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#lacie is dead and gone
miam0re · 6 months
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Did Scaramouche really stuff your panties in his pocket?
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Warnings: NSFW, Fem!Reader, Bullet Points, Masturbation, Underwear stealing/sniffing/licking/sucking (man is obsessed), Perverted thoughts, fantasizing of cumming in you, more stuff I probably missed.
Notes: This marks the first post of my Brother's Best Friend series!! I'll try to write whenever I can, probably keep one post about just the man and then another post about him with you and well any other asks you guys drop in my inbox!!
Brother's Best Friend Masterlist
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Scaramouche is such a pervert, really. Ever since the first day he came to your house to play video games with your brother, he’s got an eye for you, the pretty little sister, walking to the kitchen in your comfortable shorts.
He’d shamelessly stare and get smacked on the head by your brother but doesn’t care because anything is worth seeing the outline of your nipple show through your graphic tee. How naughty of you, roaming around braless. Were you tempting him?
Wanting to use the washroom is an excuse, he just wanted to find the laundry basket before the clothes went for washing. And how recognizable your panties were, with their lacy trimming and that dark spot of your discharge. He’s quick to grab them and stuff them in his pocket before anyone gets suspicious of how long he’s gone. How he smirks when, through the walls, you complain to the wind about another pair of panties gone missing.
Back home, in the dead of the night, he fists his slick cock, nose pressed into your panties as he inhales the intoxicating scent of your body. He lets his perverted thoughts roam free, imagining your hands tracing his cock and thumbing his tip. Are you an inexperienced virgin? Or do those doe eyes of yours conceal a whore behind them? Fuckkkk he wants to know so bad.
Eyes darkened and rolling to the back of his skull, he picks up speed and shoves your underwear in his mouth, whether to shush his moans or to get a taste of your essence, even he cant comprehend in his fucked up state. He slobbers and sucks the fabric, gulping any bit of your taste he can, and the way he’s releasing feral moans at the flavour and bucking into his hand, ready to explode into orgasm-
No, no, he doesn’t want to cum on himself. His dirty fantasies would feel incomplete if he doesn’t cum on you. But for now he’ll have to satisfy himself with covering his red tip with your now saliva soaked panties and thrusting into them. The room is steaming, sweat rolling down his body as his tongue lols out, watching how his dick twitches and spurt string of thick cum on your underwear.
If it was you he was cumming in, he’d make you wear those very panties and walk back home to your brother, as if everything is perfectly normal and you’re not leaking cum into the very panties he drenched with his cum and spit.
Fuckk, his fingers start to move again as his dick rises with an erection once more.
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762 notes · View notes
honestsycrets · 8 months
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querido i: a reward of 2099 | outlaw!miguel o'hara x reader
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❛ pairing | outlaw!miguel o'hara x reader
❛ type | doubleshot; chapter is safe for work.
❛ summary | it's been a long time since you've been with miguel o'hara. when your daughter gabriella finds his wanted poster, life starts to unravel.
❛ tags | mention of murder and minor character death, hidden pregnancy, western au, spanish not translated, outlaw!miguel, baby-mama!reader, slight cursing, angst, threats.
❛ sy's notes | here's to listening to the civil wars' devil backbone one too many times. i needed a break from filling most requests, so i only incorporated one very lightly in this piece.
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“Mamá, 2099 is a strange amount for a reward, isn’t it?”
Your daughter was a mischievous girl just like her father. She tore down the poster that was tacked up on the homely post office’s bulletin board as you gathered the weekly post. Coming into town was always a bit of a laborious task. With goods to gather and a little girl to socialize, you made it into town once every week.
"Sure is," Jackson the postman said.
“Thank you,” you plucked mail from the man’s dark hands. “I’ll see you next week.”
He wore a warm, kind smile. Working in the post office, he always seemed to be well-versed in what was going on in everyone’s life. His coal-black eyes shone warmly at you.
“Take care now, there’s wild men out there. What with Peter gone and all, you sure you girls will be okay out there? Rio’d sure put up Gabi and you at the hostel.”
Gabi scrunched up her face tight like a screw being twisted into a board.
“That’s real sweet of you to worry but I’m sure we’ll be fine. We've been out there nine years now. I’ll see you next week, sí? ” You tucked your post into a basket that dangled on your elbow, pulling long and heavy skirts to avoid trampling them with your boots as you opened the door.
“See ya then!”
Gabriella stepped out first, pulling on your lace sleeves as a cue for her delayed answer. She wouldn’t butt into a conversation, but she always seemed to hold her questions for a better time. You sighed, looking at the pale wooden buildings. Saloon, feed store, bank, and the occasional hostel. Over the last decade, the town seemed to flourish, bringing all manner of people to your once tiny Spanish town.
“I suppose they didn’t wanna give the extra coin out, Gabi.”
She looked back to the paper in her hands.
“Wanted dead or alive. Notorious badman Miguel O’Hara, 38, native of Nueva… why that’s here, mama!”
Your blood chilled. Congealed even. The sun nearly blinded you, even with the hat that kept the hot sun off of your head. You stepped off the doorway and onto the dusty ground, spinning on your heel to face your little girl with your dark blue fan in your hands, waving the heat of the day off your flushed skin.
“Wanted for--”
You swiped the paper from her fingers.
“That’s about enough of that. We best get on our way, we got goods to buy, the undertaker to see, and a new dress to fit for your papá’s funeral.”
“I was just reading it. In case we see him?”
“We won’t. It’s been a time since he’s shown himself around these parts. You have no business looking at-- that kinda man. He’s a troublemaker. Now get in the cart, let’s not dolly around.”
You would know.
“O—okay, mamá.”
“I’m sorry, Gabi, I don't mean to yell. You’re all I got, preciosa,” you wedged the paper into a new bible, right next to your wooden rosary, and flung it into the basket.
"I know."
You started ahead of her, fussing with your white veil, sparing no expense to the many questions that she had that day. You had just as many questions as she did.
You just couldn’t articulate them to a grieving little girl.
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Do you think it's a boy or girl? the seamstress asks a woman in her shop. She fashions all sorts of fashions from birth to death. Her store is stuffed to the brim with frilly and lacy baptismal dresses. Your gaze fell on her belly, tracing the curve.
"Una niña," she says. Her voice triggers something old, some ancient memory you've suppressed. His voice in your ear, a soft kiss on your head. You're sitting there, next to the little girl that he always wanted, haunted by the flood of memories that comes with looking at another woman's pregnant belly.
"You're not like the others. Aren't men supposed to want sons?" you teased him. Miguel snorted, his arm underneath your neck as he gazed up at a sky of glittering stars. The air was lightly warm, a light wind fluttering through the tall grass. Post-relation bliss was warm on his skin, peaceful and quiet.
"For what? Men are jealous of sons," he muttered, shifting his head to kiss the top of your head. "Little girls are... the light in their lives. I'm going to call mine Gabriella. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"That's a real pretty name."
"Sure is. ¿por qué?"
You didn't tell him why. That you hid a secret underneath the layers of your dress. A secret that you knew Miguel would have more than an issue with if he knew.
"Mamá?" Gabi shakes your arm, "Mamá we're next."
Your mind likes to pull mean tricks on you.
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Wanted for double murder.
Miguel O’Hara was always somewhere between a hangman’s knot and three mouths to feed. For you, the latter. You were under no illusion of the sort of man Miguel was.
Every look at your daughter’s soft, peaceful face at night reminded you of him. You worried that the more she looked at posters of Miguel, peered into an artist’s rendition of Miguel’s slight, sultry eyes, lush lips, and strong jaw-- she might be able to locate the similarities when she looked at herself. That was why you had to take the flyer from her. The artist sure had a fine hand at drawing him, the man who danced in your dreams by a warm fire and stayed up late counting the stars. He’s gotten thicker, you thought. You sat on the rocking chair as she slept peacefully, rocking back and forth on the chair.
