out a breath you folded your hands in front of you. “You should sit down Rex, right now all we can do is wait.”

The captain was silent for a moment before taking off his helmet and sinking to the floor, leaning against the wall across from you. Hanging out in a hallway wasn’t the comfiest of places but it was the best you had to work with.

“How are you feeling?” Rex looked over at you, a slight tilt to his head as he spoke.

“I am the perfect image of health and vitality.” You joked weakly, knowing full well you looked anything but. You had caught your reflection in a shard of glass earlier. You had blue veins crawling up your neck and spreading out from underneath your eyes. Not to mention you were insanely weak.

“Don’t lie General.”

“Don’t worry about me Rex. How are you feeling?”

Fiddling with the helmet in his hand, Rex sucked in a breath. “I can feel the symptoms starting.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Looking up Rex found your eyes, the two of you holding your gazes until you felt an awkwardness settle over you and you let out a cough.

The truth was; if you were going to be stuck in an underground bunker waiting for death you glad you were with Rex. From the moment the captain had entered your life you knew you wanted him in it for a long time. Rex was like no one you had ever met.

He wasn’t the galaxy but you were sure that he was everything that made the galaxy good.

“So. . . What do we do now?”

“Sit and wait for General Skywalker and Kenobi.”

Slumping lower against the wall you let out a sigh. “Sounds boring. We should play a game.”

At that Rex raised an eyebrow. “A game? Like what?”

Sitting in silence for a moment you sucked in a breath. “I know. Interrogate me.”

“Interrogate you?”

“Yeah. Ask me any question you want and I have to answer in complete honesty. Only I also get to ask you question in return.”

Letting out a weak chuckle Rex relaxed further into his spot. One leg stretched out in front of him while the other was bent, his wrist balanced on his knee, bucket dangling limply from his fingers. “Alright, but why?”

“Because we practically see each-other every day and yet we still know so little about each-other.”

Rex was silent for a moment before he spoke. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Seriously you could ask any question and that’s what you chose?”

“You said any question.”

Folding your arms across your chest you gave the captain a look before answering. “For the longest time it was green. Growing up on Corucant I never saw the color much but when I did I was extatic.” You paused. “But then the war started and I supposed it changed.”

“To what?”

“Blue.” In truth you didn’t realize your love for the color until you saw it painted on the armor of the 501st troopers. Your favorite color wasn’t blue until Rex came along.

But it wasn’t like you were going to say that aloud.

“Alright captain, it’s only fair that I know your favorite color now.”

Rex studied you carefully for a moment. “I thought you didn’t like the question?”

“Yeah well you started it so out with it blondie.”

Yet again the captain was silent for a moment, deep in thought.

“Orange.”

That caught you off guard. So much in fact you tilted your head as he spoke. You never took Rex for much of an orange guy.

But the truth was in Rexs mind it was the only right answer. It was the color of your lightsaber. It was the color of warmth and fire and energy. If you were a color that’s what you would be.

“Good choice, now hit me with another one but this time make it more interesting. . . No offense.”

Shooting you an amused look, Rex shifted in his spot. “Alright uhm. . . Do you like being a Jedi?”

A pause.

“That’s a bit more of a bold question.”

“Forgive me General, I overstepped.”

Shaking your head quickly you sat up properly, pulling your knees into your chest as you did. “You didn’t. I like the question, makes me think.” You were silent for another moment as you folded your arms over your knees. “I do like being a Jedi. I get to help people, I get to help make the galaxy better. . . But there are things about it I question.”

“Like what?”

“There’s so many rules. So many codes to stick by and sometimes it’s overwhelming and I can’t get myself to follow some of them no matter how hard I try.”

In truth you were thinking about a certain rule in particular. One you had never been good at following: No emotional connections.

How could you follow such a rule when having connections is a part of living. Without them everything would fall apart.

The deepest connection you had ever felt in your life had been with Rex. He felt like your other half and yet because of the Order and it’s rules they made you feel as if something was wrong with you for having such feelings.

“General? Are you alright?”

Looking up at your captain you hadn’t realized you had fallen silent. “Sorry, got lost in thought for a moment.”

“No need for apologies. . . Now if I’m correct it your turn to ask the question?”

“Right, right. . . Uhm, is your hair naturally blonde or do you bleach it?”

A laugh nearly escaped your lips as you watched Rex’s face go through a range of emotions, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to process the question. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. I’m extremely curious. I need to know!” You mused, resting your chin atop your folded arms as you did.

“It’s natural! Why would you ever think otherwise?!”

“Aha! I kriffing knew it! Anakin owes me twenty credits!”

“You bet on this?!”

“Do you not know me and Anakin? C’mon Rex.” You smirked, only for it to falter a moment later as a sudden fit of coughing racked your body.

Force, you’d nearly forgotten you were sick and dying at the present moment.

“Are you alright?”

Waving him off you nodded your head as you inhaled air into your lungs. “I’m fine. You?”

“A bit lightheaded and nauseous but it’s nothing I can’t handle General.”

“You can call me Y/N, Rex. We’re friends and I think we can cease the formalities for now.” You spoke, casting your eyes around the hallway of the bunker. The little group of clones down the hallway were sitting on the floor, clearly now to weak to stand as they played a game of sabbac, showing that one of them had had a pack of cars on them during the mission. “Now ask me another question.”

Another band of silence.

“Tell me a secret.”

“ a secret?”

“Yes. . . I mean if you’re comfortable doing so of course.” Rex quickly added, his social awkwardness coming through as he sounded slightly panicked.

“We’ll let me think of a good one first.” You hummed, returning your chin to your folded arms atop your knees.

You weren’t sure what triggered it, what made your eyes suddenly sting with oncoming tears but all you knew was one second you were fine and the next you could feel the burn in the back of your nose signaling you were on the verge of crying.

Maybe it was the image of a slowly weakening Padme and Ahsoka besides you, maybe it was the ones you had already lost within the last two hours. . . Maybe it was the way you were sitting across from someone you loved deeply.

Either way you couldn’t pin point it.

“I don’t want to die, Rex.”

“. . . That’s not really a question but you’re not going to die Y/N.”

Sniffling slightly you turned your eyes back to Rex, peeking over at him from where your head rested in your arms. “You wanna know my deepest secret? There’s someone who I’m deeply in love with and I have no idea what to do.”

At that Rex fell silent, pulling his eyes from yours as he looked down at his gloved hands. He wasn’t good at giving this type of advice. He was a clone. He knew nothing about love.

Well maybe he didn’t but he still wasn’t entirely sure. It was like stepping onto a foreign planet for him.

“Well whoever they are I think they would be lucky to have you. You’re one of the most brilliant people I know.”

At that you smiled. Though your vision was beginning to grow fuzzy you could still make out Rex across from you. “Thank you. But I don’t think they could ever look at me in the way I look at them.”

Rex wasn’t sure what he was feeling in the moment all he knew was that it was something he hadn’t felt before. Was that. . . Jealousy?

“Well whoever they are you should tell them. If we get out of here of course.” He mused, letting his eyes glance around the bunker hallway as he did. “And we will.”

“I don’t think us getting out of here would help me at all.” As you spoke you could hear the way your voice wavered.

You were nervous now. Really, really nervous. But if you were going to die in here you might as well get it off your chest before you go.

“Why would you think that?”

Feeling the tears gather on your folded arms, you looked up at met Rex’s gaze once more. “Because he’s sitting across from me.”

You watched Rex through teary eyes as he tried to compute what you had said, his eyes widening as he quickly realized. When he said nothing for a good long while you squeezed your eyes shut before burying your head in your arms, too scared to look up anymore.

“You don’t need to say anything. I just wanted you to know. . . Since we’re, you know. . . Dying.”

Kriff you had faced both Sith and battle droid alike yet you had never felt scared like this before. You would almost rather face down an entire separatist army alone rather than sit here a face the fact that you had probably just ruined your entire friendship with Rex.

“You don’t need to hide.”

At the sound of Rex’s voice you looked up, startled by the fact that you hadn’t heard him get up and move to sit down besides you, his back resting against the wall as he let out a heavy and tired sigh.

“I’ve ruined everything between us, haven’t I?”

At that Rex shifted his head to look over at you, a confused look on his face. “Why would you think that? If anything I’m surprised Fives never cornered you and told you about how I feel.”

“How you feel?”

“No offense General but for a Jedi you are quite oblivious.”

“Hey!”

“You never wondered why so many times I acted so awkward around you?” The captain spoke, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck as he did, eyes averted to his lap.

“Rex, I thought you were that way with everyone—“

“Ah. . . Uh no actually. Just, just with you.” He spoke bashfully, his cheeks turning a dusty pink.

Oh.

Oh.

Reaching out slowly you grabbed onto the hand nearest to you, lacing your fingers through his. A second later he returned the grip, The small action enough to make your breath hitch in your throat.

Rex felt the same.

He felt the same.

“We are not dying in here.”

“No. No we are not.”

And that was a promise. You had just truly gotten each other, and you would be damned if you let some stupid virus take you out before you got a chance to kiss him true and proper.

#captain rex #captain rex x reader #captain rex imagine #the bad batch #the clone wars #star wars x reader

[adriennebarnes]

Prison For Life

Paring: Walter Marshall x Latina/Hispanic! Reader

Summary: Walter Marshall is very protective over his girlfriend, Y/N, despite her knowing how to protect herself.

Warning: non translated Spanish porque luego me da flojera, errors in spelling or grammar because I don’t double check, I guess mentions of violence and sexual harassment

A/N: Based off of Olivia Rodrigo’s unreleased song “Prison For Life” which is most definitely my theme song, can’t lie. Sorry I haven’t been writing much

Y/N has always been an independent woman, she can perfectly take care of herself. However, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want someone to protect her.

Just a boy in a Chevy truck

He’s got money, but not too much

Walter Marshall has been a detective for the Minneapolis police department for over 10 years so he makes a decent amount of money. The day he met Y/N is certainly a day he would never forget. He parked his 2022 Chevrolet Silverado 2500 HD in the parking lot of Brits Pub and walked inside. He sat at the counter and waited for the bartender to turn around. When the bartender did, he was greeted by beautiful (your color) doe eyes and a small smile.

“Hola, guapo, I’m Y/N, what can I get ya to drink?” Y/N asked him.

“What do you recommend, love?” Walter asked. Y/N wanted to blush because of his British accent but she remained professional. It was a British pub after all so she shouldn’t really be surprised whenever a Brit comes in.

“Well, you could never go wrong with a classic Corona or a Dos Equis Lager, but that’s just me. You seem like a Heineken guy though.” Y/N said.

“I’ll take a Heineken then.” Walter said with a smile. Y/N smiled back and been to serve Walter Heineken in a frosted glass.

“Here you go. Would you want food or are you just here for the beer?” Y/N asked.

“Could I get a chicken tikka masala?” Walter asked.

“Sure thing, hun.” Y/N said, winking at him.

Half an hour later, Walter was eating his food, drinking his beer, and watching whatever the pub was playing on TV when he spotted Y/N at a table with 3 men (basically that scene in Man of Steel).

“Come on, Doll, have a drink with me, I’ll make it worth your while.” The guy in the green t shirt said.

“I already said no, I’m working. Even if I wasn’t working, the answer would be no. So unless you’re gonna order something else..” Y/N said, making her way to clear the empty beer bottle when she felt the guy grope her ass. Y/N turn and smack his hand away and the guy grabbed her wrist. “Let go.”

“Who’s gonna make me?” The guys said. Before Y/N had the chance to take her butterfly knife out of her apron pocket, she felt someone stand behind her.

“I will.” The deep British voice said. “You heard her, let her go.”

“Who the fuck are you?” The guy asked in an angry tone.

“I’m detective Marshall, so let her go before I arrest you for sexual misconduct and disorderly conduct.” Walter said and the guy let Y/N go while the other bartender working kicked him out. “You okay, Y/N?” Walter asked.

“Yeah, thank you for that. If you hadn’t done that, I would have stabbed him.” Y/N said,

“I Don’t believe that.” Walter said but Y/N pulled out her butterfly knife. “Oh wow, you really would have stabbed him.” Y/N chuckled at his shocked face.

“When you’re a female bartender or a woman in general, self defense is vital.” Y/N said.

“Could never be too careful. How about I buy you a drink.” Walter said.

“I can’t really drink on the job. But my shift ends in 15 minutes if you want to wait. We could go somewhere else.” Y/N said.

“That sounds perfect.” Walter said.

And he calls me “baby girl”

I run my hands through his curls

Walter and Y/N have been officially dating for 2 weeks. This was the first time Y/N spent the night at Walter’s house. She was sound asleep until Walter’s alarm woke them up. Walter shut off his alarm while Y/N covered her face with the comforter. Walter chuckled and pulled down the covers to see Y/N. He kissed her nose.

“Good morning, baby girl.” Walter said. Y/N felt butterflies every time he called her that. Y/N started to play with his curly hair.

“Good morning, guapo. What time is it?” Y/N asked. Walter checked his phone.

“It’s 6:30, love.” Walter said. Y/N groaned.

“You wake up way too early.” Y/N said. Walter got off the bed and put on his boxers.

“Well I get in at 8, I have to shower and everything. But you can rest up, baby girl, I know I tired you out last night.” Walter said, kissing her one last time. But before he left his room, he heard something that made him turn around.

“Or I can join you in your shower.” Y/N offered, batting her eyelashes. Walter groaned.

“You’re going to be the death of me, baby girl.” Walter said, before leaning down on the bed to capture her lips, making out a little before lifting her off the bed, having her wrap her legs around his waist, and carrying her to the bathroom where they showered.

And my parents think he’s good and he is, rest assured

He’s anything but sweet if someone comes for me

Walter and Y/N have been dating for 3 months now, Y/N was working in the bar when she got a phone call. She told her coworker, Jason, that she was on break and went to the back room to answer the phone.

“Hello?” Y/N said.

“Hola, amor, como has estado?” Her mom said on the other line.

“Hola mami, estoy bien. Ahorita estoy trabajando, te llamo después, si?”

“Espérate mija, te llamo para decir que tu papá y yo estamos en camino para tu apartamento, nos falta dos, está bien para ti?”

“Mami, para que me visitas?”

“Una mamá ya no puede visitar a su hija o que? Solo quiero saber cómo estás, casi no hablamos. Entonces te veo luego amor, bye.” Her mom hung up and Y/N groaned, calling Walter. He picked up after 3 rings.

“Hey, baby girl, are you excited for our date?” Walter asked

“Hey, querido listen, we need to cancel our date.” Y/N said.

“Why? Are you okay?” Walter asked worriedly.

“No Yeah, everything is fine, but my parents are coming over, I just got off the phone with my mom, so now I need to get my apartment ready, so sorry.” Y/N said.

“Don’t worry, darling, it’s fine, I get it. Talk to you later, bye.” Walter said.

2 hours later, Y/N was in her apartment, she prepared penne vodka, got a bottle of Sangiovese out of the liquor cabinet, set up the dinner table, and out on something somewhat presentable before buzzing up her parents. When there was a knock on her door she opened it but was surprised to see Walter standing outside her door with a bouquet of pink peonies.

“Walter, what are you doing here? I told you my parents are coming over.” Y/N said, pulling him into the apartment.

“Yes, I know, love. But I actually wanted to meet your parents if that’s okay.” Walter said, Y/N was shocked that he actually wanted to meet her parents.

“Yeah, sure, that’s fine, up, take another plate out of the cabinet while I put these in water.” Y/N said, kissing his cheek. Y/N got a vase, filled them with water, and checked to see if the stems were cut diagonally before putting them in the vase and setting them on the kitchen counter. Walter set up his place at the dinner table when the doorbell rang and Y/N buzzed her parents up. A few moments later, there was a knock on the door and Y/N opened the door to see her parents.

“Hola, mija, como has estado?” Her dad greeted her first, hugging her while entering the apartment.

“Hola papi, hola mami.” Y/N greeted back.