A violent knocking at the front door swept you free from your thoughts. You snatched up the silver lantern, yanked a fine ivory rebozo over your shoulders, and rushed down the stairs. The booming knocking became louder, more urgent. The movement was mechanical, with no husband to answer the door for you, you checked the window first. The man who stood there was not a man you’d want to see. Not now, not back then. He had a wicked face that sat beneath a wide-brimmed hat that obscured the balding spot on top of his head.
God, not him. He was obsessed.
“Buenas noches, Doña O’Hara,” he peeped into the window.
“Bendito, don’t call me that,” you rushed out, the heavy wooden door slamming to a close behind you. “I’ve told you already, he is not here.”
“And I don’t believe you. First, your man-loving husband dies. Next, sightings of Miguel a town over. ¿Qué piensas? Hm? What comes after that?”
“My husband was trampled, Aaron. By a bull. He was a hard-working man who worked with violent cattle. These accidents happen. Why don’t you ask the undertaker?”
He wouldn’t. Although you don’t think Aaron is a complete idiot, he surely has his own motivations for which leads to follow and which leads to ignore. Your husband’s death was one of them.
“I’ll tell you what comes next. You come next. It’s only logical that he would come back to you. You have his daughter and all. Or… does he not know about that? I seem to recall him running out of here like a bat outta hell.”
“You’ve checked my property three times. Barn, basement, home. It’s been nine years, Aaron. Gloria a Dios, he’s probably remarried and forgotten me by now.”
“Not according to my reports.”
You hate the twinge of delight that comes from that admission. Your cheeks warm with blood, highlighting the rouge that sits across your cheeks. He chuckles caustically at how easily it shuts you up. Aaron takes a step forward, his deep leather boots creaking along the aged floorboards.
“What’d you want me to do with that information?”
“If he comes to see you, and I know he will,” he reached out for your chin. Your hand connects with his, shoving him back. “Tell me. You know, it’s a crime to kill another man without good cause.”
“You wanna catch Miguel for your own reasons, Aaron. Don’t bring none of that holier-than-thou bullshit to my footstep.”
“She can curse,” he laughs again. “Here I thought you were a good Christian woman.”
“Don’t try me,” He tries to corral you against the door. You flip your skirts up, his eyes following the motion. You seize the handgun strapped to your thigh, threatening to pull it on him. Aaron slides back, holding his calloused hands up. "Get off my property."
“I’m just saying. If you see him, you know where to find me. Who knows, you and I could work a lil something out.”
Even if you knew where he was, you would be hard-pressed to turn him into Aaron Delgado. You knew Miguel O’Hara would kill him. So, really, it was for his good. You watched him beat down the squeaky steps and mount his horse, fading into the distance of dark, twinkly stars. You probably shouldn’t be praying that robbers got ahold of him.
But only Diosito could judge you for that.
You dipped down to pick the lantern up, stepping off the steps to ensure that he was not just off your property, but properly gone. Then, seeing him set off toward town, you gazed up at the deep night sky. It was littered with an abundance of stars, massive and twinkling brilliantly. Miguel’s favorite constellations shone brightly in the sky. The Anglo called it-- Orion’s belt. Around here, it was named for the hunter: the deer, the pronghorn, and the sheep. You count each of the stars on your way back indoors to sleep in your empty bed.
You prayed Aaron’s hunt would be fruitless that night.
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With your husband's untimely death came several complex decisions. Namely, what to do with his cattle hands and the animals under your care. You were fortunate enough to have support from the community in caring for the cattle, but you knew human affection did not last forever. You could sell his property at a scam of a price as a woman or you could keep it and work bitterly on the farm.
Or, as Aaron suggested today in the cover of concern, you could remarry yet again. It was nearly the only good option. Working wasn’t sustainable when you had a little girl to raise and a whole host of children to teach, as you always had. It would be nearly impossible to find someone like your dearly departed husband who knew your situation and couldn’t care less about it.
It’s good for a lil girl to have a father, he says. You know that-- but Aaron should be no one’s father. Not Gabriella’s. Miguel would’ve never approved. Neither did you.
You loosened beads of sweat from your hair as you returned inside, the ends of your skirt matted with dust. Gabriella would return home from school soon and you were fully intent on feeding her a slice of fresh peach pie.
You made your way into your home, your boots between your fingers. The smell of a smoky hearth piqued your attention. It didn’t arise from your great big wood stove that sat against the wall, ready to cook fresh tortillas, but the sort of hearth settled in the deep outdoors.
“Dios mío.”
Miguel sat there, plain as a field flower. His fingers tapped over the heavy wooden table, rolling in succession. He’s older than you remember-- jaw peppered with dark facial hair, his hair dark and wild, set away from his kind eyes that caught yours as quickly as you caught his. You dropped your boots at your feet, backing up once, twice.
“Don’t run, you won't get far,” his voice trilled, low and warm. Beside his sombrero on the table sat a thick rope and his gun, you don’t want to know which one he was planning to use today. His head twisted, a mused smile growing on his face. “You look so surprised, amor. You had to know I was coming.”
The nickname cut more than it used to. You had not been someone’s amor in a very long time. Married strictly by the weight of paper, you don’t exactly recall what the fleeting emotion of love felt like. Wisps of it licked a dead flame to life in your stomach.
“Miguel.”
“You look gorgeous,” Miguel hummed, turning his impossibly broad arms one over the other. You don’t remember him being this thick. He lurches onto his leather boots, taking a few practiced steps closer. Brilliant, you think, you’ve languished years thinking of this moment just to smell of sweat and cow shit. You suppose he’s smelled worse as an outlaw, a name that doesn’t quite fit the handsome man before you.
“You were always a bad liar.”
“Look, not smell.”
“My point stands,” you say.
Your normally practiced updo has gone frizzy, bits of hair escaping the clips that kept it flat against your head. Miguel’s eyes flickered over the strands, then down to your skin flush with blood and exhaustion.
“Mine too.”
You stared at him a moment longer before you found yourself laughing, just a light-- a small thing that you had failed to do over the past week. His death, and the subsequent funeral, was all too miserable. Now he was here and for a moment, just a brief thing, everything didn’t feel so earth-shatteringly dire.
He cracks a smile, drawing his hand to your flyaways, soothing it down against your head. You should be more angry at him-- settling you with a baby like he did and disappearing into the long grass with Widow and not a word more.
“I missed you,” you said quietly. His hand falls away from your head, drifting past his dark blue vest, and hooking at the fat metal belt buckle. “Pero… why are you here?”
“I heard Peter passed,” he said in a practiced tone. “I was a few towns over. Seeing how he’s taken good care of you all these years, I dropped in to say my dues to him. Came to see my girl too.”
The grief may not be readable in his eyes, but you know he’s practiced it in the same way you did for your Gabriella. Her only daddy was gone, deep in the cold earth. His words echoed in your ears, cutting through your grief bright and resonant. You wonder if he knew, but logically, you knew he couldn’t. Miguel always wanted to be a father.
“Who’d that be?”
“You,” Miguel turns your name over, making your name sound beautiful and light on his tongue. It’s sweet, like the peach pie cooling in your aged windows.
“After all these years?"
"Claro."
"You... shouldn't be here. You’re a wanted man,” you said. “Aaron is looking for you. You know that, right?”
“He's nothing to be concerned about.” Miguel shrugged off your suggestion. "I'm only wanted in these parts."
“Where else is there?” you said
“Out West. South. You take your pick,” Miguel lifted his hand, tracing your parched lower lip. “It don't matter to me. I seen all manner of places, like it here more than anywhere.”
"There's nothing here."
"Nothing but you."
You felt your stomach swoop, a delight filling it better than any meal you’d had. You parted your lips to say something else, to find a response that would fit-- to tell him the truth. But he left you then, came back when something fit better than the road. You wonder what fortune he must have made on the road that he’d come back. His hand caressed your cheek, rubbing it as if to soothe you. It didn’t.
“You think you can just go and come back like nothing happened? After what you did?”