“Y/N, quien es este hombre tan guapo?” Her mom asked and Y/N blushed out of embarrassment.

“Ah mami, él es..”

“Buenas tardes, señora, soy Walter, el novio de su hija.” Walter held out his hand for her mom to shake. All three Latinos shocked at the fact that the handsome gringo can speak Spanish practically perfectly.

“How?” Y/N asked.

“Well i am from England, I learned Spanish in school but ever since I got a gorgeous Latina/Hispanic (whichever you prefer to be called, honestly) girlfriend, I’ve been practicing more.” Walter said.

“I love that. Bueno, ya está la comida, así que les sirvo la pasta y quizás un poquito de vino, si?” Y/N said.

Dinner went quite well and Y/N walked her parents to the lobby to say goodbye properly.

“Es un buen muchacho, Y/N. Se nota que te quiere mucho. Nos vemos luego.” Her mom said as they both left. Y/N got upstairs and saw Walter washing the dishes.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know.” Y/N said.

“I crashed your dinner with your parents, it’s the least I could do.” Walter said.

“Thanks. So you’ve been practicing your Spanish ever since we’ve started dating?” Y/N asked him.

“Pues claro, así puedo decirte que te amo.” Walter said as he took Y/N hands in his. “I love you, Y/N, I really do. It was one of the reasons why I wanted to meet your parents today too.”

“Yo también te amo, Walter.” Y/N said. They kissed.

A week later, Walter and Y/N went to a bar so she could meet his friends/coworkers. Everything was going well until Y/N went to the bar counter to get more drinks for their booth and felt a person grab her ass, what is with people and her ass? She turned around but she already saw Walter pushing the guy away from her.

“What hell is your problem, man?” The guy yelled, clearly drunk.

“My problem is men like you thinking it’s okay to touch my girlfriend, or any woman for that matter, without their consent. I’m a cop so I suggest you leave before I arrest your drunken ass.” Walter threatened and the guy left with a huff. “You okay, baby girl?”

“Yes I am, thanks to you.” Y/N said, the bartender flagged her down for the drinks, she thanked him, and walked to the booth with Walter’s arms around her.

I’m a feminist, obviously, but I wouldn’t really mind him saving me

And I know that I’m fine without a man but I think I would like his protection

I’m just being honest, can’t change what I like, I’ll never forget it, he told me one night

“If anybody hurts you, ha, I’m going to prison for life”

Y/N was at her house, getting ready to go out with Walter, video chatting with her bestie.

“Wait, you’re telling me that you’re in love with this guy? What happened to you being an independent woman and a feminist.” Her friend said.

“I am a feminist, Don’t get me wrong. I still am an independent woman, thank you very much, I pay my bills, but i wouldn’t mind him fighting off any pervs from the fucking bar when I’m working. I’m pretty sure I’d get fired if I actually put my butterfly knife to good use.” Y/N said, doing her makeup

“I mean fair, it’s like you could do it, but you shouldn’t have to.” Her friend said.

“Exactly! Besides, all those romance novels I’ve read made me want like a protective boyfriend, those who say ‘where whatever you want, I can fight’, like a that’s so hot. I think Walter fits that description.” Y/N said, putting the finishing touches of her makeup.

“You certainly got a book boyfriend, I’ll tell you that.” Y/N was going to respond until she got a call from Walter.

“Hey baby girl, I’m downstairs, ready whenever you are.” Walter said.

“I’m coming, bye.” Y/N hung up. “Hey, (friends name), Walter is here, I gotta go.” Y/N said.

“Have fun.” Her friend said and hung up. Y/N got her bag and left the apartment to see Walter standing by his truck with a bouquet of roses in his hand this time.

“Happy 6 months, darling.” W,after said, leaning down to kiss her.

“Happy 6 months. Do I just put these in water and then we can go?” Y/N asked.

“Or you could do that after our date. Come on, I’m positive you’re going to love it.” Walter said. He drove until they made it to a park where there was a picnic table. He got out of the truck to open the door for Y/N and help her out. He went to the back to get out a picnic basket.

“Aw, this is so cute, Walter.” Y/N said, kissing him lightly.

“I’m glad you think so, love, let’s go, our date awaits.” Walter said, leading her to the table, setting everything up.

When they were done, he drove back to her place where she invited him up to have a slice of flan that she has made last night.

“This is delicious, love. You are an amazing cook.” Walter said, kissing her, her lips tasting sweet from the flan.

“Thank you, my mom taught me.” Y/N asked.

“Y/N, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” Walter said,

“Go ahead, ask me.” Y/N said,

“Whats that scar on your hip?” Walter asked. Y/N tenses up a bit but answered him anyway.

“It was after work. This was like a year ago, um, this drunk kept hitting on me, I kept saying no, when I was leaving his table, I felt his hand on my inner thigh, the one day I wear a skirt, right, and I slapped him. The manager kicked him out, my shift ended an hour later, as I was walking to my car, I felt him grab me, I was looking for my knife when I felt him cut me on my hip and I stab his hand. He screamed, I got a bunch of napkins that I kept in my purse to press it against my hip and drove to the hospital. It wasn’t that deep but it did need stitches. So yeah, that’s what happened.” Y/N said, eating another spoonful of flan. Walter took Y/N’s free hand in his, bringing it to his lips, kissing it.

“I Don’t know what to say. I wish I would have met you before, to prevent that from happening.” Walter said.

“Whats done is done, don’t dwell on it, guapo, it’s okay.” Y/N said,

“I’ll just say this, I have fought or threatened any person who has touched you or even looked at you the wrong way.” Walter started and Y/N giggled because it was true. “But I am positive that if anybody hurts you, I’m going to prison for life, I’ll always be there to protect you or fight for you.” Walter said, kissing her.

The End

Hope y’all like it! Should I make a part 2 based off the second verse and the bridge?

#hispanic reader #latina #hispanic #henry cavill x reader #walter marshall fanfiction #walter marshall x reader #walter marshall x you #henry cavill #night hunter #walter marshall #latina reader

[kth1]

Welcome Home [MYG]

⟶ Welcome Home [Yoongi x Female Reader] ⟶ Genre: 18+, PWP, Marriage Au, Smut, One Shot ⟶ Warnings: father!yoongi, kissing, blow job, unprotected sex, you guys have a child, etc ⟶ WC: 5.6k+ ⟶ Summary: After picking up your husband at the airport, you greet him with what any lonely wife would in the comfort of your shared bedroom. ⟶ Beta: Miss riddle tiddle, @taegularities​, thank you for reading through this when you found the time. And also dealing with my constant shenanigans when I write aimlessly and you’re trying to clean up my act for me. lol ⟶ Author’s Note: Based on the notorious Yoongi 220529 airport photos. This pwp is nothing fancy at all, just love and thirst. :] I’m also in love with my banner.

You roll the stroller to the perimeter of the off-white bland walls of the baggage claim area in the airport. Parking typically is terrible, but you managed to swing through some loop-holes to find yourself the absolute perfect spot – right in front of the elevators of the garage. It gives you and Haneul, the eager 3 year-old boy wiggling in his seat, the chance to greet the man you’re supposed to be picking up right now.

Husband and father, Min Yoongi.

Haneul pestered you all of last night about wanting to run straight into his father’s arms the moment he spots him among the crowd of strangers. Even with Yoongi being gone for months on an international book tour, Haneul would recognise his dad in an instant. The creative kid even sketched an adorable drawing on a piece of paper, ready to hold up carefree and in plain view.

His feet kick back and forth, his frustrations untamed under the straps that buckle him in. But you fully understand your son’s happiness. Excited and completely impatient in wanting to see Yoongi. 

You’ve kept up with him nearly every day, primarily through video calls and brief texts. Yoongi always requested a new photo of Haneul every other day, fearing of missing out on any monumental moments Haneul might make in his absence.

Only once in a while would he request more of you. To see more than what he already does with the casual facetime events between the two of you. When he was alone and not distracted with the business of his tour, grieving to himself with a small glass of whiskey and empty side of a hotel bed. 

Of course you gave him exactly what he needed to keep him entertained. But you always held back the juiciest of details on purpose. To keep him interested and on his toes, to tease and taunt, yet show him a smile of nothing but innocence. The words “you can see more once you get home,” never left his brain. 

But his mind is not straight into the gutter when he first walks off the plane and follows the crowd down the escalators towards the designated baggage claim area. No, not at all.

It’s the binds around his heart which pull tighter the more he thinks about seeing the joys of his life, the people he holds closest to his love. With yearning and longing to see the people who help are vital pieces of his family. 

You help Haneul out of his seat as you straighten out his jacket. You double check if both of his shoes are strapped on securely before allowing his feet to hit the tile flooring. He is already tugging on your arm to beg you for his photo in which you happily fish out of your purse and unfold it for him. 

He checks it over, proud of his own work but also squinting as if he’s pondering the work itself. The facial gesture cracks a smile on your face as you recognize the resemblance between him and his father. The stern concentration yet the complete composed emotion.

You brush your hand through his hair, pushing the disarray of fluff off his forehead as you check for any dirty stains across his mouth and chin. Thankfully you only spot a few crumbs from some cookies he ate in the car, but Haneul is wiggling away from not wanting to be touched.

“Where’s daddy?” You chim with a softer tone, gaining your child’s attention in a flash.

His eyes expand wide with excitement as he looks around the area. You feel bad for a second when Haneul looks disappointed, but you know you are just preparing him for Yoongi’s entrance.

“Da-da?” He walks around you, keeping a hand on your leg while the crowd of people around him spook him.

You check your watch for the time, knowing that Yoongi’s plane has already landed and any minute now he should be waltzing right in with the rest of the travelers. 

“Soon, Haneul. Do you have your picture ready?”

The little boy nods frantically, pulling the piece of paper straight across his chest to display it. He continues to search around for his father, the excitement blazing in his eyes.

The first line of people begin flooding in the doors, several looking exhausted and in their most comfortable airport-wear. They all shuffle one by one until they fan out into the wider room, a few instantly gathering around the carousel. 

“Haneul,” you warn as the boy begins stepping closer to the crowd. You slowly trail behind him as you grab hold of the handle of the stroller.

“Stay close,” you express with a stern tone. “Wait for him.”

You glance up to the entranceway with hidden enthusiasm, eyes flickering through the throng of people until you see him.

Yoongi walks in the room carrying his expensive Hermies Birkin bag with a small twilly scarf you personally picked for him. It contrasts with the baggy blue jeans with ripped holes in the knees and the tucked in white t-shirt and light beige button up hanging off his shoulders – but together everything looks perfect.

Even with a mask covering his face, you can tell he’s yawning the second he walks through and examines the area around him. Your heart flutters momentarily, witnessing the way his fingers shag through his dark tendrils of hair and unintentionally make it appear fluffier. It swoons your heart as the sight before you unwinds, nearly making you lightheaded with a rising fever.

It’s as if it is the first time you’re laying your eyes on him; a love at first sight moment. Though you’ve known him for years now, you've seen nearly all sides of the man who you call your husband. 

But today hits you harder, somehow.

Whether it was the pining to see him – a growing hunger that slowly consumed you the longer he was away – or the sudden thirst that develops the second his forehead exposes as he makes eye contact with you, you cannot pinpoint where to blame. There is something utterly magical about the way your husband looks at you, like the world is empty of anything but the three of you.

“Da-Da!” Haneul yells with excitement, surprising you and everyone surrounding you. 

He treks quickly in a straight bee-line from where he stands. His arms out in excitement, waving in the air as he keeps them wide open for Yoongi. A soft smile grows on your face as your heart tightens over the cuteness overload. You notice how Yoongi’s eyes squint with happiness the moment he spots Haneul running to him. Everything inside you knows he is smiling wide under his mask.

Yoongi drops to a squatting position, prepared to envelope his son in his arm while he pushes his bag behind his back. Haneul dives face first into Yoongi’s chest, his arms clinging around his neck and holding on like a happy sloth. Your husband nuzzles his head into Haneul’s hair as his arm wraps around the little boy's frame. He lifts him up with one swift hoist, letting the boy link his legs around as Yoongi adjusts his stance and looks back at you.

You bite back a smile, but the glow in your eyes and cheeks give away your mirth. There’s nothing in your world that looks better than the sight of seeing your bundle of joy in the arms of the man of your dreams.

Haneul is grabbing at Yoongi’s cheeks\ as he walks over to you, turning his head to face him so that he can place his forehead against his father’s. You never question the act your son picked up out of the blue, but both you and Yoongi assume it’s his expression of love. And when Yoongi responds to his son’s gesture with the same exact scrunched up happy face, your smile completely cracks open.

You take a few steps to meet Yoongi the rest of the way, opening your arms wide enough to hug the both of them. With all the events happening, you and Yoongi had completely forgotten about his traveling publicist who awkwardly stands back to retain from involvement in the family reunion. 

“I missed you,” he says as he places his head against yours.

You smile with the confession, pulling back just enough to spare a few inches between another and stare into his eyes. Without asking, you lightly pull down his mask. Pushing your lips against his, you feel the warmth you’ve been missing out for the past five weeks. 

“I missed you, too,” you reply softly.

Haneul begins pushing at both of your heads, wanting to get himself in the mix of the innocent kisses. The two of you chuckle and cave in, smiling at the way Haneul lifts his picture for his dad with the utmost pride.

“I drew meow-meow!”

Yoongi looks at the sketched out orange and blue cat on the paper that his son holds up. He pulls a surprised face, eyebrows raised and everything. 

“For me?” He hums with his deep toned voice, “It’s wonderful! Good job! Is that Jae?”

“Yeah!”

“Has he been good?”

Haneul giggles, nodding his head excitedly, “Mhm!”

You back up enough to grab hold of the stroller again, pulling it over to where Yoongi starts turning towards the carousel. He nods towards his publicist who finally walks over and joins the group.

“And how was mommy? Was she good too?” Yoongi asks Haneul as he glances over to you.

“No,” Haneul drawls.

Yoongi fake gasps as he stares back at his son. It forces the kid to start giggling, and both you and Yoongi know he’s playing around.

“No?” You walk up and raise your eyebrows at Haneul. The boy laughs even more, wanting to hide away into his father’s neck. “I haven’t been good?”

You place your hands on your hips as you tilt your head. You try hard not to give into the bubblicious laughter that erupts from your son, but you cannot help it. He’s way too cheerful to stay too stern.

“Oh no…” Yoongi laughs back. “I guess mommy needs to go to timeout later, huh?”

Rolling your eyes, you pivot to your stationary stance. Shifting your weight to one leg as your hip pops out, one hand on the hip as the other holds onto the handle of the stroller now.

“If i’m not good, then that means we shouldn’t have bingsu tonight.”

“No!” Haneul protests with a whine.

Yoongi shifts him in his hold, “Don’t worry, I’ll give you bingsu. Mommy doesn’t deserve any.”

You quirk your eyebrow up as you glance at Yoongi, skeptical at his words. There’s a hint of mischief laced on the corner of his lips and the crinkle of his eyes. Whatever he has going on inside that head of his, you’re sure you’ll hear about it later.

It’s lazy the way Yoongi’s plump lips mold onto yours. He pushes himself into you, backing your body up against the nearest wall. His hands grip onto your arms softly, trailing them down to your wrists to bring them above your head. The heat of his skin presses onto yours as the two of you tangle your tongues with another.

“Good thing you took a nap earlier,” you mumble into his mouth.

He exhales deeply through his nose as he hums with acknowledgment. He grinds his pelvis into you, pinning you tight against the wall and giving you little room to wiggle.

“I needed the rest,” he chimes in. His mouth trails kisses down the edge of your jaw to the length of your neck. Yoongi’s teeth nip at your sensitive skin, instantly soothing the sting with his soft kiss. “And I needed the shower as well. But you have me now.”

“I love how long your hair has gotten,” you comment as you desperately try to move your hands. But Yoongi continues to pin your wrists with his hand above your head. “You should keep it like this for a bit.”