The front door squeaked, dragging with a long hiss. Miguel peered over your shoulder as if it were instinctual, his hand snapping to the gun on his hip. You stopped him short of seizing his handgun. Gabriella bobbed in, closing the door tightly shut behind her. She wore a plain blue dress, fine ribbon braided in the updo she had on that day. She takes a few short steps forward before realizing who you were talking to.
“Mamá, I’m home!” she gasped. “That’s the man in the— in the flyer mamá--”
“Gabi go to your room.”
“I’m not--”
“Gabriella,” your voice went soft but stern. Nearly apologetic. You had been so hard on her lately. Miguel’s eyes dropped from Gabriella’s huge, doe-like eyes to her nose, then lips. His eyes sharpened, whipping back to look at you. “Por mí, okay? He won’t hurt me. Te prometo.”
She darted up the many steps to her room.
"Gabriella?" He stared at you uncomprehendingly. He quickly goes quiet, searching your eyes for something. You worry that he’s found the truth, your breath light as you walked over to your wooden stove, checking the flame and setting a pot of water that you brought from a nearby creek to bathe with. He follows you to the stove.
“My daughter is home. You should go,” you remarked, less of a command than a meek statement, floundering on your lips at the end. As delightful as it sounded, running off into some other territory, town, or world with Miguel-- it was unfeasible and irresponsible to be with a man whose name was stapled on the bulletin boards towns over.
“How old is she?”
"That's none of your business." Your outlaw hovers over you, absorbing the space, a bundle of heavy muscle and rage that plumes off his skin like the smell of sweat on your skin. It’s almost as if he can smell the regret seeping off your skin, despite knowing you couldn’t have done anything differently. No one told him and you could not reach him. Whatever the reason he stayed away, you were not the one he reached out to for updates.
“Tell me,” he growls, waves of anger causing his voice to shake. The tone is heartless, empty of the nights together, of slipping off with the old cattle hand at night and day, in the barn and the field. You’re stuck in the memory of your lovemaking with your vaquero, now your outlaw man. You missed him.
“Don’t do this. She could be listening.” You pad away from the stove to the window with the hope that he wouldn’t follow. He backs you up into the wall, his calloused hands so tight on his belt that you could draw lines of tension through his veins.
“You're not telling me because she’s mine,” he’s whispering, the words going through your chest, fizzling out into terrible pain. He reaches out, squeezing your hips to keep you put. Miguel leans into your space and buries you in his overwhelming scent.
“What do you want me to say?” you stare at his prominent muscles, the shift that is thrown open to expose his skin. He cups your jaw and throat with his large hand, forcing you to confront the truth. Your eyes blink closed, bits of tears dripping there. Miguel doesn’t have the patience for pity, or empathy, whichever the two you were looking for right then.
“I want you to tell me the truth. It's not hard.”
“Me telling you the truth changes a whole lot of nothing. You're putting her life at risk just being here. You're an outlaw,” you say, trying his rapidly evaporating patience. "You got a bounty on your head."
"It changes it all," he shoves you back into the window, a choked cry slipping from your throat. He doesn’t mean to hurt you, he meant to have the truth. Distantly, you were aware of Gabriella’s feet beating down the steps. You’re relatively certain she’d never gone all the way up to her room. In this creaky house you would have heard her door shut, the floorboards bounce. In either case, there’s no point running away from what you both know to be true.
“Sí, she’s your daughter,” you mustered the words in a bid to get it over with. Miguel always had to get his way. “Now what?”
Miguel flicked a look over his shoulder, marked by the heavy drag of his weighted firearm skidding across the wooden table. A life on the run will do that. Gabriella’s tiny hands slipped around his handgun.
“That ain't true!”
“Gabriella,” you cut her short. “Gabi, bebe, put that down.”
Miguel took a step back, pulling his head back slightly as you shifted in front of him. Her tiny head shook, over and over, tears pricking her bright brown eyes. You fooled yourself into thinking that she wouldn’t listen-- because your Gabi was a good girl. A wonderful good girl who liked nothing more but running in the field with the boys and brightly colored ribbons laced into her braids. She was also a mischievous girl who had been trying really, really hard to be good for you this week. Children had their limits.
“My papá is dead,” she said, her fingers trembling about the thing. Miguel’s head tilted in response, expecting you to take care of it. “His name was Peter and-- he liked sunsets and fluffy chocolate calves and--”
“Badly made blankets,” Miguel said lowly. Gabi lowered the gun, slowly, just an inch or two. “Shorn fabrics, uneven stitching, ugly colors.”
“He liked to make you smile-- be helpful,” he added. You snapped to look at Miguel as he rose his hand to his hips, gazing at the floor and rocking. He waits another moment, noting how Gabriella’s head nodded, rubbing away the tears that dripped off the corner of her eyes with her shoulder. She set the gun down on the table.
“You knew my papá?” she turns her arms one over another. “How?”
“He was my friend.”
“Mamá?” she looked toward you, seeking an answer from someone who wasn’t a face on a wanted paper with a reward of 2099 dollars.
“Peter was your papá but-- Miguel is your padre, mija,” you breathed hard, exhausted from years of suppression. She looks at you, not used to this level of betrayal. Her eyes are distant, somewhere in her tiny memories. She whips around and runs out the back door. Miguel turns his eye out the window, her tiny body disappearing into the deep green fields. The sun blinds your eyes as you look out to the fields full of cattle. He reaches for his rope and gun, settling them in their respective places.
“¡Déjala! She needs time alone.”
He heads out the backdoor. He never did listen well.
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733 notes · View notes
galamalion · 2 months
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𐕣. 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐄𝐃
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summary. you were suffocated by your keeper, attempting to find sanctuary in what you could earn.
⤷ contents. yandere!feitan portor x fem!reader, yandere themes, imprisonment, implied past physical and emotional abuse, implied torture, unhealthy relationships // wc. 1.3k
⤷ notes. really getting stuck on the yandere chain...just wanted to write some things for my favorite dream yanderes ;) <3
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Leaving your bedroom was always the hardest part of the day.
The small space was your greatest comfort, even if your mattress would leave you aching in the morning, not to mention how thin your blankets were. You’d never voice your complaints, not out loud. Your captor could be rather ignorant of your needs, only giving you a blanket after seeing you, by mere chance, shivering one night.
He chastised you, as if it was your fault for not asking for a blanket. But you had learned previously that asking for things—even necessities—was considered rude, showing that you were ungrateful for what he had already provided.
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“What more you want?” he had hissed, flashing you a wicked smile. “Need to learn lesson in basement?”
You learned exactly what the basement held when you were first brought here, and the fear of returning plagued both your dreams and nightmares. Just seeing that rotting door brought back memories of your former life down below. Feitan was aware of this, playing off of your fear as if it were a joke, mocking and threatening you over anything he viewed as a slight towards him.
And so you stayed in your room.
Eventually you would have to make your way out and down the stairs, where he may or may not be waiting. But that was normal with Feitan, lingering either too close or being completely gone. You never caught him entering the cabin you were in, mostly on account of the countless trees surrounding the area. Feitan never had to tell you that escape was futile, the dead quiet atmosphere did that for you. Wherever you were was far, far away from any human civilization.
You fiddled with the lace on your nightgown—Feitan’s newest fixation. Originally you had an odd and wide assortment of clothes, ranging from long t-shirts with weird stains to bloodied and fraying button up long sleeve shirts. You chose not to question their origins. But one day Feitan barged into your room and threw dresses to your feet, taking what remained in your closet and leaving as quickly as he came.
They were softly colored, mostly various shades of white with a few rosy pink gowns peaking out in the pile. Lacy, and most of all, pure. A clear sign that Feitan saw you as a porcelain doll. Beautiful, yet breakable. But you were made of flesh and blood, not as easy to break or crack. You could see how his eyes lit up when bruises formed on your wrists where he grabbed them, the delight hidden behind his bandana when you began to cry. A sadist who valued his toys. Well, perhaps you weren’t valued, but you seemed to be treasured, at least.