The dim lit bedroom illuminates the area just enough to give a sensual vibe. Dusty tones and sweet smells – courtesy to the lit candles –  help set the mood for your late night evening. Haneul knocked out fairly fast after enjoying his favorite dinner, sashimi, and getting his quality dessert time with his father. Yoongi took the honor of placing the child to bed, making sure to have the house pet, Jae, keep him company while he reads him a nighttime story.

“Yeah?” He smirks as his fingers tighten around you, “The length is a bit too long for me to maintain.”

His eyes meet you with a dark glint. Yoongi licks his lips as he admires the lines of your face.

“I’ll help maintain it,” you smile as you lean towards him, puckering your lips.

Yoongi allows your wrists to slip from his hold, giving you the opportunity to slink them around his neck and brush your fingertips against the base of his neck. Your nails lightly threaten his skin, scratching only enough to earn a low growl from him.

You step forward into your husband, clutching onto him as you anchor your weight. He steps back, ushering you along with him as he travels towards your shared bed. It’s tidy and barely touched, but that is soon to change the moment the back of Yoongi’s knees hit the edge of the bed.

Cautiously, Yoongi sits himself down as he drags your face with his. He nips lightly on your bottom lip, enjoying the sweet sucking noises exchanged between your greedy mouths. You lean forward, taking him in like an addictive drug – in some ways he is your penicillin. Treating all your lonesome and sorrows with everything you need.

Attentiveness. Physical touch. Kindness.

You’ve missed him and it shows.

It shows with the way you practically grab him possessively when you finally get him alone. How your body slots perfectly in position between his legs as your hands fumble over the button to his jeans. Your knees press into the carpeted floor as you shuffle Yoongi’s pants down. 

“Y/n…” Yoongi sighs as your name leaves his tongue.

His hand laces behind your head, gathering up any piece of hair in a fist. His cock springs from its confinements as you yank the rest of his bottoms down to his knees. They fall listlessly as he widens his legs, sprawling out before you. His dick luls heavy to the side, stiff from the riled up make-out session. 

“Let me,” you insist as your head levels with his cock. 

You waste no time in gripping the shaft with your palm, standing it up to prepare yourself to take him in. Giving a few small strokes with your fist, you feel the smooth underside of his cock glide easily inside your hand. It makes your mouth water with thirst and you’re feeling incredibly parched.

Lowering your mouth, you place a delectable kiss to the tip of his cock. The bitter saltiness from the leaking precum greets you with a blast of flavor. Your tongue rolls out between your lips, enough to kitten-lick the slit of his head and earn the first stifled groan of the night.

“S-Shit,” Yoongi involuntarily twitches his cock in your hold. The sensation must be delightful for him. His hand tilts your head to see your lips, wanting to watch the way you part them for an open-mouth kiss to his cock. “Yeah, baby. Just like that.”

The light praise grooms your pride like a pat on the back; making you feel like an accomplished wife and valuable woman to your man.

“Anything for you,” you nearly purr with enthusiasm.

Yoongi huffs a quick laugh, his mouth parting into a small smile, “Everything for me, eh?”

You grin while widening your lips and grazing your teeth lightly over his sensitive head. It visibly makes Yoongi shudder as the grip in your head reinforces its hold on you. He tilts his head to the side as he looks down at you between his spread legs. It’s a devilish scene to admire from below, but it screws your insides as you stare up at him through your lashes.

Your tongue swipes across the underside of his cock as you sink further down, keeping eye contact with the man who stares under hooded eyes. The tip threatens to edge itself near the back of your throat and that’s your point of retracting; choosing to bob your head slowly and shallowly. You pinch your lips around his dick as you suck feverishly, enjoying the flavor of his skin and arousal against your tastebuds.

God, you really did miss this.

You angle yourself better – even with the strong hand guiding you – to take more of him when you’re prepared. Hollowing your cheeks, you focus on breathing through your nose. Inch by inch you sink him further into your mouth, feeling the bulbous head press against a sensitive spot in the back of your throat.

You hum when Yoongi pushes your head down. His cock lodges its way through the entrance into your esophagus. Your eyes swell with a layer of tears, but they don’t break the brim. Instead, they glisten as you stare up at your husband with determination.

Cracking a smile would break the suction of your lips, so you give Yoongi the gesture of sucking harder to urge him on. 

“Good girl,” he whispers in a low voice. 

His head tilts back on his shoulders, exposing his Adam’s apple and thick neck. He groans and sucks his breath in between his teeth, letting you lazily blow him off. 

“You’re so good to me,” he comments in a more desperate voice.

You feel pressure of his hand pushing you further; an indicator that he’s nearing the peak of a mountainous cliffside where he’ll dive straight into the abyss of pleasure.

Saliva drips out of your mouth and down his shaft, making the glide of your mouth easier once you slide him as deep as you can. Nose brushing straight into his tamed pubes that smell like his lingering body wash. Your mouth is full with the capacity of his entire length, focusing hard on swallowing him just the way you know he likes.

Above you, Yoongi huffs into the air. His head tilts to the side while his legs twitch at your sides. 

He moans softly, speaking under his breath, “Baby, I’m going to… I’m almost there.”

His urgency shows in the way his chest rises and falls frantically and in the tightening of his abdomen. Even the slow roll of his hips cannot be contained when Yoongi tries to wedge himself in your throat. Pushing himself in to –

“-- Ah! Shit, shit, shit!”

His creamy white ropes of cum surpass your tastebuds and shoot straight down your throat. His cock twitches with delight once you gag around his member from the erratic movement, though he appreciates the noises you make as you attempt to retain yourself. Yoongi holds his breath when his orgasm washes over him, rough bouts of air escaping his nostrils while exhaling deeply.

When he finally releases his grip on you, his fingers hook under your jaw. His spent cock slides out of your mouth and drops against his skin as he raises you up from the ground. 

You smile with warmth, letting him guide you straight back to his mouth, swallowing the last bit of his semen.

“I love you,” you murmur right before your lips meet his.

His hands roam your body, finding the corners of you to pull you in closer. Begging your body to climb around him and settle on his lap. Your legs surround his frame as he makes room for you.

“I love you more,” he confesses right back. 

Yoongi’s fingertips dance around the edge of your sleepwear, a dainty little night dress you purposely wore to tease him. The nearly sheer fabric barely covers your body but adds just the amount of illusion his eyes need. He shifts the material up and over your thighs, revealing to him how you failed to wear any form of underwear and left yourself bare just for him.

He hums to himself, giggling along with you as your lips press into another. His featherlight touch tickles your skin, digits traveling up to your hips. Once he shifts you closer to him, bumping your privates against another, he takes in the amount of arousal dripping out of your core.

Like sap, your slick coats his shaft the moment you rest on top of him. Your hands help tug off his loose t-shirt to rid him of the last piece of clothing, exposing his toned chest and pale collar bones. With grace, you roll your hips against him – using his shaft like a toy while you run your sopping pussy across the length of it. Each time your clit flicks over the lump of his cockhead, you clench with excitement as Yoongi breathes harshly into your neck.

“Baby, go slow –”

“– just missed you so much,” you admit.

Yoongi winces when your hips press harder into him, his voice uttering a hushed plea when his hands grip your waist.

“Still sensitive, baby. Slow down. You have me now,” he reminds you in a sincere voice. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You’re in anguish over him. As if he’d been stripped away from you for centuries, but in reality it's only been a few weeks. You smell his scent lingering in your nostrils. This whole time you have missed the way he cradles you against him, holds you impossibly close during times of intimacy. Even the pheromones remind you how much you yearned for his return.

Would it be cheesy to admit that you’ve never had a love like this before?

You rake your nails up the back of his scalp, running trails up the roots of his hair before you squeeze your fingers into small fists. His locks glide through so soft and tender, fluffy from how they naturally dry.

As you continue to roll your hips on his lap, making sure to lube his cock up with your natural essence, Yoongi breathes hot air against the side of your neck.

“I haven’t even gotten to touch you yet, baby. How are you so worked up?”

“I don’t need it. I just need you,” you pant, focusing on how to expertly rub yourself on him to gain the exact friction you want.

Yoongi’s lap feels warmer, wetter, in seconds. His fingers crumple the loose material that falls off your shoulders by thin strings, gathering it up higher so he can admire the view between the two of you.

“Please,” you beg as you pull his head closer with your hands. “Please, Yoongi. I want you to fuck me.”

He groans while his arms circle around you, pulling you flush against his chest and halting your actions. Yoongi’s lips peck down your skin as the two of you breath labored breaths.

“You’re so needy. You don’t want to wake Haneul up,” he calls to mind the sleeping child resting in the other room. “Gotta stay quiet, baby.”

You nod your head frantically, head nudging against his once you press down into him. 

“Fuck me,” you whisper like a secret made for just the two of you. “I’ll be quiet.”

Swiftly, your body moves with Yoongi’s as he turns with you. Your side hits the bed before he’s slipping out from under you to stand. With sincere guidance, he pushes your frame into the bed, forcing your front into the mattress below. You feel the way his hands roam across the edges of your back as a smile grows across your face.

Your head twists to the side just to try and see him as much as possible. Playfully, you push your ass towards him when you prop it up in the air for him. The fabric falls down and pools around your waist, exposing your ass and dripping core to him.

“Oh,” he hums as he sees your naked backside. His palm grips a piece of your cheek and squeezes playfully, pulling it to the side and appreciating the view.

With his other hand, he holds his cock and lightly taps it against your ass. The light slap resounds in the room around you but unfortunately, you can only feel it. You know it must be “waking” back up for a second round. It always takes Yoongi a few minutes to recuperate after shooting his load, though it never stopped the endless rounds of sexual rendevuous.

“Baby, fuck me,” you whine and wiggle your ass to him.

“Remind me the next time I travel to take a longer trip,” he speaks with a teasing tone. “Seems like the further away I am the more thirsty you become.”

You huff with a roll to your eyes, “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I would never dream of that,” he hums with a soft smile.

From behind, Yoongi shoves your face into the blankets as he lines himself up at your entrance. He does it in an aggressive manner, but you know he does it with utter kindness. Slowly, he inserts himself into your awaiting hole, feeling how you eagerly suck him in like an open invitation. He glides smoothly, descending each inch of his cock into your cunt. He doesn’t pull back and ease himself like he does usually; instead, his hips press flat against your ass in one fluid motion.

Your empty deprived cunt instantly filled with the entire length and girth of your husband.

You moan, but it’s muffled with the suffocating blankets surrounding your mouth. Cunt clenching around the favored intrusion, you cannot help the overwhelming feeling of being full – finally.

Even though you might be full of your husband's cock, unable to think properly, you cannot help but to think of how much you love the man who is stuffing you. How every bit of him falters the second Haneul cries for help and how each moment you catch him sneaking a glance at you when he thinks you wouldn’t notice… small signs of his genuine and kind nature breaching his hard and cool exterior makes you weak at the knees. It’s the little things which Yoongi writes out through his mannerisms and the way he says things which threads a rope of love around your heart. 

It tightens each and every day; continuing to reel you in like a hopeless romantic who is lost at sea.

He pulls back, drawing his entire length out and leaving just the tip. With firm fingers, he spreads your cheeks even wider and tilts your hips to arch your back. There’s something with the way your cunt fits around him that he cherishes. Along with the fresh gleam of slick that coats him like second skin; Yoongi fancies the appearance as he forcibly thrusts his cock back into you. 

Watching the way it disappears from plain sight. Loving the way you twist and moan from the rough pleasure he gives you. Even hushed by the fabrics below you, Yoongi commands you to make all the noises you want to make with the next hard thrust.

“Shh, shh,” he nearly laughs at the way you whine. 

He knows it’s ridiculous to ask you for silence; especially when you’re in such a predicament, but he wants to be sure you two don’t suffer the consequences if either of you fail. 

So attentive with the way he gyrates his hips into you, power-drilling his cock into the deepest crevices of your cunt, Yoongi is also cautious with how present the headboard is against the far side wall. It taps lightly at first, sometimes not even hitting the sheetrock, but your moans continue to rile him up. Melodic tunes tugging at his eardrums and fueling his confidence and ego as he continues to rail his cock into you in long strides.

You choke on your own tongue when the words fail to fall out of your mouth. The trapped heat of your breath only makes your face warmer when you attempt to breathe fresh air in between the moments of having the wind knocked out of you. Though you enjoy every juicy second of your husband’s cock traveling to the hidden area of your walls.

Shuffling your arms underneath you, you manage to prop your head up just enough to release a silent moan. Your head lobs with the jolts of his body into your backside, his lap tapping into the back of your thighs as his palms secure themselves around your waist. You bite down on your bottom lip hard, pinching your eyebrows together in concentration while you inhale deeply. 

You want to moan, you want to tell him how amazing you are feeling with the babbling mess of words that want to escape your throat. Your fists grip the blankets harshly, tugging them closer to you each time Yoongi’s cock threatens your g-spot.

“More. More!” You call to him desperately, keeping your voice low. 

Your ass ripples like water with each thrust, flesh shaking like jello from the momentum. 

Yoongi surprises you by pulling your body off the bed with a hoist. You arch even further to accommodate the new position. With a firm hand, Yoongi slides a palm across your mouth and tilts your head back to lean against him.

His stance behind you widens as his free hand grips you by the hip to drag you back into each thrust. Yoongi’s strength holds you perfectly to him. 

It blocks the next moan that was just about to release out your lips. His face buried into the side of your head, his mouth panting against your skin and forming goosebumps with how possessively lewd it sounds to you.

“Finish for me,” he requests with a gruff voice. 

Deft fingers slide across your front and push down on your lower abdomen as he trails further. They find the slit of your nether lips and spread them to reveal your clit. Your knees nearly buckle from the onslaught you’re enduring with his cock and now with the magical press of the most sensitive nerve “button” on your body.

Your hand finds purchase on his arm and the other reaches back to grip his leg. Your nails dig into his skin with anticipation and in need of holding onto something, anything.

Mouth opened wide for a moan, it is stifled by the palm that latches over your lips. The ragged breath exhaling out of Yoongi only turns you on more. You’d give anything to see the way his face scrunches up with focus as his nostrils flare. The imagery already seems lewd enough to egg you on when his fingertips swirl around your clit.

“Mmf!” you cry into his palm once Yoongi relentlessly refuses to give up; his cock dragging out of you only to plunge straight back in again.

It feels heavenly with just the right amount of pleasurable pain to twist your insides and spin that coil that’s buried deep within the pit of your body. In one simple earth-shattering snap, the string that holds you together finally breaks. Worn down from holding that blissful orgasm away from you unless your body is ready for its full release.

Your body fights to close your legs even more, which is quite impossible when your knees already cross over another. Yoongi holds you as your body trembles from your orgasm; like rapids flowing down a river bend. 

Unpredictable and irregular, always keeping the two of you on your toes.

Your hand tightens around his arm until you descend from the clouds. Yet Yoongi doesn’t waiver from his long strides for a second. His hips slap into you with purpose, battering your cunt with how ready he is to release again.

He pulls out far too soon for your liking. Globs of sweet white cum shoot out of his cockhead onto your backside. Yoongi pushes his cock against your skin, trapping it between your two bodies. 

His voice comes out raspy and out of breath, “The was fucking amazing. Felt so good.”

Neither one of you mind the slow dripping cum touching your bodies. Even the arousal trickling down between your legs just makes you feel filthier, but unbothered completely. The two of you stand there as you catch your breath; tame your beating hearts while aftershocks of your orgasms run rapidly through your nerves.

Even your own cunt flutters with the filthy afterthoughts of what more the two of you can do.

Slowly, Yoongi cages you inside his arms once again. His lips pepper butterfly kisses across your shoulder blade to your neck. He sighs delightfully as he rests his chin in the crook of your neck. Soft hands lace around your front and hug you, hold you.

“How are you feeling?” He quips the question after a few moments of silence.

You begin rubbing your own palms along his arms in a tender way, touching his heated skin and seeking his fingers to interlock with yours.

“Amazing,” you gleam. He can hear the charm in your voice, the satisfied tone setting him in a better mood. “You’re amazing,” you nudge him with your head.

“Not as amazing as you,” he huffs a laugh. 

The two of you hum with lighthearted amusement. But you’re being distracted the moment you hear feeble knocks at your door. A high pitched, curious whine comes from the other side – snapping both you and Yoongi out of your intimate trace and back to reality. 

“Mommy! Mommy!”

The small voice of your child chants your name as his fists continue to hit the wood of the door. 

Yoongi curses under his breath once he peels himself off of you. Together you shuffle throughout the room as you frantically call back to your in-need child. You’re searching for a towel that hangs off the master bathroom door, quick to wrap yourself before seeing your husband rummage through his drawer for a pair of pajama shorts to slip on.

“I’m coming, Haneul!”

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[8um8le]

Back with some asks about Cyberpunk au!

-Can the boys detect vitals?

-Can they defend a human from being harmed by another human?

-Does Bot hang out with the others daily?

-You’ve mentioned that Bot has taken the other boys to a lot of cool places for sightseeing and entertainment. When the boys go to clubs do they dance? Do they often break into places to sightsee? I’d imagine they’d be kicked out soon after entering cubs or get enforcement called on them fairly often.

Ooo nice questions, answers under the cut <3

Can the boys detect vitals? 

They can only detect their own vitals, and understand why another robot would be close to shutting off forever. It can be pretty confusing for them to understand the human body when it comes to helping them out, but at the same time they know how to kill a human, and where their weak spots could be, so they could use that info to know whether they are about to die or not. 

(Gore mention tw)Their lack of comprehension of how the human functions is a reason why 8ot likes to dissect and play around with how he ends a human’s life when it comes to targets, especially with the guilt that he couldn’t save a loved one because of having no knowledge how a human body falls apart. He’s almost like a doctor or mad scientist when it comes to bots, he can repair and build robots, so he wanted to expand towards organic life. 

Sun and Moon don’t know as much as 8ot when it comes to saving a human’s life, as they don’t have a reason to why they would need to save a human, when their job is to end them. They stayed distant from humans for a long while since they only tried to scrap them in their first vessel. Their experience with humans trying to smash them to bits is another reason they learned to fight for their survival. 

Of course this would change if they happened to meet a human that they end up caring about, they’d want to learn more about organic bodies. (Possibly a y/n/oc interaction dynamic ehhehe)

Can they defend a human from being harmed by another human?

Okay so the city’s justice system is complete ass, people can get away from murder as long as it’s not the wrong person; being the super rich that has a network of others who will hunt down your entire bloodline, OR a super strong opponent that turns the table and ends up killing you instead. The only time police get serious is when someone makes a huge mess or destroy a large chuck of property (example would be using explosives to make a building completely crumble to the ground) 

Does 8ot hang out with the boys on the daily?

Yeah they are very close to each other, although I left their relationship with one another to be ambiguous, the viewer can chose whether they are involved in a romantic or platonic way. 8ot often drops them off to their day job on his hovering vehicle.(aka flying car lmao) They are very comfortable with each other that they show up to each other’s place uninvited. The two are also comfortable with telling 8ot just about anything. Thing is it’s usually one sided when it comes to pouring their heart out about their past, since 8ot is self conscious of what he was, often trying to copy the mannerism of people around him to cope. 

Koi is also another guy who is close with everyone in fact, even Eclipse. Funnily a lot of people like to rely on him, and turn to him for comfort. Eclipse loves to hang out with him when he gets the time, and Eclipse shares his knowledge on robots while Koi shares his knowledge of organics (since he is a organic himself)

Eclipse is seen as a higher up/ apprentice to Sun, Moon and 8ot. He also happens to have a soft spot for the three, actually caring about their well-being, normally he wouldn‘ t even bat an eye towards his lowers in the criminal underground. He still acts coldly, strict and harsh when it comes to the boys, but that’s his weird way of showing he cares. For this reason I like to joke about Eclipse being their dad since he’s constantly and voluntarily on babysitting duty.

When they go to clubs do they dance? Do they break into places to sight-see? 

Yes they go to clubs to dance and overall vibe and wind down, their dynamic making all their trips interesting. Sun being a responsible person and tagging along to keep an eye on the two trouble-makers, but genuinely having a good time in the process, Moon thriving in the chaos and even starting fights, 8ot knowing where to go, and laughing at the other two. 

AHHHhahah getting kicked out or police gettin called on them, the first part is definitely true, but police don’t get called often since the city doesn’t trust or rely on police, but if they have body-guards or a posse, they’d call them to scrap. As goofy as it is to see two shiny eight foot robots with a sun and moon mask as their heads, and a feminine looking humanoid with a masculine voice and mannerism, they have the upper hand when it comes to combat, never losing a fight yet. I mean it’s not like hey can afford to lose a fight, since that would cost them their lives when it comes to this city

#cyberpunk au

[lacyscabinet]

Write the most heart wenching Natalie one shot you possibly could ever write

Showcase your writing abilities 👀

No proper plot just make it super angsty... maybe reader dies in the end🙂

A/n: HI ANON ARE YOU OKAY? 😭 anyway, thank you so much for your request, hope you enjoy :) let me know if it's painful enough LMAOOO

Tw: sickness, reader dies!

The wilderness dance

Months and months had passed since the crash and yet, Natalie still didn't seem to forget about any single detail of that day, maybe it was her trauma or maybe she simply had way too much time to think. There wasn't much to do there other than trying to find food for the group out in the woods, making her way through the biting winds and frigid cold alongside Travis, their shared breaths visible in the icy air.

As the snow deepened, so did the challenges of survival. Natalie's days were spent navigating the treacherous woods, a dance of life and death with each hunt. Travis wasn't the best lately, too focused on finding Javi and forcing her to search and search for someone who, she thought, was already gone.

And just when she thought things couldn't get worse another silent struggle unfolded within the cabin. You, a soul caught in the icy grip of illness, grew weaker with each passing day. The others, sheltered beneath the same roof, watched as the flame of their vitality flickered in the cold winds of misfortune.

One evening, after a particularly long and exhausting hunt, Natalie and Travis walked back to the old wooden cabin. The wind blew on her cheeks making them sting, and as she reached for her neck to raise her scarf above her lips in an attempt to block out the cold, she noticed some leaves dancing around carried by the breeze, floating in the air almost trying to indicate her the way to the cabin, luring her in.

As she opened the rusty door, the other girls immediately looked in her direction, their eyes clouded with a mixture of sorrow and unspoken concern.

"Natalie, we need to talk," Lottie said softly from her spot in front of the crackling fire, her voice hesitant.

Natalie's heart pounded as she got closer to her, scared of what she was going to say.

"What's going on?" Natalie's voice trembled with a mix of anticipation and fear.

"It's about y/n" Lottie began, her eyes darting to the ground before meeting Natalie's gaze. "She has been getting worse... much worse."

A heavy silence hung in the air, broken only by the distant howl of the wind singing a melody for the leaves to dance to.

Without waiting for more, Natalie's instincts kicked in. She rushed past Lottie and the others, her heart racing, as if her very steps could hasten her arrival at the attic where you lay.

The room, dimly lit by a feeble lantern and a small fire the girls lit up for you to keep you warm.

"Nat," you whispered weakly as soon as you recognized her footsteps on the cracking floor, your voice a fragile, punctuated by fits of coughing that echoed through the small space.

Natalie knelt beside you, her eyes moist with a mix of worry and love. "I'm here," she whispered, taking your trembling hand in hers.

"I always feel better around you" you confessed, a faint smile playing on your chapped lips between labored breaths and coughs that grew more and more pronounced by the second, each one a painful reminder of your fragile state. Natalie stroked your hair and placed a cloth drenched in cold water on your forehead, trying to cool down your fever, knowing deep down that it wasn't helping much.

Natalie struggled to hold back tears, she had to be strong, but looking at you right now felt like staring at a ghost and she couldn't handle that.

She stood by your side for hours, just holding your hand and occasionally kissing your forehead, until, she saw the light in your tired eyes dim gradually to the point where even the smallest spark was gone.

"Promise me, Nat, you'll keep going" you murmured, eyes locking with hers for one last time.

Natalie looked down at you, tears streaming down her face "Don't say that" she almost begged, trying to pretend everything was going to be alright.

In your final moments together, the room seemed to hold its breath, as if the very air mourned the impending loss. Your frail hand clung to Natalie's, gaze pleading for a future you could no longer share.

With a final, raspy whisper, your breath faded away, leaving Natalie alone in the attic. The room, once a sanctuary, now echoed with the haunting silence of a love that had defied the frigid embrace of destiny. The wilderness, indifferent to your personal tragedy, continued its relentless dance with winter, leaving behind only the echoes of a love now lost to the unforgiving cold.

#womp womp womp #natalie scatorccio #yellowjackets #nat scatorccio #natalie scatorccio x reader #yellowjackets x reader #nat scatorccio x reader #yellowjackets x you #natalie scatorccio x y/n #nat scatorccio x

[plagueoffools]

toxic mentally unstable nikolai with a fem reader that just has enough of him? angst to fluff? or maybe no fluff? your choice!!

"INSANITY IS THE MENTALITY! SO DENY SANITY TO UNEARTH THE RAW VITALITY."

(REQUESTED) TOXIC! NIKOLAI GOGOL/ GN! READER

BUNGOU STRAY DOGS

[ slight ANGST/ FLUFF ] 1.3k WORDS

⸺A/N // I figured since Nikolai is already quite literally unhinged I would just write what I depict of the normal Nikolai but with a twinge of toxicity. I'm not quite fond of my sloppy writing but motivation is kicking my ass. //

⸺TW // Google translated Ukrainian, correct me if there's any mistakes you spot. //

⸺INFO // Reader is implied as FEM regarding request but never stated. //

You're not sure how it had come to this, you're not sure how you had expected it to not come to this.

Either way, you want it all to end. All the worrisome days where he does not answer nor visit you and when he does he's quick to brush off your questions regarding his abrupt disappearance. It's an endless cycle that you've found yourself caged in, no matter which key you prod the key lock with, it'll never open for you to leave.

You've realized for the past few days that you're a sitting duck in a cage, willingly waiting for a man who will not wait for you.

You're not sure how it all even started, you recall blurry memories that you used to reminisce with so much vibrance and brightness; have now dulled. You're able to reminisce back when it was all much simpler, where he bombarded you with teasing remarks and when you humoured him. Humoured him, all because you'd thought to stimulate his need for an audience.

However, you're no longer amongst the audience. You're now propped and dressed for a role you've never wanted to be casted for.

He had to admit it to, he never thought his jocular advances would go anywhere-

- but the seed he has planted; like a flower, flourishes quickly. Standing tall and vibrant. All he wants to do however is to so desperately starve it of its sun, thirst it of its water. He attempts to bring himself to cut it down, his heart prevails, rebels against him.

Won over by his ever so fleeting but dreadful emotions nonetheless, he flees cowardly. Confrontation was never his thing anyways, he'd rather just run until the sun sets and he's no longer plagued with the heat of it all. He figures that if he cannot bring himself to destroy what leashes him to the ground he will run until the leash merely snaps. But who knew the same leash he was running from would lead him straight back to you.

After a heavy day with a heavy heart, you return back to croak your problems to your pillow. Burying your face so deep you've wished that was all it took for it to asphyxiate you but you tweaked the position of your head to allow yourself to breathe properly .

You feel cowardly, sulking about a clownish man that made you feel like the clown. Retreating back to the warmth of your bed hoping it would dissipate your thoughts; turning and turning you search for a position to get comfortable in. Your slumber is prolonged due to your restless behaviour, your body aching and seeking for the warmth of the man that not even your bed can replicate.

You groan before pulling the blanket over your head. 'This is something future me can worry about .' you sigh out before shutting your eyes and hoping to find peace by listening to the rhythmic thump of your heart instead of the blaring silence your room offers.

⸻click!

Your eyes groggily shoot open at the sound, your breathing stills as you register the sound . You lay still for a second, figuring if you should continue your slumber or investigate the sound. Your body only runs cold when you notice the breezy wind ghosting over your skin. You're absolutely one hundred percent sure that you did not leave your window open . You hastily shut your eyes as you focus on picking up a sound but when you do you restrain yourself from not letting out a blood curling scream when you hear soft thuds of footsteps growing in proximity towards you.

You're frozen, you internally cry for your body to move, scream for it to do anything, to get away. Your breath subconsciously picks up when you feel the weight of your bed dip just right beside you.

A hand fit with a tight glove presumably leather from what you can feel off of the texture. It gracefully dances across your face, sliding across your skin as If they're testing their boundaries. You start to internally scream when the perturbator leans close, you're aware because you can feel the heat off of their skin right agaisnt you.

-and it is one you undeniably recognize, the heat your body soughts out for.

You hear an amused chuckle before slowly translating to a full heinous laugh,

"You're so cute when you pretend to be asleep."

Your breath hitches, it's him. You're about to jump from your rigid position and tackle him after not hearing from him for so long but your conflicted emotions stops you, restrains you. You're still upset and justifiably angry at his disappearance, you only huff before turning your back to him.

He dramatically gasps, him and his theatrics. "My dove has forsaken me! " - ironic. "My, what will I ever do to regain my doves affection?".

You roll your eyes, "Isn't that what you're trying to abolish? Why run back to something you wish to rid from your life fool." you hissed back at him.

He diverts the topic at hand to something else, hoping to distract himself from facing another dilemma. Just this once, I'll embrace the cage you've trapped me in.

Chirping out he leans closer to you, "Kolya wants a hug, don't you think he deserves one?" he only further whines when you push him away. Pouting childishly as if you've just denied a child ice cream.

Grabbing you at your wrist, halting your pushy motions as he sets it aside and clumsily maneuvers to your side. With a soft thump he lays beside you facing you with an annoyingly mirthful smile, with those stupid big doe eyes he tries to reel you in with.

"I've missed you dovey, do you miss me?" he flicks your nose when you take too long to respond. Groaning you send a short lived glare before muttering out a 'no' and returning to the comfort of darkness behind your eyelids.

"Are ya sure?" you hear him whisper amusingly right next to your ear, he was close, so close to the point you could feel the vibration of every syllable he uttered.

That's just him you suppose, pushing people's limits to see how far he can venture. Your train of thought is halted when a thin sheet of an object falls on top of your arm that was resting outside the safety of your blanket, confused you opened your eye.

The first you noticed was that Nikolai was no longer present, not in your sight atleast. For a man who was so daringly close to you just a few moments ago, he sure knows how to be as far as possible as well. The second were the sharp edges of hundreds of Polaroid photos that are piling at the center of your bed, some you've noticed have already fallen off of your blanket to the floor.

Your hand curiously reaches out and takes a closer look at one polaroid you managed to pick out, your breath hitches as you recognize the figure of the person in the picture. It's you. Snuggling cozily in your bed just the day before this. You'd know because you wore a new set of pajamas that had just arrived on your doorstep just the day before. Your eyes wander more and you noticed a scribbled out date at the back with a number, #689. Six hundred eighty-nine? You gape at the number.

Your hands scramble and you sweep up a couple of polaroid photos in your hand, #520, #638, #459, #381.

Each and every one includes you both outside and inside of the comfort of your house, each and every polaroid coming with their own personalized doodles and notes scribbled from front to back. Hearts being doodled on your sleeping figure, messy scribbled of notes in cursive and some you recognize in his native language, Ukrainian. Scribbled either outside of the border of the picture or behind the polaroid. Never across, you figured he didn't wanna block the actual picture with his writings.

Your hand curiously ventures out to take one more, it's a common occurrence of most of the mass amounts of polaroid photos to include you doing mundane tasks such as this ; watering the flowers you keep near your living room balcony. You flip to look at the back, it seems this one is one of the older ones ; you noted.