“Breaking would be boring,” he had scoffed, “more fun if alive.”
Maybe treasured wasn’t right either.
Your legs kicked back and forth as you sat on the edge of your freshly made bed. Making your bed was on your personal to-do list—anything to avoid leaving. You were dressed and your outfit for tomorrow was selected. It was a short list, but in a room with only a bed and a closet, it was as long as it could be. More importantly, if you waited any longer up here, Feitan would be upset. He had never dragged you out of your room, but his mood was significantly soured if you refused to leave, and you didn’t want to test him now.
And so, with a heavy heart, you left your bed and walked across the creaky wooden floor. You gingerly turned the rusty doorknob, opening the door to the monster that roamed the halls. He was most likely downstairs, waiting in the kitchen for you. Sometimes you felt like he wanted you to cook for him, which you wouldn’t be opposed to. Feitan’s cooking was abhorrent, usually undercooked and bland chicken he found and made himself. But you weren’t allowed to use any of the kitchen appliances, always watched closely whenever you passed by the knife block. You weren’t sure what he was scared of, since he could easily dispatch you with a single hand.
You carefully descended the stairs, not wanting to alert Feitan to your presence. It was probably a futile effort, knowing how aware he was of his surroundings, especially of your actions. He hardly ever interacted with you, instead just staring. Watching. It was disturbing, but there wasn’t anything you could do to stop it except keep your head down and pretend he wasn’t there. He hated when you did that, though.
Upon reaching the bottom, you immediately met eyes with Feitan, who had clearly been waiting for you. He had two cups before him, still steaming. Freshly made, meaning you hadn’t been too late coming down. 
“Good morning,” you whispered, stepping across the floor to join him at the table.
All you received was a soft hum of acknowledgement.
You sat down in the chair across from him, resting your hands in your lap. Feitan had left the other cup near your seat, indicating that it was meant for you. You could smell the liquid before seeing it, and it wasn’t half bad. Definitely some kind of tea, surprised that Feitan had something like this in the cabin. You brought the cup up towards your lips and took a sip. Minty, with a lot of honey. 
“You like?” he interrupted your tasting, staring right at you. Through you.
“It’s good,” you said softly.
He let out a noise of approval, continuing to watch you finish the drink. His went untouched.
Once you had drank the tea, you let the silence simmer between you, keeping your eyes trained on your lap as you spoke up.
“Uhm, Feitan,” you began, playing with your hands to ease your nerves, “I was just thinking about, maybe—and, ah, only if you allow it—taking me outside? It’s just that, well, I think there could be some ingredients out there, and I know you’ve talked about having me cook soon, but, uh, it’s going to be getting too cold in a month or so, so maybe…”
You dared to look up at him, meeting eyes that had been piercing your body even before you started speaking. And that familiar silence arose once more as Feitan, who continued to stare you down. You had only ever made one other request of Feitan, that being shoes, since it was getting cold. Instead you received different socks, varying in thickness.
“It not like you going anywhere,” he had mocked, a glint in his eye.
But that tiny light was absent in his eyes now, only narrowing as he seemed to consider your petition. Of course, he could be feigning care, letting your excitement bubble up only to crush your hopes at the very last second. He always enjoyed doing that.
Feitan stood up from the table, rapidly walking over to you. Your body told you to run, but your brain reminded you of the consequences, leaving you frozen and shaking as Feitan approached.
He stopped in front of you, just staring for a minute. Then, without giving you time to think, he grabbed your face, squeezing it roughly.
“Rules,” he said, “I go with. You do not pass tree line. If you leave sight, basement. If you run, basement. Understand?”
You did your best to nod in his grip.
“Good,” he mocked, releasing your face, “we go tomorrow.”
Immediately your hands fled to your face, attempting to soothe the pain of his hold. You tried to push the tears back inside, but were unable to stop the small streams that escaped your eyes.
Feitan crouched down in front of you, tilting his head.
“Why so sad?” he cooed, brushing away a tear from your face. “I give you something good.”
“Be grateful.”
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Ghost x Dom!Reader x Soap (Sneak Peek)
Ghost and Soap find themselves crushing on the same woman on their team, a friendly bout between two comrades to see who you'll choose, only your answer's not one they'd expected to hear.
Tags: Future NSFW 18+/Shameless Smut/PwP/MMF/some Ghostsoap, Anon Request •ᴗ• (Full tags will be used in main post), Jealousy, Banter, Flirting, Bickering, Sexual Tension, Soap and Ghost are fighting over the same girl, but it's a friendly competition, ends in a three-way too so, spoiler alert, Scarcely proofread
Masterlist
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Ghost leans forward now, resting his arms on his knees and furrowing his brow. "A'right, out with it," he says. "What's your game 'ere?"
Soap's brow furrows rather facetiously. '"I'm sorry, sir?"
"Don’t play dumb Johnny." The playful tone Ghost once used before has now since cooled, growing darker. "You know wha' I'm askin'."
Soap merely smirks, resting his arm back against the couch. "The same game you're playing, yeah?"
"And what game is that, Johnny?"
Soap can't help but laugh now, growing more and more cocky with each loaded exchange. On a normal day, Ghost might manage to intimidate the Sergeant every so often with his sheer presence, let alone his words. However, when it comes to women, Soap couldn't feel more in his element, especially up against his superior.
"One I'll beat you in."
Now it's Ghost's turn to have a laugh. A subtle thing, trapped beneath the burliness of his chest, though its deep rumble is audible enough, having warmed the Scotsman's cheeks at the sound.
"I doubt that," Ghost says.
"You underestimate my charm L.T." Soap puckers his lips and kisses the air between the two men mockingly. As much as Ghost tried to hide it, the sight had made the air catch in his throat for a second. It's that usual, competitive nature about the Sergeant that really gets Ghost's blood pumping during these mutual bouts of bickering.
"My last statement still stands," Ghost chuckles. "So what? You thought I'd leave and you two would just go at it then?"
"I wouldn't say it like that," Soap says. "...But I was hoping to have some alone time with her, yes."
"And you figured on waitin' for the rest of us to vacate before making a move..." Ghost shrugs with affirmation. "...Clever man."
"Yeah, well, what about you?" Soap asks. "Clearly we're both still here for the same reason. What's your "game", L.T.?"
"It's not your concern."
Soap groans, sinking back in his seat, though he hadn't been surprised by the lieutenant's response. "Suppose it isn't, then," he says. "It's hers."
"That's right," Ghost agrees. "We can't both have her."
"Can't we?"
Ghost brings his eyes forward to Soap's, having thought his comment had been a mere joke. However, once their gazes matched, Ghost could see that his Sergeant was dead serious.
Personally, Soap's never been opposed to the idea of a threesome. He'd even be lying if he said he hadn't fantasized about it from time to time, as boyish as it sounds. Adding Ghost into that equation hadn't tripped him up much either; Lord knows the lieutenant would be next on Soap's list if you weren't at the top of it first.
Still, Ghost had a hard time even picturing a scenario where something like that could happen, let alone with all three of you. No doubt the man had been interested in you, and for a while, he'd even felt something for Soap as well, feelings that haven't necessarily gone away.
Something with all three of you would no doubt be perfect, however, it just seemed...
"Let's be real here, Johnny." Ghost leaves it at that.
"Suit yourself," Soap merely shrugs, before a light bulb moment suddenly lets off in his eyes. "How about we bring this to the source then? Hey Y/N!"
"Soap-"
"Oi, calm down, mate," he smiles at him. "No point in beatin' 'round the bush, aye?"
You round the corner finally, having heard their voices vaguely through your door this entire time, but not being able to put full words together. From the "uh-oh" look you had on your face, however, something told the two men you were already preparing for them to say something crazy.
"What's up?"
Soap gives Ghost a final look, waiting to see if the man will protest. However, when he sees that he doesn't speak, Soap grins, turning back to you.
"If you had to pick between Ghost and I, who're you choosin'?"
"Pick for what?" you ask, certainly needing clarification. "For battle?"
Soap bursts out laughing, just now feeling how awkward it was going to be explaining this to you. "No," he says. "Like if you had to pick one of us to... I don't know, go out on a date with, who would you pick?"
You keep smiling at Soap like he's joking, but once you see he hasn't budged, you feel your heart begin to race.
Your eyes grow wide, now suddenly embarrassed to have the spotlight on you. "You're seriously asking?"
Soap nods. "I am."
You look over at Ghost now. Surely this was just another one of Soap's antics. "You too?"
Ghost shrugs. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious."
You were hoping he wouldn't say that. But, if they were asking, then may God be your witness as you answer them.
Placing a hand to your chin, you pout to yourself and look back and forth between your teammates, sizing both men up for every physical feature they had to offer.
Your mind immediately goes to the gutter, not being able to help it. You've found them both distractingly good-looking ever since you joined the team, and you've more than thought about this before. Just never in comparison. Or out loud.
Soap looks like he'd be fun to play with -- he's eager, energetic, and even better, open-minded. Not to mention he was cocky too; you always liked a man who could talk his shit and back it up. With those big arms of his, he could just box you in against the bed and pin you down good and firm, as he drills into you, cooing that sweet little accent of his in your ear like he would. It made your body tingle just thinking about it.
And then there was Ghost; if there was any voice you wouldn't mind having growled in your ear while being fucked senseless, it was his. Unlike Soap, you just knew you wouldn't get it rough like you would from Ghost. You've lost count of how many times you've caught yourself gawking at him during sparring sessions or while out in the field, watching that bulking mass of muscle of his he called a body, manhandle any and everything in his way. Having him do the same to you in a more intimate sense never failed to make the lower parts of yourself start to throb at the thought.
After giving both men a good, long look, you sigh, letting your arms fall back to your sides.
"I can't choose."
"Ah, don't be shy now, lass," Soap says. "If you're worried about hurtin' our feelings-"
"No it's not that," you cut in. "It's just not an easy choice, you know?"
Simon raises an eyebrow now. "Oh?"
"Oh, don't act all surprised, Ghost."
"You like us both then?" Soap asks cautiously.
"I'd say so." You begin to smirk. "Why? What's going on here?"
The two give each other a look, before Simon goes to explain things to you.
"We're just trying to figure out which one of us has a shot."
"Figures you should be the deciding vote, seeing as you're the subject of interest, lass."
You imagine you look pretty stupid standing at the center of your living room all wide-eyed like you do, but frankly, this just feels too good to be true. It hadn't been one of them that was supposedly into you, but both of them. If you could do a backflip, you'd do twelve right now, no questions asked.
But before you get head over heels about this, "So you're saying you both want me then?"
"In more ways than one, darlin'," Soap teases.
You glance over at Ghost this time, having taken note of his sudden silence. "You too, Simon?"
He hadn't necessarily been prepared to confess his feelings to you, not like this, and much less in front of an opposing audience. Still, Ghost wouldn't have his own Sergeant show him up so easily. Plus, the way your eyes lured at him this whole time had a chill running down his spine, making it hard to concentrate. So he nods, "That's right."
A devilish smile slowly creeps over your lips.
"Well, can't I just have you both?"
Coming soon...(・ω・`)………..
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I'm in the process of typing the smut for this, but here's a preview. Please let me know if this dialogue kind of wreaks; I don't know why, but I'm struggling to like it no matter how much I rewrite it (I keep flipping back and forth between liking it and not liking it). But enough of that. I'll link the full part here once it's complete! (ʃᵕ̩̩ ᵕ̩̩)
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hystixia · 8 months
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I THINK SHE WANNA LOVE.
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FEATURING 、JEFF THE KILLER X F!READER
WARNINGS 、DUBCON, BIRTHDAY SEX, FINGERING (M -> F), SOMNOPHILIA, DACRYPHILIA, DEGRADATION, HAND KINK, BELLY BULGE, CHOKING, OVERSTIM, PANTY STEALING, BLOOD, CREAMPIE, ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP
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It’s late into the night when he shows up. You’re already fast asleep, there’s tired bags under your eyes and the thought of you trying your best to stay up to see him crosses his mind as he peers into your dark bedroom through your window. If he had a heart he’d feel a little bad for making you wait but Jeffery isn’t one to feel anything close to sympathy for others.
He slides the window up, a smirk crosses his features at the fact it was unlocked to begin with and he slips in without much of sound except for the small thud of his boots touching your bedroom floor. For anyone else it would be nearly impossible to see in this darkness but he’s awfully familiar with the layout of your entire house and that would be extremely alarming to know if he ever told you.
He closes the window quietly and quickly. He plans on staying a little longer this time, plans on making his presence known this time.
He’s skilled in laying on your bed without much effort needed, your much smaller form shifting and curling up under the soft blanket as the bed moves just the slightest with him as he leans over you to look at your face. He’s not trying to hide his obsession with you this time. His hand sliding up and down your side after removing the blanket from your figure. Tracing the exposed skin until he reaches your exposed tummy, the shirt you had on riding up your chest and barely covering your pretty breasts from his creeping view. This was a sight to behold but his attention moves over to your desk that has a few colorful bags, half wrapped boxes and cards on and his eyes narrow at the objects.
Who gave you those?
He stares for a bit before he considers the fact you had family come over and gift those to you and not some fucker that would be dead soon if he ever found out about it (he would.). He made it very clear you weren’t allowed to see anyone but him, keep conversations with others short if you wanted them to live another day. That’s what he had told you one night as you stared up at him with fear in your doe eyes, it was an addicting look he couldn’t get enough of when it came from you.
His hands grab at all your exposed skin before getting adventurous and impatient, fingers tugging at the hem of your cotton shorts and pulling them down your legs. He swore he saw your legs move to give him more access but maybe that was his own hands pushing them apart. Your pretty pink panties are something that catches his eye, the lacy material something he’s never seen you wear ever. He’d definitely be taking those, for safekeeping of course.
A sound leaves you when he runs his index over your clothed sex. His eyes trained on your expressions in your sleep when he taps his finger against your covered clit, a small gasp leaves you and your head twists a little at the contact.
He could eat you alive if he wanted to.
He tugs the thin material of your underwear down until its completely off you much like the cotton shorts that lie somewhere on the floor in the dark. He’s not too caring with his placement for your panties either but he remembers where he’s thrown them to take when he leaves later.
His cold hands slide up your thighs and a shiver racks through your body as a small hum of discomfort slips past your lips. His hands inch closer to your heat until one is gripping your plush thigh and pulling it until he has full access to your pretty pussy, his eyes stare for way too long at the sight and he feels his dick pulse in his pants as he moves to roll his thumb around your clit. He’s well aware his hand could fully cup your cunt and maybe he’ll mention that fact another time to embarrass you and leave you squirming when he’s gone. Leave you wishing he was the one touching you when you’re “alone” in your room with no creeping Jeff around to help.
A small whimper bubbles in your throat and your face scrunches up in pleasure as he lazily rubs his thumb in circles over your small bundle of nerves, a breathy sound spills from your lips and it sounds akin to his name but it’s hard to tell.
Your needy pussy clenches around nothing as he builds you up, your hips stuttering that he’s quick to stop with his hand gripping the soft flesh tight to the mattress. Your legs shaking lightly as your back tries to arch off the bed and your whines rise in pitch.
“haah, J-, ooo, Jeff!” You cry out, eyes squeezed shut as your body trembles against the bed. Your orgasm is fast, the unknown knot in your belly snapping as he leans his head against your thigh to keep it from closing. Your juices coating his hand and as you pant he doesn’t bother to stop and clean your mess. Instead he inserts two long and thick fingers into your pulsing hole and a high pitched gasp leaves you making him grin against your skin.