22/7/2006

#143

"𝙄𝙛 𝙞𝙩 𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙘𝙪𝙩 𝙛𝙡𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙜𝙧𝙤𝙬 𝙣𝙚𝙬 𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙨, 𝙄'𝙡𝙡 𝙨𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙪𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙬𝙝𝙤𝙢 𝙄 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙜𝙧𝙤𝙬 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙮𝙤𝙪."

"мій голуб полетить, і якщо його зупинять, я пожертвую власними крилами."

#nikolai gogol x reader #nikolai gogol #bsd nikolai gogol #bsd nikolai gogol x reader #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd #bsd x reader

[freeuselandonorris]

☰ for Monday, with the “who did this to you” trope? Love your fics <33

(from the fic ask game)

HI ANON i am so sorry this has taken me a million years to answer, i started weirdly overthinking it??

my understanding of the ‘who did this to you?’ trope is it’s very hurt/comfort-centric, which is not a genre i write very often (hence probably why i overthought this for so long lmao).

if i was to approach a remix of monday from this angle i think i’d like to do it from lando POV and explore more of why he’s so insecure and why it takes him so long to trust that oscar genuinely really likes him and isn’t just looking for a quick fuck to take the edge off. there’d be more of a focus on lando’s past relationships and in particular how he went from being a slightly nerdy kid (like, he looked twelve until he was about twenty) to suddenly being a millionaire heartthrob with a huge social media following. but he also self-describes as a simp (in the lando norris vs slang video) and clearly wants to be in a “real” relationship rather than just fucking about, so i’d look at what happened to him to make him so cautious with his heart.

proooobably this would end up with past dando or carlando? i have a mild aversion to carlos so i’d probably go for fuckboy daniel ngl.

i think it’d take oscar quite a long time to actually get round to asking lando what happened — partly because he’s got a bit of an attitude of “well, lando will tell me in his own time if it’s important to him” but also because there’s a bit of him that doesn’t really want to know, especially because he’s got a pretty good idea it involves another driver. he’d probably bring it up pretty idly, in the end — lando would make some veiled comment about how netflix would have creamed their collective pants if they’d known the half of it while oscar’s scrolling past DTS trying to find something to watch, and oscar would very casually… actually, y’know what.

Lando feels Oscar go still next to him and mentally kicks himself. Might’ve known Oscar wouldn’t let that one drop.

“So are you, like.” Oscar wets his lips and shifts on the bed, curling up so Lando’s tucked further into his chest. Lando presses himself back, drawing Oscar’s arm around him. “I dunno. Did something happen? With Dan.”

Lando closes his eyes, considers his options. It’s tempting to squirm back against Oscar’s body, press his arse into his crotch and slip Oscar’s hand under the hem of his T-shirt until he forgets the line of questioning, forgets he was saying anything at all. It’s mad, really, the way he responds: Lando only has to pull his shirt up, bite his lip a certain way, and he’ll have Oscar distracted and reaching for him, even now. It’s been months. Lando’s experienced it before, that first flush of desire when he can use his body to control how someone feels about him. It rarely lasts, though, once the novelty wears off.

Which is sort of the point.

He sighs, aware it sounds a bit huffy, and picks up his phone so he can flick through his notifications while he speaks. “I mean, I guess? It was just stupid, though.”

Oscar breathes behind him, slow and deliberate. He hums into Lando’s hair, strokes a thumb over the ticklish spot on Lando’s waist, the dip just above the ridge of muscle that delineates his hip.

Lando swipes through notifs from Discord, Instagram, iMessage, WhatsApp, Reddit, Sky Sport. Dismissing each without seeing it. He laughs, and it comes out all wrong, harsh in the back of his throat and defensive. God. Wet as fuck. “It was just — I mean, he was fucking miserable, you saw him. So I guess he just wanted a pick-me-up, y’know.”

“Right,” Oscar says, voice unreadable. He’s so fucking blank sometimes. Lando fights the urge to turn round and scrutinise his face, opens his emails instead and starts deleting anything that doesn’t look vital.

“He said,” Lando says, aiming to deliver it as a joke. “‘I’m straight, but I bet you suck dick like a girl anyway’. Like. What does that even mean?”

Oscar’s thumb stills, just for a moment, then resumes its slow path. “I know that’s offensive, but I can’t tell if it’s sexist or homophobic or both.”

Lando makes a disgruntled sound of agreement. “Yeah, well, whatever. It was — whatever. Wasn’t anything.”

“You said,” Oscar says mildly. “But I can see why you’d… Why it’d make you cautious.”

Lando sighs. Thinks of Luisa, showing him screenshots, her face streaked with tears. Watching the comments roll in, badly spelled threats he didn’t even bother reporting. The way Carlos never quite relaxed around him once people started tagging them in stupid ship videos. Googling how do you make someone sign an nda locked in an unfamiliar bathroom, mouth sour with vodka, head spinning. Waking up at 5am in lockdown, Max hyperventilating next to him. The girl from Raya he’d sent flowers to, trying to do the thing properly and be romantic, only to find she’d blocked him ten minutes after he got the Your package was successfully delivered email.

“It wasn’t him,” Lando says, locking his phone and putting it face down on the nightstand. He turns, tangling his legs between Oscar’s and leaning in to nip at his jaw, breathing in the familiar smell of Oscar’s basic aftershave. Oscar's arms tighten around him. His cheeks curve into a smile beneath Lando's mouth. “It doesn’t matter.”

#hopefully this baby ficlet makes up for my tardiness in replying! #think it's unblocked me after a few days of feeling frustrated with writing so hooray for that #apologies to dan i needed a villain #mctwinks #fic meta #answered #mondayverse #prompt fill

[morbidology]

Kayla Holland was a six-year-old girl who loved to go to church and watch her favourite show on television, Barney. She was known as a kind and sensitive little girl who “would help anybody.” Her babysitter described as having a heart of gold. She lived in Mount Morris Township, Michigan, with her mother and two older siblings.

On the 29th of February, 2000, Kayla arrived for her classes at Buell Elementary School. During a change of classes, Kayla was approached by her classmate, Dedrick Owens. While standing in front of Kayla, Dedrick announced “I don’t like you,” before retrieving a .32 handgun from his pocket and shooting Kayla.

The bullet entered her right arm and travelled through a vital artery. As a small, crimson spot spread across her pullover shirt, Kayla said “I’m going to die” to another classmate before falling to the ground. Within half an hour, Kayla was dead. Her mother’s cries could be heard throughout the halls of the hospital.

As it turned out, Dedrick had been living in a crack house operated by his uncle, Jamelle James, after his drug addicted mother was evicted from their home. The crack den was constantly filled with drugs and guns that would often be traded amongst the people that were granted entry.

His father was in jail for violating parole; he had been convicted of cocaine possession with the intent to sell. The gun used in the shooting had been stolen by Jamelle and had been picked up by Dedrick as it sat under a blanket. Several witnesses told police they had seen Dedrick playing with the handgun on several earlier occasions.

Throughout his short life, Dedrick had behavioral issues and was known to kick and hit other classmates. In fact, he had attacked Kayla beforehand and on the day before the shooting, he had attempted to kiss her on the playground and she pushed him away. He later told police he had taken the gun in an attempt to scare Kayla after their playground altercation.

Due to Dedrick’s young age, it was declared that he lacked the ability to form intent and was therefore not charged with murder. Jamelle James, the uncle who owned the gun, pleaded guilty to no contest to involuntary manslaughter and spent two years and five months in prison.

Kayla was the youngest school shooting victim in the United States until the Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting in 2012.

#kayla holland #school shooting

[see-arcane]

Blood of My Blood: The Law's Delay

Shout out to @ibrithir-was-here for putting up with my never-ending goal of overfilling the glorious Blood of My Blood AU with my ramblings and extra shout out to @everchangingfungusthoughts and @animate-mush for tripping me down the slope of Writing Another Text Brick. Specifically via this whole thing.

Summary: Jonathan Harker, now fifteen years deep into his life at Castle Dracula, finds himself the unwilling guest of yet another frightful host and his company. Talk and violence and time tick by.

The sun sinks low.

The dead travel fast.

And a vital Lesson is taught regarding the Law of the land.

Warnings for graphic violence, suicide, and murder.

Jonathan’s head ached.

Partly from the agonized spot at the back of his skull where the cudgel had struck. Mostly from the state of his current company.

They were nomads, he knew, but not Dracula’s men. This lot were too fresh for that. In fact, some wore tailoring that the locals weren’t accustomed to apart from tourists and the occasional city dweller passing through. He wouldn’t bet money on how many were ‘donated’ from past victims and how many were afforded through helping themselves to said victims’ purses and personal cheques. They were a dapper group, whichever the case.

From what he picked up while feigning unconsciousness, there was someone missing from their assembly. Someone’s…paramour? Wife? A young woman close to the presumed leader. Some grousing about superstitious idiots. Counter-grousing about precaution and history and how somebody’s cousin’s friend was slaughtered by the ‘superstitions.’ A third sect was grumbling about how thin Jonathan’s pockets were for a supposed noble, monster or not.

“A half-full purse and a few strips of dried pork don’t particularly line up with your theory, Jacob.”

“Props, idiot. Would some common huntsman be wearing what he wears? Would he have these?”

Jonathan heard the heavy jingle of his set of the castle’s keys. They had taken the ring of them from its chain among a handful of other lightweight treasures. All that and his wedding ring. That would cost them.

“Oh, yes. Of course. Because all the revenants who run a swatch of the Carpathians’ government are surely wandering around with frightful things like jerky and house keys.”

“Are you blind? Do these look like house keys? Half of them look older than the mountains!”

“Well, perhaps that is the ‘prop’ of his property, eh? A fancy set of keys made to look old. They certainly haven’t any rust. It wouldn’t be a terrible gimmick these days. Everyone is a fiend for the local bogeyman or a good haunting. I would do tours with my own castle, dribble a little red sauce on my lip, charge a fee for the thrill and the courtesy of not killing anyone on the way out.”

“You talk like it’s a joke. This, when I was raised in these godforsaken crags, and my own neighbor lost their newborn and its mother in the same night! The father blew his brains out when he found what was left of them in the forest. His forest.” The words were hissed in Jonathan’s direction. “God! If we had known how easy it was to take him by daylight!”

There was a snort. The leader’s voice. Sour.

“You say ‘we’ like you weren’t still in nappies, Jake. Like the castle in question isn’t a fortress on a cliff in the dead center of the mountains, all covered with wolves and your frightful bloodsuckers. What would Mama and Papa do if they knew better back then? March all the way up with the neighborhood and hope they made it in time before sunset? That’s assuming the advised tools of the trade actually mean anything against the bastard in question. If he’s as old as legends claim, throwing himself through a hundred wars’ meat grinders with his head and heart and all his other giblets getting minced, with him still standing after it, who’s to say an axe and stake are enough?”

A kick was delivered to the chair Jonathan sat bound to.

“Assuming this piece of work is said bastard.” Spoken with equal parts resignation and frustration. “I’ll grant he looked a bit off in broad daylight. Sure as hell would pass for a cadaver. But if this is the man who had your slovenly little villages soiling themselves after dark, I’m not impressed.”

Snickers from most of the room. A few grimmer sounds from the believers.

“If you don’t believe us, then—,”

“I believe in precaution, Jake. There are strange things in the world. If we want to believe that talking pile of dust, Vordenberg, who I’ll admit was a museum exhibit in his own right, we had us a near miss back in Gratz. So, fine. We finish this in the fashion of the locals. We can even set the pieces on fire if it makes you happy. Not the point. The point is—,”

A hand caught in Jonathan’s hair and wrenched his bowed head up, making the back of his skull throb anew.

“—we know Katrina was seen with you last, you ghoul.”

Jonathan opened his eyes. It had a noticeably sobering effect on much of the room. His host even eased his hold enough to stop trying to rip Jonathan’s hair out. A glance was spared for the assembled party. Easier now that he wasn’t doing it through his lashes. They really were a well-dressed bunch. One of them even wore the silver watch taken from Jonathan’s pocket quite well, though it clashed somewhat with the dagger he was fiddling with. He’d sprung for a handle with a gold hilt.

“Well?” He received a last yank before the man flung his head against the back of the chair. “Where is she?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know anyone by that name. Could you describe her?”

“Oh, I doubt if she would give her real one out to anyone. But we know you know her, Count.”

Jonathan felt the headache blossoming into a migraine.

“Count?”

“Dracula,” the one called Jacob grated out. He stood close to the table with his hand near the aforementioned tools of the trade. A wood axe. A sharpened garden stake and a sledgehammer. Matches. But he, like the rest of his friends, was content to leave his other hand resting on the pistol at his hip. “Don’t think you can throw your word games around here, you leech. You are not boyar here. You are not even a monster by daylight. Just a man—,”

“A man I am talking to, Jake,” from the leader. He turned back to Jonathan. “You see we have some bias in the retinue. Now, Jake and his cadre believe you are, in fact, the same awful old man who likely played out his Báthory fantasies by killing off a few local rustics for kicks once upon a time. Same white hair, same carcass complexion, and some properly unhealthy-looking windows of the soul. As an aside, you have the same body heat as a slab from the butcher. If you had a chance of living beyond today, I might have recommended you see a doctor about your circulation.

“Because I, like the bulk of the room, am of the belief that you are Count Dracula in the sense that the original Count and some Countess loved each other very much and managed to squat your malformed self out into the world before croaking. And, before departing, father dearest passed on the family tradition of idly killing off whoever was convenient as a little hobby. Am I near enough?”

Jonathan said nothing. Chiefly because he was fighting a wave of nausea, but also because it allowed him to keep his gaze steady. The westward window was visible over his host’s shoulder.

“I asked you a question.”

“I will answer if you tell me how you possibly concluded that a middle-aged man walking in the woods was a nobleman.”

To his surprise, the man revealed his evidence: the tarnished gold clasp of a dragon sitting against a garnet setting. This would also cost them.

“Hard to imagine the average hiker idling around in that corner of the wilds with this particular emblem on his coat.”

“That’s true,” Jonathan nodded. “I am not a hiker or a hunter any more than I’m a count. I am only the castle’s retainer.”

“Ah, well. That’s different. We are men of the people, sir, and we take pride in doing our fellow servile class the courtesy of a quick death. It’s only the aristos and nouveau riche who get the extra effort. Them and bleached out old bastards who go around taking what’s ours. What’s mine.” Jonathan watched the man slide a handsome pearl-handled blade from his pocket. It had a very fine edge. “Case in point, a certain young lady, of the flaxen and doe-eyed variety, being spotted in town with an older man of very unique description, not two days ago. Who she left with in his goddamn caleche.”

The blade came down in a gleaming arc. It sank cleanly into Jonathan’s left shoulder. Jonathan screamed at this and at the blade being flicked out. The steel was wiped clean on his sleeve.

“It should go without saying,” the leader said over Jonathan’s noise, steadily dwindling into hard breaths behind his teeth, “that the locals have a few choice theories about just who and what the man driving those horses is. Human? Dead? Dracula or one of his cohorts? Anyone who’d know for certain is either underground or a living antique themselves. Oh. But they did point out you seemed polite enough, according to most. Not someone anyone is eager to shake hands with, but fair. If you are the old devil of before, the younger generation are relieved you’ve gone mellow with the new century. Well done on the new leaf.”

“They were lying,” Jacob intoned, the picture of exasperation. “We all used to lie about him! He had eyes and ears everywhere! You didn’t mention him aloud unless you wanted to wake up to your child missing or you yourself being drunk dry or taken apart! I’m telling you, Katrina is already gone or worse!” His hand clutched eagerly at the whittled garden stake. “Let us be done with this, Anthony.” 

Anthony gave his blade another cleaning swipe. He opened his mouth—

“The stake is wrong.”

—and closed it. He and the others peered down at Jonathan as he righted himself against the chair. The migraine was marching in circles around his head now, lighting fireworks and banging pans. At least his shoulder was a small distraction.