Visiting you in the night and doing this to while you weren’t aware always got him going. It was entertaining to watch your face contort in pleasure, how you begged for him even while asleep. He was the only thing left in your fucked out brain most nights and he couldn’t get enough of it.
“Gonna give me another one?” He hums lowly, a whisper against the smooth skin of your flesh as your warm walls flutter around his fingers that rub against that gummy spot that has your hips jerking forward at the contact. His thumb on your puffy pearl plus the added fullness of his fingers has whimpers and moans falling from your open mouth freely now. Your hand instinctively grabs at his that’s cupping your drooling cunt and he grins at how the tips of your fingers cant reach each other as you grip his wrist for support.
You’re panting, your body feels hot and your brows are knitted together as your eyes flutter and he stares up curiously at your face.
Were you awake already?
He coos softly at your messy pussy as another orgasm floods your senses, a silent scream leaving you as you arch off the bed. Your heart thumps wildly against your chest like you’ve run a marathon and your lungs struggle to take in air as you finally flutter those pretty lashes and open those doe eyes that stare at the ceiling in a daze as you come down from the suffocating high.
He’s pulling his hand from your sticky cunt, a smirk on his face at the sight of your pussy so messy and all because of him. Your eyes go glossy when you finally look at him, his fingers that shimmer with your juices being swiped over with his tongue. Those bloody scars seeming to tug upwards slightly as he smiles at you.
“The birthday girl ‘s awake now.” He cackles at you. Your pupils blown wide as you stare at him with need, desperation to have him now. He remembered the date. He knows your birthday somehow.
“Jeff,” It comes out breathy, needier than you intended but it reaches him regardless. Those icy blue eyes staring back teasingly before he’s leaning over you, your body shrinking against the sheets as he stares down with hunger in his eyes. Jeff felt like toying with you tonight though.
“What do ya want, sweetheart?” He grins down at you. So small under him, face heated not only from embarrassment but from the arousal pooling hot in your belly. Your pretty doe eyes staring up at him pleadingly before he brings a hand up to rest against your headboard but he doesn’t fail to notice the way your eyes sparkle with interest at the position he’s cramping you into. “Gotta beg for it, pretty girl. You know this,”
“Please, Jeff,” You whine out and there’s pretty tears in your eyes. He wants them to slip down your face, a shimmery glow added to your skin from the lines they’ll create as they stream down your soft cheeks. “I want it,”
“Want what?” He teases, a small chuckle rumbling in his chest at the pout on your face. It’s like you forget he’s a serial killer and could gut you open if he wanted to.
“I want you.. wan’ your cock. Jeff, please,” You beg, hands grabbing at the sheets as your pussy clenches around nothing over the thought of being filled up.
He hums and you stare at the painful cuts in his face, wondering for a short moment if they hurt him before thinking about how they fit him perfectly in a fucked up and twisted way. You yelp as your legs are grabbed roughly, a faint smile tugging at your lips as he pushes them up to your chest and you hold them there without being told to as you watch him unbuckle his belt. You’d be lying if the sound of it jingling and the zipper being tugged down didn’t excite you a little.
You practically drool at the sight of his cock, angry red tip and curving just right to hit all your spots. He’s big and veiny making you swallow thickly as you try to prepare yourself to take him like you have many times before.
He growls when his sticky tip touches your messy slit. His eyes trained on the sight of your exposed and already stimulated cunt as he pushes his tip past your folds into the overwhelming heat of your slick sex.
A whine bubbles in your throat at the intrusion but he’s quick to wrap a large hand around your throat. His eyes giving you a warning glare.
“Be quiet.” And you do. With glassy eyes as he pushes more of his length inside you, it feels like he’s in your guts already when he reaches halfway and with a low groan that has your legs shaking he thrusts the rest in. Impatient as he tries to wait for you to accommodate to him.
He gives you a manic smile that sends a shiver down your spine before he’s grabbing the headboard, his dark hair tickling your skin as he stares down at you and you take notice of the red on his hands and arms now, your eyes widening in alarm at the sight you should be used to by now.
“Happy birthday, doll.” He breathes out before pulling back and then slamming into your heat. Your eyes threaten to roll back but he squeezes your throat, a silent warning. Keep your eyes on his own icy blues. He likes to watch your reactions through your pretty hues.
His tip bumps your cervix repeatedly, your body rocking against the bed as his hand around your throat holds you in place beneath him as a choked moan falls from your soft lips and he takes the opportunity to lean down until his lips are against yours and his tongue is exploring your mouth.
You whimper at the contact, eyes squeezed shut as he thrusts roughly into you without any mercy for your poor cunt that squelches lewdly around his cock. There’s already a creamy ring around the base of it and his thumb pushes your chin up and further into the kiss before he releases you as you gasp for air.
His hand lets go of your neck, a faint mark around it as his hand slides down your body until it rests against your exposed lower tummy, pressing down against it and making you aware of what’s now faintly bumping against his hand.
“You feel me right here, doll?” He teases in your ear, staring down with you at the small bump that reappears with each thrust into your spent pussy and your head lolls to the side with a moan at the sight. It felt like he was in your guts to begin with but this is just evidence of it being true.
His big hand squeezes at your hip as you try to move against him, pushing you down into the mattress and you can barely hear the headboard hitting the wall over his few groans accompanied by heavy breathing. Your body felt like it was on fire and there was a knot forming in your stomach and overstimulation in your poor cunt has tears beginning to fall down your cheeks.
“Aw, ‘t’s too much?” He coos at the sight. You nod slightly, his hips snapping particularly rougher at that as a wide grin spreads across his scarred face.
“I hope it’s too much.” He laughs at the pathetic way your eyes roll into the back of your skull, tongue peeking past your swollen lips as he hits that sticky spot that has you keening into him. “I hope you can’t handle it.”
“Jeff— Fuck, ngh, ‘m gonna cum!” You sob out, words slurred as you feel pressure build up in your core, threatening to spill over as you stare up at him with begging eyes.
“Yeah? Gonna cum on my cock like a dumb slut?” He hums when your walls squeeze around him tighter. “Ya gonna cream around me like the dirty whore you are?”
“Please, please, please!” You don’t know what you’re begging for now. Maybe it’s your release, perhaps it’s even for him to slow down so you can handle it but tingles spark in your body as his thumb taps against your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your mouth in a ‘o’ shape as your legs tremble and you feel his hot seed spurt into you. That’s what it takes for your orgasm to come, you don’t know how many times he had you cum before this but you felt weak and dizzy from it all regardless. Your mouth hung open as your eyes almost cross and your back arched. It was so overwhelming you could scream but no sound came out as he panted above you before resting his head against your shoulder.
There’s a bit of silence afterwards before he pulls out with slight hesitance, fixing his pants back up before staring at the mesmerizing sight of your spent pussy drooling his cum. If he had the time he’d fuck you again, but he’s going to miss his only opening to leave soon if he doesn’t speed this up. It would be a shame to get rid of your parents after you had begged him so prettily to let them live.
He feels better now as he pushes the mixture of your sticky essence and his warm seed back into your quivering cunt before leaning over your heated face and kissing you by surprise. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes widen at the act or how your hands seem to cling to his hoodie stained with red. It’s addicting to leave you wanting more from him like this, he can’t get enough of you and your reactions.
He pulls away leaving you to want him and his touch in silence before glancing down at your bare body in embarrassment. Isn’t that cute?
“I’ll come back soon, sweetheart.” He promises. He always does and he always will. When you’re asleep, sometimes when you’re awake and studying late into the night and see him knocking on your window.
You nod hopefully at him, a sparkle in your eyes at his words as you tug the sheets up your cold body and curl into them, aware of the mess leaking down your inner thigh at the movement.
He bends down in the ground but it’s hard to tell what he’s doing in the darkness before he’s standing up and slipping back out your window.
You mutter his name, quiet and soft but he halts his hands from pulling down the window and instead leans on the sill with a low hum.
“Thank you,” You’re sincere and it’s laughable to him, amusing to see someone actually thank a killer such as himself but he grins back at you regardless of how stupid you were.