“Say again?”

“The stake. You haven’t finished the end of it. If you don’t burn the point down, harden it, the wood will just splinter if you don’t get it in one blow. One of you took the flint lighter from my coat, yes? Use that and save yourself the matches.”

The room looked owlishly at him. Jacob and his small band especially. Awkwardly, one of the latter fished out the stolen lighter and began cooking the point with its steady flame.

“See that? He’s already feeling accommodating.” Anthony clapped his palm with heavy chumminess against the wounded shoulder. Jonathan winced appropriately, stealing another squinting glance at the window. “Care to keep in this giving mood, or would you like me to even things out?” The blade pointed airily at Jonathan’s right shoulder.

“No need. I said before, I do not know anyone named Katrina. But I did give a ride to a young woman two days ago. Not ‘flaxen,’ though. Her hair was red.”

Anthony abruptly straightened. The blade twisted and fidgeted in his fingers.

“Red,” under Anthony’s breath. His brow furrowed. “She took the wig too?” There was a low murmur from the less vampirically-invested portion of the group, of that specific tone that declares ‘I told you so’ by vowels alone. Anthony whirled on these members like a viper. Several mouths snapped shut. “Did you lot have something you wished to share? Hmm? I’m all ears.”

Interest increased in the state of each other’s shoes, the floor, the lovely view of the mountains, and the progress of the stake. It was now neatly blackened and free of loose slivers. Jacob stood by with it, toying with it as Anthony had his knife. He kept trying and failing to meet Jonathan’s gaze.

“Ah,” Anthony grinned mirthlessly, “that’s what I thought you said.” The blade flashed. “Now, Count, Retainer, Whoever or Whatever, while you are being forthcoming, is she alive or dead? I confess I might be just as happy with one or the other at this point, so no need to fret over a lie.”

“She was alive the last time I saw her. I dropped her off outside Bistritz,” Jonathan said, clearly recalling turning the horses toward Bukovina. He winced again as Anthony laid a hand on the bleeding shoulder, driving his thumb against the wound as he leaned.

“And? How did the bitch pay for her ride? Did you introduce her to necrophilia or did she just throw my money at you?”

“Neither. I am a married man and you can tell I had no bank vault in my pockets. In any case, I must assume whatever she took from you was fair recompense.” Jonathan felt a shift come through him. The old cold tilt that made him lean three-quarters of the way out of humanity and into something else. Whatever it was that lit his eyes and froze the air around him. That made the entire room shift an unconscious inch back. “Considering the state of her face.”

Anthony’s own countenance squirmed between aggravation, anger, and a surreal flash of embarrassment. As if leaving the girl’s face mottled with patches in shades of plum and charcoal was the equivalent of friends overhearing a marital spat in the next room. The man’s lip curled, making the well-trimmed whiskers twitch.

“Do forgive me if my decorum isn’t up to your standards, sir. I tend to get a touch irate when the thankless sow I’ve been bedding not only comes within inches of blowing our cover over some brat who went and poked his head out at the wrong time, but has the gall to try and resign after a few threadbare months. As if I didn’t scrape the little strumpet out of the gutter with my own hands.” A storm roiled in the man’s face. “Had a whole life of gold ahead of her, getting to play out her idiot actress dreams, and she thanks us by taking off with three hotels’ worth of work. Over a goddamn toddler. But that is the way with women, isn’t it? Always falling apart over a babe.”

“Men as well, in my experience,” Jonathan hummed. His line of sight drifted back to Jacob, whose attention was now firmly split between Jonathan and the view from the west window. Even halfway through spring, the sunsets did still tend to rush in the mountains. Shadows were already starting to stretch.

“Personal experience?” Anthony asked with an appraising glance that saw value in the negatives with Jonathan’s mien. “Is there a little Dracula pup crawling around nursing on the countryside?”

“Oh, no. He’s grown out of crawling. Apart from roaming along the castle walls, when he wants to surprise me. There’s no getting away with it with his mother.” Jonathan swallowed a bitter lump, knowing it had to be heard aloud, “Or his father.” Jacob was looking at him now. This time Jonathan held his eyes as they grew an increment wider. A slight dew of sweat had formed on the young man’s brow. “I only know where they are half the time. But they can always find me.”

Anthony barked an acidic note that tried to be a laugh.

“Is this the part where you tell us you’ll be missed? That there’s some cavalry who will come seeking vengeance? Please spare yourself the storytelling. If you were anything other than a relic living off a skeleton staff you wouldn’t be driving your own horses or puttering around by your lonesome. Really, what we’re doing here is a public good. What’s the loss of one more parasite riding into the twilight of peerage’s relevance?”

“Regrettably, he has thought ahead on that,” Jonathan admitted. “The gold he’s already sitting on is kept partly for emergency seed money, but mostly as a memento. He’s been on top of the capitalistic pulse since 1652 going by the oldest records. Given another decade, I believe he’ll be a magnate in a dozen industries from here to the United Kingdom.” A genuine moue puckered his face. “He calls it investing in the live-stock. No, I didn’t think it was funny either.”

This he addressed to Jacob.

Jacob, who had to set the stake down because his hand was shaking.

Jacob, who had been keeping watch of him and the window and seen how blandly Jonathan greeted the approaching dusk.

Jacob, who had finally taken a closer look at what Jonathan wore under his coat. His coat, worn because he was always cold—a chill that he truly felt. Covering an ensemble of boots, long sleeves, and a high collar. In mid-April. 

“…You still have time,” Jonathan told him gently. “If you had your childhood here, you know there’s time. You still wear your crucifix, yes?” Jacob flicked his gaze up to Jonathan’s. His whole face seemed to shine with perspiration. He did not know what was wrong yet, what piece was missing, but he scented something. “Do you? Any of you?”

Jacob nodded jerkily. The men behind him did likewise. Some fidgeted at their shirts.

“That’s good. It sickens them, did you know? Stings them away from the throat.” Jonathan smiled for him. A sad curl. “Hold it out before you if you like.” He tipped up his chin. Just above the shirt collar was a glimpse of sickish color against the maggot-white skin. Something worse than a bruise. “You can check. Or ask one of your friends. But it does help to know for certain. To have it confirmed.” The smile grew worse in its apology. “There have been no vampire attacks in Transylvania for the past fifteen years. The youngest around here take it all as local legends. Parents’ and grandparents’ fairy tales. Because they grew up without knowing what you do. Without realizing why people stopped disappearing after dark when Count Dracula still rules here. When there are still sharp mouths to feed up in his mountains.”

Jacob gawped openly now. He looked strangely like the boy he might have been fifteen years ago, hearing his neighbors whisper and moan about the latest loss in the night. Fifteen years ago, when a foolish young Englishman had come to Castle Dracula, and everyone had known. No one had seen him again…supposing one belonged to a family who had moved away at last, daring their monstrous master’s ire to save their son.

“Oh, for God’s sake, what is this? Are we playing theatre now?” Anthony and his handful of fellow eye-rollers looked between Jonathan and Jacob as if expecting to spot some invisible party holding up script cards for them. “Jake, if you want to play at slaying the vampire, you are welcome to it. Get your stick and your hammer and have at it. Erik, take the axe.” He waved his blade like an impatient conductor with his baton. “Well?”

Jacob moved forward without the stake. His crucifix was held out as far as the cord would allow.

Then he hooked Jonathan’s shirt collar and pulled it open.

Jonathan hadn’t been able to get a good look at the full state of himself in some while. Occasionally he might steal a glance in a mirror for sale or a clean shop window in town. There was rarely anything good to see as far as his development went. Age was not weathering him the way it would an ordinary man. What should have become the easy creasing of crow’s feet and smile lines had given way to something sunken and grey. More than a few children had come to nickname him ‘Herr Geist’ when he passed through. On one occasion, he’d been approached by an American claiming to be a talent scout for a circus who thought Jonathan could easily bill as, The Walking Corpse.

But that was all just the effect of his face. He hadn’t seen his throat or a clear view of his shoulders in years; the real estate with the greatest number of visits for fifteen years. It had to be at least twice as unpleasant a sight as his forearms, pocked by only one hungry mouth’s nursing. To judge by the shudder of revulsion that jolted the entire room back on its heels, his neck was apparently quite the visual.

To judge by Jacob’s expression, the discolored map of ruined skin and old punctures was his own obituary in all capitals. Nor was it a very peaceful end it spelled out. His eyes rolled up to Jonathan’s like wet marbles. Jonathan could no longer maintain his smile, however somber. There was only condolence in the look.

“I told you. I am Castle Dracula’s retainer. At least, in the sense of a retaining wall. I have played the role of its inhabitants’ personal bloodletting pantry for a quarter of a century. Which would be cause enough to worry. But I am also a married man and that is worse.”

Jacob wobbled on his feet like a sapling in a high breeze. He almost fell over with a cry when the first thunderclap boomed over the cabin’s roof. A horrified look shot to the westward window. Sunset was less than a jagged slit across the mountaintops, already erased in the smear of a rushing storm. Lightning drew livid eyes in the clouds.

“I am sorry. You might have had a chance if you hadn’t been cautious,” Jonathan went on. “There would have been a coin toss if you had simply shot me dead in the forest. I fear I am testing everyone’s patience in that household by keeping to my contract against turning until the twenty-year mark. Special occasion and all that. But if you had gone with a bullet or a slit throat, that would mean that I would be undead by sundown. You would still be slain for trespassing on private property,” he gestured to himself as best he could with his bound hands, “but it would have been tidier. They might even be grateful for ripping off the plaster and booting me over the threshold. A mere snapped neck apiece.  

“Unfortunately, I saw your tools of the trade. I heard your plans for ‘destroying the vampire,’ or the madman playing pretend as such. Heart staked, head removed, burn the body. All very thorough. But because I saw and heard these things, they saw and heard these things. Just as they know your faces now.”

Thunder snarled again. An explosive sound joined with a noon-bright flicker of lightning. Wolves sang a violent song. Close.

Jacob’s friends within the gang were talking in frantic tones to each other. The rationalists of Anthony’s side of the room seemed a touch less comfortable where they stood, grasping at their holsters. Anthony himself looked as if he was waiting to wake from a particularly confusing dream.

Jacob’s eyes were running. Pleading. A man only five short years past being a boy.

Jonathan still could not hold a smile for him, but he spoke in the tone he had for Quincey the time he’d came across a bat with a half-broken neck in the forest. Wings smashed, head cracked open, it had been alive in the worst way. Quincey had been thirteen then, considering himself practically a skip away from adulthood. He had still gone to his Papa, eyes dewy with blood trying not to spill, asking please…please…

Jonathan thought back to how his son had hidden in his coat sleeve while he ended the creature’s pain with a brisk twist.

It was quick, you see? It won’t hurt anymore now, shh, it’s alright, son.

“It’s alright,” he said in the present. “You still have time.” Not much. A few minutes at most. But still, “You’ll be safe from it. From all of it.”

Jacob nodded with a twitch. A puppet on a caught string. His hand trembled as it held up the crucifix again.

“…May I keep this? After?” Jonathan nodded. “Thank you.”

Jacob kissed the Cross and tucked it under his shirt.

“Jake, I swear to God, if you don’t drop this act, I will—,”

Bang.

The sound was almost lost in another thunderclap. Not so for the sound of Jacob’s corpse hitting the floor, the new tunnel in his head oozing a scarlet pond out from under his skull. There was a moment of quiet.

Then the wolves bayed again.

The men bayed too. Curses and questions of equal inanity whirled around the room.

Bang.

The sound of Anthony’s own pistol firing a hole through the ceiling.

“Shut. Up. Every one of you, bite your idiot tongues.” The barrel swung to point at Jonathan’s temple. “He says he has people on the way? He says they’re vampires or werewolves or the Four Horsemen a-riding? Then it would perhaps behoove us to think rather than squeal like women over this,” his shoe struck Jacob’s corpse, “fool’s choice of exit. Coward.” He snapped his fingers at the room. “Come on! Block the windows, set up arms! Move!”

And so they moved. Some men scrambled and shouldered into each other trying to cover the windows. Chairs were broken into pieces for stakes. Guns were unpacked and loaded. Erik held the axe as if his hands were welded to it. Anthony, meanwhile, took one of the unbroken chairs for himself and perched at Jonathan’s side. Something between supreme irritation and a baffled sort of wonder shaped his face.

“I do have to give you credit if this is all improvisation on your part. You should have been booked at the Grand Guignol instead of rotting up here.”

Jonathan watched Erik begin to pace, gripping the axe as though it doubled for a shield.

“That or one of those hypnotist acts. Jake was always a nervous one. An easy mark, ironically enough.”

Jonathan’s peripheral caught on Erik’s figure as he came to a stop by the door. There was no peephole to spy through, yet he inclined his head toward it. His ear was cocked as if listening for something under the thunder and wolves.

“But supposing this amounts to something more than an act, I admit I’m curious to see what these things are supposed to be like outside the pulp on the bookshelves or clogging up the stage. Everyone has their opinion on them these days.”

Erik first frowned, then nodded at the bolted door. The anxious creases of his face began to smooth. A smile tugged his lips up as the axe lowered.

“Are they the same kind of horror show as you?”

“Usually quite the opposite,” Jonathan allowed. “But that is by choice. They make some rather impressive exceptions when the occasion calls for it.”

Erik set the axe down. His freed hands moved the wooden bolt aside and reached for the key on its hook. This didn’t go unnoticed. The nearest man, one of Jacob’s friends, jolted toward him.

“Erik, what the hell are you doing?”

“Didn’t you hear her?” Erik spoke over him in a dreaming lilt. “The girl outside. Lovely voice.” He turned the key in the lock. “She and her brother got lost in the storm.” He turned the knob. “Wouldn’t be right to leave them out th—,”

Bang.

Erik dropped like a felled tree. Jacob’s friend whirled on the rest of the room, his gun and free hand up. He had his crucifix worn outside his shirt now.

“I had to! You know I had to! Jacob and old Vordenberg laid it out, didn’t they? You invite the things in and it’s all over!” He pointed at the door with the new stain on its timber. “One of them is out there right now, trying to worm into our heads, so we’ll let it over the threshold.”

As every eye nailed itself to the man and the door and the second corpse within five minutes, no one paid attention to the fireplace. They had not lit it, having opted solely for lamps. Chimney smoke would give away their location to anyone happening by the area.

Only Jonathan stared at the open stone mouth of the hearth. Watching what crawled out. Watching it watch him.

Anthony swatted Jonathan in his bad shoulder. He looked up and realized he’d been asked a question.

“Pardon?”

“Is he. Telling. The truth. Or did Erik lose his brains over nothing?”

“A vampire cannot cross the threshold of someone’s home without invitation. I think, at a stretch, you could call this temporary base of yours ‘home.’ Strict definition is tricky for travelers. But if you declare this place yours—,”

“We do,” insisted half the room in unison.

“We do,” Anthony echoed, somewhat dryly. “Our lovely domicile, this. And we are strictly against welcoming any visitors tonight.”

“Understandable. But there’s still the trouble of this afternoon. It’s hard to be more insistent about an invitation than resorting to abduction.”

“And? What of it?”

The fireplace continued to purge its contents out and out and out. Cooling the room like a thin and steady gust. Heads finally began to turn as gooseflesh spread and the sight became unignorable: A thick mist had been pouring into the room since Erik’s brains splattered on the door.

“You thought I was Count Dracula. Whether I was him or not, he was the man you wanted here.” Jonathan looked Anthony in the eye. He was not surprised at what he found there as it squirmed and sweated. “I’m afraid you invited him in two hours ago.”

The lamps guttered. One snuffed. Then its neighbor. A third, a fourth. Voices raised in tandem with the weapons.

“Light them!” came the universal cry. “Turn them back up, come on!”