“Happy birthday, doll.” He says it for the second time that night and with that he pulls the window closed and stalks off into the cover of night.
You giggle to yourself, a smile on your face that almost leaves your cheeks feeling sore as you touch your heated face and think over the whole thing. Did that really happen? Were you just dreaming right now? The ache between your legs is enough of a reminder of your reality and if you could you’d kick your shaking legs around like a school girl. You’d wait expectantly for his arrival like always, falling asleep well into the night to be woken up to his tainted touch like always.
You’re in a fantasy smiling dreamily while he’s sneaking past houses and back into the woods with a sinister smirk on his face.
A familiar pair of lacy pink panties clutched in his dirty hand, a bloody knife in the other as he disappears into the night.
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avocado-writing · 6 months
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Kinktober 12
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12. Orgasm Denial/Control, Lingerie, Role Reversal
Aziraphale is making his way down the highstreet, utterly at ease with the world and replete from a large lunch, when he catches sight of the bra and panty set.
He stops dead. Backtracks a little. Makes sure nobody’s watching him, then looks properly.
They are splendid. A gentle cream colour, all lace and frills, a matching set of stockings as well. And the perfect size to fit his lucious hips.
He can think of a couple of people who might really like this.
Aziraphale waits until a bus passes to block him from prying eyes and shifts his corporeal form. When the number 5 has gone, she settles her slightly longer hair in place around her heart-shaped face, and heads inside the store.
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“How long are we meant to stand out here, angel?” Crowley groans, tapping his fingers impatiently on the doorknob.
“All good things come to those who wait!” your wife chirps back from inside the bedroom. You fix Crowley with A Look.
“And all those things who are good, cum,” you say. He snorts.
“You’re an idiot.”
“I am, and you love me.”
“I do.”
“Alright, you can come in now!” Aziraphale calls. Crowley sighs in relief and finally throws open the door.
He freezes in the doorway, and so do you.
When Aziraphale wants to make something romantic, she goes the whole nine yards. Candles have been set up around the bedroom, rose petals scattered on the floor leading up to the bed - and there she is, perched in all her glory.
God, she is beautiful.
Her breasts are barely held in place by the lacy brassiere she has on, threatening to spill over lewdly. Her buxom hips are only made more ravishing by the tiny scrap of lace between her legs, accentuating her delicious curves and rolls. Her thighs look practically edible in her stockings. They pinch her just below her sex, a silken garterbelt holding them in place.
“Gah,” says Crowley.
“Ungh,” you say.
“What do you think?” she asks, decorously, making a show of batting her eyelids. She’s even done her makeup, her cheeks a pretty pink and lips painted to match.
“Aziraphale, you’re… you look…” 
“Angelic,” you finish, when your husband is unable to find the right words. Crowley can only nod. She giggles and claps her hands together in glee.
“Oh, I’m so glad. I wasn’t sure, I thought it was a bit much, but now I see you –”
She doesn’t get a chance to get any further because the two of you descend. You capture her lips in a kiss, framing her soft, lovely face in both hands; Crowley begins to rain kisses along her tits. She squeaks and then begins to laugh.
“Slow down! Gosh, you’re insatiable…!”
You don’t slow down. No matter how much fun Aziraphale had putting the lingerie on, you think you’re going to have far more fun removing it.
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@bootlmoth @elleofdragons  @angelic-anarchy27 @yeethaw13 @candlewitch-cryptic @kwyn-q @rat-that-writes @buryustogether @letthenightingalessingagain @ltlthetrifecta @angiestopit @purplefrog1sblog @wereallbrokenangels @angelspathway @clarina04 @belilwen @chaospossum @eightsdoctor @oo-delallymrcrow @silcosmoke @climbingivy97 @live-logs-and-proper @project-sad @just-a-beatlemaniac69 @imagination-phantom @anonymously35 @corgis04 @peytonpenguin37 @catlynharper @unabashedgentlemenpirate @wolfe-houler @darktealrat @mxxny-lupin @willbedecided @detectiveapparatiagreen @shadowluna25 @kaylinelizabeth4004 @xquinn-bartonx @blue-bell22 @foolishprincipalitee @fandomawesomeness @eweweweewewe @latersgaters-steven @llamaproblem @night-affiliate @randompost18 @hunterispunk @jessica-laufeysdottir @uxcaran @bunnymallowo @jae-michael @jelly-terror @larkiesparkie
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NEW YORK — Authorities announced they had no choice but to put down Stephen Colbert after the late-night host tragically went mad from rabies last week.
"We just couldn't bring him back. He was too far gone," said Don Mattingly, head of New York City Animal Control. "When we caught him, Colbert was already foaming at the mouth and had bitten three patrons at Ruth's Chris Steakhouse. It was anarchy in there."
According to animal experts, Colbert had begun showing early signs of rabies infection over the past week, the initial symptoms sadly going unnoticed. "The dead eyes, the angry outbursts, the bite marks of several bats on his shoulder - we should have seen the signs," said Late Show producer Lacy Jennings. "I began to suspect something amiss when Stephen started drooling and screaming that a Force image of Trump was hitting him with a lightsaber, but that just wasn't real out of character. I feel so responsible."
Though Animal Control attempted to trap Colbert in order to administer rabies treatments, the former comedian had already lost most of his brain tissue by the time he had been cornered in the steakhouse. "He was just a shell of himself by then. The rabies was in control," said Animal Control agent Randy Timms. "Poor little guy kept taking his glasses off and screaming that the end was nigh, and asking if anyone could pour a bucket of ranch dressing in his mouth. He was already gone."
At publishing time, Animal Control experts in Los Angeles reported they had been notified of a rabid Jimmy Kimmel.
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dreamersbcll · 6 months
Note
New angsty prompt for ya
Considering the "you were a shitty girlfriend" line in the original script, what if amber was actually not good at all to tara? she was really violent and couldn't really control her anger and tara was a good target. No one knew about this, but sam was starting to get worried because when there are sudden movements or someone is yelling, she flinches.
“Lacy”
——————————————————————————
Tara was losing it lately.
Ever since Amber’s funeral, she hasn’t been keeping it together. It was like the girl had a grip on her, forcing her to reconcile with her death.
She knows that she shouldn’t have gone to the wake or even the funeral at that. Sam had begged her to stay away, even going as far as bribing her, but it was useless. Amber Freeman was the sweetest thing on this side of hell.
Her best friend wasn’t a good person. Amber Freeman was a malicious, cruel, and selfish person. She gave Tara everything and nothing. There would be permanent scars etched onto Tara’s rib cage, both from physical and psychological wounds Amber had a hand in.
Tara knows that seeing her ex-girlfriend lying in a coffin would do more harm than good, but she couldn’t help it. She loved that girl once.
She thinks maybe she still does. But it didn’t matter now.
Everything in her wish that she could forget when it once was magic. How every time Amber kissed her, she felt like she was floating. How Amber’s touch could soothe her nerves, and how Tara would do anything for Amber, as long as she said it with her hands.
But she couldn’t. Instead, she was plagued with intense guilt, her dreams slowly becoming nightmares of past bruises and fights, screaming matches, and blood. She couldn’t stop shaking from the feeling of her ribs breaking, but Amber apologized, making it okay.
Once Amber was dead and gone, she thought it would get better. Tara now had her big sister by her and a new city to set her horizons for. New York City. College. An escape from this fucking town.
And then she had to fuck it all up by losing her mind.
She tried. She tried to be normal. She tried. Yet every time she closed her eyes, she saw Amber’s flowing black hair and brooding, dark eyes. If she reached out, she could practically feel her cold touch, and her body recoil back as if she had been slapped. Loud noises make her flinch; quiet moments make her break out in a cold sweat.
Everywhere she looked, she saw Amber. Every time she closed her eyes, she could feel nails dug into her skin, bruises blossoming over her eyes. Sweet words were whispered in her ears as punches kissed her cheek. There was no peace.