But the room blackened and blackened until it came down to one canny fellow who’d dived for a lantern. The same man who’d pocketed the flint lighter. He lit the lantern and set it shakily on the table, its glow seemingly safer than the lamps’. The lighter was almost as bright in his hand, making a spotlight for himself in the ruddy gloom.

“What? What is it?”

Every head was turned to face him. Every eye wide enough to show its whites, like the stares of startled horses. The man opened his mouth to utter a third query—and stopped.

There was a hand on his shoulder. Cold. Far colder than the man he’d taken the lighter from. Its fingers ended in claws.

Above his head, the firelight caught on what might charitably be called a grin. It was, in fact, the default state of Count Dracula’s jaw in this shape. A medley of the wolf and the bat and the nightmares that are born when children’s imaginations first start to sketch the things that will eat them in the dark.

Jonathan wished he could have closed his eyes for all that followed. He did try. But there was an implicit order sunk into his mind that demanded he watch. Had this been a decade ago, this may have been for the sake of an object lesson.

This is what I can do. This is what I would have done to your little hunting party at the right hour, with your guard down for an instant. This is what I will do to any sheltering cattle you try to run away to with wife and child. Watch, my friend. Watch.

But that was practically a lifetime past. They were coming up on a mere five years until the wait was over and his free will and the final fig leaf of humanity was forfeit. Which suggested that he was a captive audience solely for the fact that an audience was desired. There was some artistry to it all, in a medieval sense. Some of the acts performed with the makeshift stakes and the barrels of guns and certain repurposed bones reminded Jonathan of old woodcuts left out for him to see once upon a time, back in that first summer alone with the castle’s Master.  

By the time one of the men died choking on his own severed arm, the rest of the lot stopped shooting and herded themselves to the door, desperate. To their relief, there was no vampire at the threshold. They fled.

A heartbeat passed before the screaming began anew. Gunfire mingled with it. The screaming dwindled down and down, the choir thinning to a single shriek that ended on a terrible sound. Wet and crunching. Wolves were heard soon after.

Anthony had not moved from his position behind Jonathan’s chair. He’d resumed his grip on his hair, this time holding his blade just below the Adam’s apple.

“If you don’t have a head,” Anthony panted at the Count, now busy picking gristle from the spades of his nails, “you can’t be undead. The plays make a lot of fuss about staking the heart, but this?” He tugged Jonathan’s head back another inch and pressed the blade’s edge until the skin broke. “I figure it’s a fair bit more vital. I am a practiced man at my profession and quick when I need to be. You want him in one piece instead of two, you leak yourself out the door, call off your pets, and I’ll send him on his way come sunrise.” Though he couldn’t see him, Jonathan was certain the man was trying to smile. “If you’re amenable, perhaps we can even get a silver lining out of this whole thing.”

Dracula sucked a piece of sinew out of his thumbnail.

“I am accustomed to getting my hands dirty. While I’ve been in the habit of leading assorted hapless dregs around, I can easily see myself following someone worth respect. Your friend here indicated he’s on the edge of retirement anyway, and I imagine you could do with someone to step into the role. Or add to the ranks.”

Dracula busied himself with scanning the floor. He plucked up the silver watch still chained to a torso that was twisted like a wrung washcloth. A scowl was spared upon retrieving the key ring from a puddle of a head. Then the pouch containing Jonathan’s allowance. He deposited each bit of treasure found on the table. The last thing he discovered was Jonathan’s wedding ring. He seemed to ponder flicking it aside, but saw Jonathan watching. The ring was dropped in the pile the way one might discard a clump of dirt.

“Well?” from Anthony. “Do you talk or not?”

“I do,” from the Count. “Though not usually to vermin. Especially ones who raid my pantry.”

“Honest mistake on our part. I hadn’t realized you were the one-in-a-thousand legend that isn’t just the fumes of an invented ghost story.”

“I see.” Dracula bent and retrieved the stake that had its point burned. It left the holster of a man’s sternum with a damp sound. “And this too was a mistake?”

“Just trying to placate the skittish sorts in the party. You saw how Jake was.”

“I did.” The Count tapped the stake’s point against his chin, pondering. “In fact, I think I recall a face like his. A sailor I met once. He took to the sea, having no bullet in reach.” He leveled the stake at Anthony’s head. “You called him a coward for this, yes?”

“Am I wrong?”

“There is a fine line between cowardice and wisdom,” Dracula shrugged. “It moves more than you would think. Little Jacob was wise tonight, if sadly mistaken in his target. He was not the first of his type. Likely not the last. The same goes for you, vermin. You, who squeak and chitter about preying upon the predator, and then try to sell yourself to the cat.” Though much of his face had reset to a human shape, the Count’s teeth remained a bristling forest of white needles when he grinned. “I have had this land in my jaws for half a millennium. I have not gone a single century without your like slinking underfoot, thinking to kiss my cape and offer a tithe of others’ throats to win my favor. My power.”

“Way of the world, isn’t it? Strong bows to stronger. What makes this cadaver,” another jerk on Jonathan’s hair, another throb in his skull, “so special? Better resumé? Seasoned arteries?”

“A number of things.” Another shrug, a twirl of the stake like a toy. “He does so hate to hear it anymore. It has been so long since any kind of praise heartened him and age has made him shy. But he cannot shush me, so I can say he does far more than bleed, be it himself or his victims of old. He certainly has a more impressive history than robbing and gutting tourists for a living, and so is far more attuned to the Law of this land than any other. Not the yapping dogs of mortal authorities. Not your jailor or judge or bureaucrat. Not even those of the sciences, such as they are.”

Thunder cracked and lightning danced. The Count’s eyes burned brighter than the lantern.

“He knows that I am Law in these mountains. That my will, my word, and my want order all that is here. He knows that there is no escaping consequence for trespassing upon what is mine. But.” The Count clapped the stake into his open palm with the joviality of a cruel teacher with his yardstick. “Beyond all this, he is something which guarantees his value over yours or any other’s. He warned you himself.” The jagged grin turned almost saccharine. “He is a married man. And you have kept him out far too late for his spouses’ liking.”  

Anthony shifted behind the chair. The grip on Jonathan’s hair shuddered a moment as if suddenly repulsed to be touching it.

“God. Even the monsters are in on that depravity up here?”

“Depravity is a pastime of mine. But I am not so low as to debase myself by touching filth like yours.” So saying, the Count raised both hands in mock surrender. “I shall not waste my time or teeth on you.”

“Fine. Fine, you say that and I can believe you. Once you’re out the door.”  

The door, still open.

The door, which Anthony had not dared to look at for fear of taking eyes off the Count.

The door, full of mist.

“Ah, but I cannot go yet. There is a show I have been so looking forward to. You mentioned the Grand Guignol. Such a promising establishment! I plan to see it in person some night. But for now, we must content ourselves with your meager scene.”

Anthony opened his mouth to ask something. Say something. Maybe he was just drawing breath. Whatever the reason, his mouth froze in a voiceless O of epiphany.

There was a hand on his shoulder. Cold.

It distracted him from the other, decorated with its simple gold band, locking around the man’s forearm; the one responsible for holding the blade.

Snap.

Anthony’s mouth dropped open wider, belting a screech that left Jonathan’s ears ringing. Then the man was torn away from the back of the chair and all the noise of him was pinned and shrilling on the floor. Laced over the ensuing sounds of his dismantling, both vocal and visceral, was a voice that threaded through the mind more than the ear:

He cut you. Twice he cut you.

“I’ll be fine, Mina.” Said because there was concern in the statement. There was. But, more pertinently, there was the accusation. The condemnation. The citing of the crime.

He cut you. He meant to kill you. He meant to unmake you out of reach forever.

Anthony made a new and piercing noise. The kind just an octave short of a dog whistle. Jonathan winced.

“And he failed to. It’s alright, Darling.”

“Hardly,” from the Count, now turning Anthony’s abandoned seat around to face the slaughter. “You are too soft as always, my friend. Even when it comes to a rightful culling. Or do you think they deserved to live after their crimes?”

“I think this was excessive.” Jonathan withheld a sigh as Dracula hooked the back of his chair, hoisting and turning it so that his back was no longer to Mina’s work. She seemed to have an innate understanding of what could be taken apart and to what degree, the better to leave Anthony still clinging miserably to a thread of life. “And I also think I’m ready to have these off.”

He flexed his hands and feet as far as they could go against the ropes.

“Have what off?” Dracula asked as he swiped a finger into the shoulder wound. A child stealing cake icing. He clicked his tongue. “This would happen just after a feeding. All this guilt-free cuisine and your knights-errant are too full to enjoy the banquet. A pity. Have you eaten?”

“If I had my hands free, I could get my—,” Jonathan pursed his lips as Dracula brandished a bouquet of the retrieved dried pork. Deciding against waiting for the mesmer to prod him into it, he opened his mouth a crack. Bit. Chewed.

“Do you suppose the Grand Guignol has concessions? Any actual blood used in place of the stage swill?”

Jonathan swallowed. A nauseous feat, considering the piece Mina removed from Anthony in the same moment. 

“I doubt any director is so dedicated, Sir.” Anthony was growing quieter now. There wasn’t enough air in him. Jonathan could tell by the glimpse of lung through his ribs. “Does Quincey know about this?”

No. It was blocked from him. He believes we are out on business.

Crunch. Twist. Rip.

Anthony went silent and still at last. Dracula afforded this a light round of applause.

“Not wholly a lie, you will grant. Though I suspect the boy thinks it was code for a more,” the Count made a face caught between glee and disdain, “intimate excursion. Which should be an easy enough ward against any prying you fear from him. You may have made a sickening romantic of the boy, but there is never a child alive or undead who wishes to know what his parents get up to out of his sight.” The Count craned his head, squinting at what was left of Anthony. “Did you come across it?”

That depends. Where’s mine?

Mina stood with the dragon clasp in one red hand and her other held out and open. Dracula idled a moment or three longer than was necessary before the stolen wedding band was produced. Clasp and ring were thrown rather than exchanged. Jonathan had each reattached to him. Though the Count spared a curse in three different languages at finding the coat not only mangled at the shoulder, but torn where the clasp had been ripped away.

“As if they could not understand the mechanics of a brooch? You should have pinned this in his eye.”

You should have fed him the stake. Look at this.

Mina touched the nick on Jonathan’s throat.

I know you count my wound as a blessing, but I would think you’d not risk losing his voice.

“I had to stall while you cleared up the leftovers outside. I may as well have left you with the boy.”

And lost your show and your diversion.

“You—,”

“I cannot feel my feet anymore,” Jonathan announced. “And I would like to stitch and plaster myself before we head out. Whatever Quincey may think we’re up to, it will be easier to lie without me looking like I just left,” he gestured as best he could at the room, “this.”

A minor miracle came and went as there was no suggestion made that they simply lay a new bite apiece over the wounds. The ropes were cut, what was filched was returned to its owner, give or take a little scavenging of their own. Jacob and the others were left with their tokens of the Son. Outside, the wolves went on enjoying the meal Mina had left for them. Up until a titanic thunderbolt struck the cabin and sent them scrambling. The building went up like a great bonfire.

“I know, my friend, you were clearly looking forward to digging more graves. But you must admit my method is quicker and far more thorough in erasing evidence.” The nettling cadence waned. “I suggest you avoid wandering away from the castle for some time. Considering your state.”

Not while dressed in this, at the very least. It’s clear this insignia draws as much ire as it deters.

“A fluke,” the Count huffed. “Such degenerates as those are rare. The chattel know better. Besides, the folly was in drawing attention by playing Good Samaritan to the wrong victim and her maudlin pleading. Something else to keep in mind.” Jonathan tried and failed to keep his head down as the hook landed in his mind and turned his eyes up. Dead blue against burning red. “At least for as long you insist on holding to your last few years as…this.”

Jonathan bit into his last strip of the dried pork. Loudly.

“Five years. That’s all.”

“Four and a half.”

“Four and a half I mean to savor. In-between being waylaid.” The careful placidity fractured as his free hand drifted up to the back of his skull. Still aching. “I think I shall finish off the Golden Mediasch tonight.” His hand was plucked away by Mina’s own, her chilled fingers seeking out the tender place under his hair. Her fingertips felt the scabbing patch.

I should have skinned him.

“You are welcome to stroll through the fire and do so,” the Count hummed. But his smile stopped short of his eyes and his own hand swept Mina’s away to thumb at the ache. “The Mediasch is barely more than fruit juice. You will want something stronger.”

Jonathan didn’t argue. Nor did he protest when the horses of his ex-hosts were commandeered for the return to the castle. Quincey thrilled at the sight of them almost as if they had arrived riding wolves. Was this the business they went on? Tunet and Pretekár were quite new—and solid obsidian as the horses before had been—but it was good to see them gain more company. And they’d picked piebald this time!

“They’re beautiful. Do they have names yet?”

“Thought we’d leave that to you,” Jonathan managed lightly enough. Or nearly so. Quincey frowned at him, nose pricking at the smell of dried blood.

“Papa, are you alright? You—,” his eyes landed on the coat, “—what happened?”

 “Just a quick lesson from our new friends about minding their moods. I was tossed and landed in a less than opportune pile of rocks.”

Quincey scowled at that and scrutinized the stallions.

“Which one? I’m not riding him. Or petting him, even.” He considered. “At least for a month.”

“Seems a cruelty too far. I suppose I just won’t reveal the guilty party.”

“And what if I get on the wrong horse and I get tossed and land on a rock somewhere? What then?”

“Then you will get back up and be perfectly alright. Or am I misremembering the night you fell asleep on the side of the north turret and fell through half a tree on your way down?”

“Yes, well. They were fairly soft branches.” Quincey fought and lost the attempt to keep his smile up. “Papa?”

“Yes?”

“The horses weren’t the actual business, were they? You could have gotten them yourself.”

“That’s true. The horses were only picked up afterward. Quite a bargain, not counting the lumps.”

“Then what happened?”

Jonathan looked at his son. His Sweetheart, though the boy had finally started to bud into that stage that visits all adolescents, demanding a shedding of childhood names. There was a dusting of stubble barely fringing his jaw and his mother’s own whorls outgrowing the edges of his last haircut. But the eyes were still a child’s. Bright and molten as the sun at dusk.

“…There was some trouble two days ago. I aided a girl trying to leave behind some people who hurt others. Who hurt her. They had some less than scrupulous plans for the future and had already bypassed local authorities to get where they were by the time I crossed them. So I reached out for some assistance.” And, because he felt the air prickling with observation, “Your Father was very keen to educate them on the difference between the laws of other lands versus the Law of his land. And your Mum has always been of a rescuer’s bent as a rule. So.”

“So Mum and Father caught them? Together?” The sunset eyes gleamed at the prospect.  

“They did,” Jonathan nodded.

“Were they bandits?”

“Of a sort. But they won’t hurt anyone now.” Jonathan watched from the corner of his eye how the boy, so near to a young man, glowed over the notion of being a son to heroes.

He got to the tower before he felt his eyes begin to sting as sharply as his head.

#I'm beginning to think I simply cannot go more than 0.5 days without making a novella #oops #anyway enjoy the One and Only scenario in which Dracula and Mina would willingly work together on literally anything: #Their Damsel/Jonathan is in peril. Time to do some mauling about that. #anyway #jonathan harker #mina harker #dracula #dracula bad ending #blood of my blood #my writing

[plutoisaghoul]

Team Red POV Summary of Purgatory Day 1:

(Attention: Very Long post this is literally a summary of 6 and a half hour of Vods. I‘m delirious now but I hope you enjoy.)

• Team Leader: Philza Team Name: Team Bolas??!??

• Team gets spawned in a Savannah Biome

• They seem determined to win at the beginning but also are very aware of the fact that the odds are stacked against them with the amount of players missing

• They break out of the dome/spawn area to find more resources

• Slimcicle gets killed first by BBH, he was trying to find the volcano location on his own, and his descent into madness begins slowly

• Phil travels by boat to different spots and finds the furnace glitch also the terrain „glitch“

•Jaiden, Cellbit, Foolish and Baghera are gathering resources on the main island

•Carre is off also gathering a ton of resources (he did hold the one braincell for most of the time) and doing his thing

•All of them besides Carre hide their location on the map

•Slimecicle developed a skill in espionage by Discord Voice Call Chat Hopping

•Finds out that Blue Team is gunning for Carre because he was the only member of Team Red that didn’t hide his location on the map and he was on his own

•Spanish speaking Cellbit enters and warns him about it so he hides his location

•They decided to the Good and Bad Chest strat and Carre return with a bunch of resources for the team

•Foolish started a wheat farm that got destroyed when BBH and Tubbo(I believe?) attacked the camp

•Both BBH and Tubbo got killed by Team Bolas and the smell of blood is lingering in the air

•They are more then ready to kill at this point in time

•Things are looking up for them for a period of time as they come up with the plan of going to the volcano dome and essentially trying the Technoblade „making Bingo into a PVP game“ strat

•Their main target is Team Blue because Team Green (as far as my knowledge goes off of other livebloggers) have no sense of direction and can’t find people

•Carre is the PVP MVP of Team Red and stacking up the kill count

•Slimecicle is the designated Man in the Chair for Team Red and actively trying too figure out how the percentage system works with the help of Cellbit

•They figured out that when it comes to the Global Tasks (the tasks that you submit to the Volcano Dome) are only really useful if hold it last when the server closes or you level up the tasks to the point where it becomes increasingly more impossible for the other teams to submit the amount of items needed (so you technically still hold it when the server closes)

•Once one of the Global Tasks is submitted they reset in about 8 to 10 minutes with an increased amount of items (kind of like villager trades work)

•They take out a view members of Team Blue and steal the Resources needed for some Global Tasks

•They decided to camp the dome for the cool down of the tasks meanwhile Foolish, Baghera and Phil are trying to farm for the Carrots, Potatoes and Apple tasks

•Charlie got caught spying on Team Blue but still got the vital information that they need to also gather the farming tasks

•Thinks started to look up for Team BOLAS??!??

•Charlie decided to spy on Blue again although he already got caught once

•Baghera finally got an Apple from an Oak tree (I don’t know if it would be possible to craft apple trees on Purgatory or if the decided to remove the mod for that but it would have been infinitely easier to bone meal the apple tree than punching all the leaves from oak trees) meanwhile Foolish mistakes a golden nugget for a potato (This quest is kicking their ass real hard)

•Cellbit got killed by a Nightmare Stalker Phil got fucking flashbacks to the nightmare with Chayanne and Tallulah

•They are also constantly running out of food too

•They find out that you can’t claim the missions you have already done on the Global Tasks

•Phil describes to the Team the Cheese Strat of the default terrain and ship looting

•Carre reports an enemy looting Cellbits dead body it was Jaiden though lol

•Team Red says everybody has to die even Missa (Missa is on blue team but hopped into Red teams call on Discord to tell them that he loves them)

•They also talk about how stressed they all are like they think it’s cool but it’s stressful(I think it’s first day jitters of being in the Purgatory)

• „This event is going to bring out the worst in me“ - Charlie Slimecicle

Phil like a menace in the background YES *evil laugh*

•They talk about the fact that their team is actually not THAT bad at Pvp because they have Carre, Phil and Foolish and Cellbit talks about training Pvp

•Bad arrives at the Dome they are not concerned though

•Charlie designated Man in the Chair is running the numbers on the percentages and reports to the team with not good news: „I think it’s who holds it at the end“

•“So it appears that the meta is cocks“

•They are making the Strat of grinding a shit ton of the materials needed for the Global Task, figure out when the Tasks run out, and turn in the materials when they are about run out of time to hold it in the end

•Blue Team arrives at Global the voice call turns into panic (it’s Tubbo, Pierre and BBH)

•Foolish gets frustrated at the lack of potato drops by killing Zombies

•Charlie is infiltrating Blue Teams Voice Call again while he’s malewifing loaves of bread at there Spawn area

•Blue Teams Voice Call reveals that they are trying to engage Red in a fight at the Dome

•Tina let it slip that it’s a good thing that Bad, Tubbo and Pierre are out at the sphere distracting them from coming to their base and possibly destroy the farms (That slipped over Charlie’s head)

•Tubbo catches Charlie in their VC

•meanwhile the rest of them seem to be grinding for the tasks still

•Roier jumps into Red Teams VC to get their coordinates (Green Team is stacked with people good at PVP but very bad at directions) Cellbit replies with „Just follow your heart“

•Carre and Roier seem to be insulting each other? (I don’t know Spanish that well but since there was a lot of Pendejos in the sentences it seems like it)

•Baghera just now figured out that she can make an apple tree (seems like they didn’t remove that mod on Purgatory)

•Blue Teams turning in some tasks they decided to engage in a fight

•Pierre was killed by Foolish he is stealing the 12 potatoes off his dead body

•Blue Team retreated after that

•Foolish decided to bone meal the potatoes so he has more than the 12 needed for the task to be able to grow more

•Charlies voice is fucked up and Baghera is almost finished with the apples

•Charlie after making a bunch of bread back at Spawn decides to rejoin the Team at the Sphere to drop of the food and water for the rest of them

(Authors Note from me we are incredibly near the descent into madness of Team Red everything has been pretty chill so far but things are going to ramp up quickly for them)

(( also I just noticed that Baghera did the apple quest near their base so that’s totally my fault for getting it wrong))

•Jaidens Chat calls Charlie „Momcicle“

•A Death Message in Ingame Chat of Pierre appears and Baghera decides to teach the team the word in French for „when you’re happy that someone has bad luck“ (In German that would be ‚Schadenfreude‘ or being ‚schadenfroh‘ which literally translated into English would be ‚damage happy‘ FUNFACT)

•They are talking about the fact about how good they are doing right now

•After being lost Green Team arrived at the Sphere the VC turns into panic mode

•This is where they start to unravel

•The first to be killed is Carre he was slain by Roier

•Etoiles and Bagi are trying to flank Jaiden

•Etoiles is actively chasing Jaiden

•Meanwhile Baghera was getting chased by Tubbo on her way back to the Sphere with the apples but Charlie got there in time

•Cellbit was killed by Fit also he ran out of food

•Fits trolling him in InGame Chat (the 2b2t player never left) and Cellbit is actually trying to get a 1v1 out of him

•Green Team is geared up and ready to get blood on their hands (they seem to have enchanted gear and Diamond armor)

•Phil’s just gathering resources back at Spawn the only members left at the Sphere are Foolish and Jaiden (who is getting tailed by Etoiles)

•Charlie was killed by a Zombie while fighting Tubbo

•Tubbo seems to have this Fish boots that make you swim insanely fast

•Etoiles finally killed Jaiden but gives her probs in InGame Chat because she was not missing her jumps while running away from him

•Charlie is grieving his loaves of bread

•Everybody is now back at Savannah Spawn

•Charlie is trying to get back to his dead body

•Tubbo interrupts Charlie’s travel and tells him that Bad might have taken his MDA (the interface where you can check your personal tasks and the global tasks wherever you are) and is trying to convince Charlie to let him kill him for the points

•Carre came to help him or was trying to get to his dead body (I couldn’t tell) but got killed by Tubbo Charlie tried to loot Carres dead body but got killed by Tubbo as well

•They are talking about if it could be that Green and Blue teamed up on them and that Blue is close to their spawn

•The disaster thing pops up and Jaiden says „I hope they are suffering I hope they burn“ it was indeed the Burning Sun disaster

•Charlie and Baghera are in the hot tub again aka the water pool near their furnaces at spawn

•Jaidens buying Strawheats and decides to become the King Of Pirates (it’s the One Piece Quote)

• Baghera „Wait the merchant house is burning“

Charlie „Honestly fuck them“

•They are talking about possibly coordinating their stream times

•Slimecicle gets murdered in cold blood by BBH while he was chilling in the pool

•Foolish „Damn Blue fuck off go to Green“

•Charlie „I‘m going to verbally assault them“

•Charlie gets killed by Tubbo

•Baghera gets killed by Bad and Tubbo kills Charlie again

•They focused on Phil and are double teaming him he gets away though by Cellbit covering for him

•Meanwhile a familiar Death message pops up in InGame Chat „Slimecicle was slain by BadBoyHalo“

(Quick Authors Note: I‘m pretty much against Spawn Camping people that’s just not cool behavior in my opinion. And after the first day ended everybody that was still awake chilled in a call and they pretty much agreed that the teams should have safe area where they can’t be killed so I guess we will find out if this thing changes.)

•Tubbo died from falling from the tree that he fucking pearled up to (that was on fire from the Burning Sun disaster) I guess that’s fucking karma

•“Hey Phil I‘ve got something for you my beautiful baby boy.“ Charlie as he tosses him bread

•They are marking Team Greens Base and are giving Phil (who is the only one that hasn’t died yet) the apples that they looted from Tubbos Body so he can run to the Sphere to do the global apple task

•Charlie decides to join Phil on his mission „Phil this is fucked up Phil. You don’t do this to a roleplayer“

•Tbh they sound so defeated right now and the spiral into madness has started

•“You know what I did? I tried to take a minute to myself and I hung out in the pool and you know what happened BadBoyHalo showed up and killed me with an enchanted diamond axe. I HAD NOTHING I HAD ONE SEED IN MY INVENTORY.“

•“I‘m gonna be real 2 weeks of this is going to destroy us.“ - Phil

„I‘m going to be honest with you Phil 5 hours already did. this.“ - Charlie

•Phil is suggesting that they should take this event as it goes and not stress about it too much. (They are talking about the timelimit the server has and how to optimize their time online with the tasks and stuff)

•Charlie completely done with his life „And guys remember to have fun“

•They are also talking about the fact that before the event started they talked about how they are not going to kill each other and as soon as they were thrown into the situation NOONE absolutely NOONE hesitated to murder each other

•Bads back at their base what is his deal really

•Foolish: „Friendships are going to end.“

•Baghera jokingly: „I always hated BadBoy. He was never my best friend.“

•Jaiden: „He took my goddamn strawhat.“

Meanwhile Foolish: „I want to kill him so badly.“

•Both Foolish and Charlie want to know where Blue Base is too possibly give them a taste of their own medicine

•“I‘m actually going to become toxic. This sucks man.“ -Charlie

•Charlie and Phil arrived at Sphere and Green is still there btw Charlie’s glitched on Phil’s screen and is still in the swimming animation (it looks so dumb I‘m actually crying out of laughter)

•Charlie got pushed by Mouse and died of fall damage

•Phil tried to gun for Bagi but Etoiles is chasing him now

•This is not the 1v1 we wanted between Codebreakers

•Also he died to Etoiles but Fit, Bagi and Etoiles were actively chasing Phil

•Fit is trying to „taunt“ Phil in InGame Chat but Phil still got the apple quest and Phil congratulated them on their 0.0002% gains

WELCOME TO THE QUOTE SECTION YOU HAVE ARRIVED AT YOUR DESTINATION OF MADNESS BEYOND BOUNDS

„Guys. I hate everyone that isn‘t you guys.“ - Charlie

„I don‘t think I can go to Brazil and look FitMC into his eyes.“ - Charlie

„This could end up in a devastating snowball.“ - Foolish

„It wasn‘t about the eggs? LISTEN I DON‘T THINK IT WAS ABOUT THE EGGS WHEN BADBOYHALO KILLED ME IN MY OWN FUCKING HOME, IN THE POOL. THAT WASN‘T ABOUT THE EGGS. THAT WAS ABOUT NO FUCKING EGGS. WHAT WAS THE POINT? WHAT WAS THE POINT OF TURNING MY HOT TUB INTO MY OWN FUCKING BLOOD.“ - Charlie

„AND WE CAN‘T EVEN PLACE BLOCKS ON HALF OF OUR OWN FUCKING LAND BECAUSE MY OWN BODIES RIDDLE THE YARD“ - Charlie

„Are you okay Charlie?“ - Baghera in a very concerned voice

„They put Forever and Etoiles, Tubbo and Pierre on the same fucking Team and than there’s me I don’t even know how to make a fucking bookshelf“ - Cellbit

„EVERYTHING I HAVE HAS BEEN GIVEN TO ME. SLIME ARMOR? I DON‘T EVEN KNOW IF THAT‘S MADE OUT OF REAL SLIME. I DON‘T KNOW WHAT MAKES THAT. I DON‘T KNOW ANY OF THIS SHIT. I HAVEN‘T ENCHANTED A SINGLE THING AND TO BE HONEST WITH YOU I THINK I ONLY EVER GOT UP TO LEVEL 3 BECAUSE THAT‘S HOW MANY XP LEVELS IT TAKES TO WARP TO SPAWN AND WHEN I GET KILLED AT SPAWN I HAVE TO BEG ADMINS TO TELEPORT ME BACK.“ - Charlie

„WE ARE IN SURVIVAL MODE AND I‘M FAILING“ - Charlie

„Can we get Spectator Mode and just be Cameraman and watch other people.“ - Cellbit

„I want you to know that was a half bit.“ -Charlie

„THER WAS A BIT IN THERE.“-Jaiden

„I think we are the cursed team.“ - Baghera

„Well, I don’t feel particularly blessed Baghera.“ - Charlie

„Hey Baghera, do you want to start a new survival world and start a Let’s Play.“ -Charlie

*after Cellbit dies to a Skelewag

„Yo Cellbit do you just wanna beat the shit out of each other?“ - Charlie

*immediately starting a stick fight till death

*Phil is off trying to loot shipwrecks to at least get some stuff, WHEN THE ADMINS START TROLLING AND SPAWN IN SKELEWAGS

„I CAN SEE WHERE HE IS PLACING THE EGGS HE IS RIGHT CLICKING THE MAST.“ - Phil

*meanwhile Charlie in the background

„CAN YOU JUST / SLIMECICLE HAPPY“

„I just want them to come back and kill us again. I want more reasons to be upset.“ - Foolish

*Cellbit and Charlie in InGame Chat

„I can‘t wait for Wilbur and German to log in ur fucked.“

„Hatsune Miku is going to rip you a new one“

„They hate us. They hate us. Quackity hates us. Maybe just kill my egg, I don’t care. I‘m not having fun anymore.“ - Baghera

„Where are you guys? Can we just huddle in a circle for the last 20 minutes.“ -Jaiden

*The random disaster thing pops up on the screen

„HOLY SHIT. KILL YOURSELFS. KILL YOURSELFS.“ - Jaiden

*They start just killing themselves on the fireplace near Spawn

„Holy Shit look at this body pile.“ - Jaiden

„Someone needs to pull on one end and untangle it like a Spaghetti.“ - Jaiden (They are talking about becoming smooth brain)

„SPAWN AN ENDER DRAGON ADMINS. FUCKING DO IT, NOW I WANT AN ENDER DRAGON.“ - Jaiden

„You guys If we all just decide to throw in the towel. We can have ourselves a good time. I‘m already there.“ - Foolish

„I will survive on a real island for 2 weeks before I do this shit.“ - Charlie

„I HAVE THE CHOICE TO EAT THIS FUCKING POTATO. AND NOT PLANT IT AT ALL. I‘M EATING THE FUCKING POTATO. IT‘S GONE.“ - Jaiden

„I couldn‘t think of a better group than you guys to be stuck in this shit with.“ - Phil

—————-

And now for the rest of the streams they decided to build a Village and become the Villagers others can come and trade Emeralds for goods.

All of them also confessed stuff on the roof of their first house that Foolish was building. Like Cellbit confessed to killing the Fed Workers and Jaiden confessed that she would kill everybody for Cucurucho.

They also decided to become a Cannibal Group and start growling and hissing at other players that come near them so they just back away automatically

They started to sing some songs and sat together and talked about the 1st day of the event.

#qsmp #qsmp purgatory #qsmp team red #qsmp team bolas #q!philza #q!cellbit #q!foolish #q!baghera #q!jaiden #q!slimecicle #q!carre