Sam noticed.
——
Sam wasn’t an idiot.
She noticed how Tara flinched at loud noises and pulled back from physical touch. She supposed she was lucky to receive that hug from Tara after the Woodsboro bloodbath because they hadn’t had contact since.
It was like her little sister was living in a different world. Sam knows that she has been gone for five years, a couple more added on for the years she mentally disappeared; it was inevitable that there would be distance. But she never thought she would be this pushed away from her little sister, her built-in best friend.
No matter how hard Sam tried to get through to Tara, she always ended up right back where she started. Her little sister pushed and pushed her away, always keeping Sam at arm's length away. She tried. She held out olive branches, spoke sweet nothings, and tried to give Tara space.
Nothing worked. It was as if Tara was living in the past. She drew in on herself and kept quiet. Her eyes were always searching for someone who wasn’t there anymore. Sam saw the past scars across her body and face, and she heard the whispers from the twins about Amber Freeman.
Sam knows what happened.
Yet there wasn’t anything she could do. They weren’t in a good place. Tara wasn’t speaking of Woodsboro or the years of Sam’s absence. She just kept moving forward. Sam supposed she should feel thankful for what she was getting from her sister now, even if it killed her to see Tara lost in the past.
But she couldn’t do anything about it. There wasn’t anything she could do.
It just had to play out.
——
“Sam! Where are we putting our kitchen utensils? Quinn took the two drawers!” Tara called, halfway through unpacking another box.
They were almost done with unpacking their shit. Granted, it wasn't a lot, but it was enough to keep them busy. Sam was finishing her room while Tara was putting away their miscellaneous things. Luckily, she had stolen enough plates from her old home to ensure dishes for all the roommates.
She pulled out the last plate, carefully stacking it onto the countertop. There. Six porcelain plates, the Carpenter’s finest china, are now displayed in New York. It was poetic in a way.
“Sam!” she yelled again, still waiting for an answer.
Looking down at her fingers, she fiddled with her cuticles. It wasn’t pretty, but she read online that it helped decrease stress. She let her mind wander, waiting for her sister to take her sweet ass time.
There, in the deepest depths of her mind, she wonders if Amber is searching for her. She wonders if her girlfriend- well, ex still loved her. It was stupid and futile, she knows because she loathes Amber. She hates that girl, and she hopes she rots.
But she mostly hates how her rotten mind still worships the girl and how her wandering eyes still search for Amber.
Then she feels Amber’s fingernails digging into her shoulder, and for a split-second, she’s relieved. It was the touch she had been craving from the person she couldn’t crave from anymore. But after a moment, she feels the pain that always comes after, and the world stops spinning.
And then she jumps out of her skin.
Tara turns and rips the girl’s hand from her shoulder, her heart dropping to her stomach. She pulls back, her lungs screaming for air, her tongue-tied. Before she can start yelling at her girlfriend for scaring her, she realizes that Amber was never there. It was all angel dust.
Instead, her big sister stares at her, her dark eyebrows knit in confusion, her mouth open in shock.
Fuck.
She held her hands up as if she was pleading guilty. Taking a deep breath in, she started to beg.
“Sam, please. It’s not what you think,” she softly says, flexing her fingers.
Sam’s eyes were dark, her head cocked. “What did she do to you?” she all but growled.
There was almost a carnal look in Sam’s eyes. If Tara looked close enough, she could practically see the disturbed distress hidden behind them. But all she could see was rage, the primal drive to protect Tara.
Holding her hands up in forgiveness, Tara squeezed her eyes shut, trying to prevent the tears from falling.
“I loved her. Isn’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard?” she mumbled.
Instead of responding, Sam closed her mouth, her eyes laced with hesitancy. Her big sister just shook her head and turned around, walking carefully back to her room.
Tara balled her fists up, her teeth clenched tightly. Fuck. She’s lost her mind. Her stupid ex-girlfriend is still dead, and she’s still crazy. But there’s nothing else she can do. It’s not like Sam and her were in a good place to talk about her fractured mind.
Besides, Amber was still out to get her. Tara could still see her standing by the front door, poisoning every little thing in Tara’s life.
She hates her. But she doesn’t. She just hates the fact that she still loves her.
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Under Your Spell - Part 2
Good morning my loves!
Part 2 is comin' in hot 🔥If you missed part 1 find it here
A/N: As I said initially, approach with caution; as per usual it’s an 18+ NSFW but on top of that this one has a stalker warning, some voyeurism and also got a tad violent. it’s not TOTALLY Dead Dove, Don’t Eat but it toes that line, so if that’s not for you, just don’t okay?
And of course, again I say,
I can’t post without giving credit where credit is due; this thing took on a life of it’s own and if it weren’t for @ken-dom and @travelerwashere it wouldn’t be what it is; I can’t thank you both enough for your constant support and inspiration (at all hours of the night) and keeping me from spiraling down the anxiety rabbit hole you both know I tend to lose myself in <3
Title credit goes to my fellow Goosecord compadre @webbo0, and he also gets credit for the "If you know me irl and you saw this...no you didn't (you know who you are xD)
Enjoy babes <3
Multiple times throughout the week he had freely let himself into your house, not to do anything malicious…he would never, just simply to sit on your bed and read your journal. 
Today was Saturday, and if you stuck to your usual routine, you would be out until well into the afternoon. He had found himself in a bit of a weird routine himself, he would find your journal which lately you had kept on your bedside table, and before taking off his boots (because sitting on your bed with them on was just rude) he would check behind your pillows where you had yet to discover the lacy pink…..they were gone.
He frowned, moving the pillows a little more…he was almost certain he’d-
“Is this what you’re looking for?” 
His blood froze instantly and he slowly straightened up, making no moves to turn around immediately. His mind raced with excuses, reasons he would be here, in your bedroom…he had none. 
Slowly, he turned around and there you stood, your face unreadable, one hand on your hip, the other holding those pink panties. 
He didn’t speak, he couldn’t….what could he possibly say? And yet, there you stood, silently, waiting, blocking his exit. 
After a few more excruciating seconds you raised an eyebrow “Well?” 
He opened his mouth to speak and couldn’t find the words, so he closed it again; you didn’t seem angry though….or scared. Just…indifferent. 
He licked his lips and tried again, looking from your face to the pink garment hanging off your index finger…they were clean, which meant you had washed them. 
When he still didn’t speak, you did; obviously tired of waiting for an explanation he didn’t have. 
“Do you make a habit of breaking into your neighbours houses?” you asked, the question obviously being rhetorical as you continued “Going through drawers, and journals….”
His brow creased as he listened to your words…how had you known…
You pulled your phone out of your pocket, navigating somewhere before turning the screen towards him. 
“But my personal favourite,” you continued, as he watched himself on your tiny screen, back on that first day 
“I…” he had started, not really sure what to say next; you had cameras, there was no denying it, no making up excuses, you’d had cold hard evidence in the palm of your hand; he was busted. 
You walked deeper into the room, setting your phone on the dresser as you spoke. He was rooted to the spot, even if he had wanted to, he couldn’t move. 
“Does it turn you on?” you asked softly, pink panties now swinging from your still extended index finger as you walked, like a lioness, stalking her prey  “Watching me?” 
He wasn’t sure what to say, so instead of incriminating himself further, he kept quiet; his heart slamming against his ribcage. 
“And you read my journal…” you continued, in that soft even tone, that only slightly put him on edge “Which means you read what I wrote….about you” 
His nose scrunched slightly in confusion briefly as he listened to you, your journal still in his hands. 
You had stopped walking, now standing a few feet in front of him before you tossed the panties at him; instinctively he caught them against his stomach; eyes locking with yours. 
You looked him up and down and he watched you curiously. Were you….flirting?
“Do it again” 
He cocked his head slightly with a frown; hand unintentionally closing tightly around the underwear still in his hand. “What?” 
“You heard me” your voice was still low, even and unbothered “Do it again” you repeated, reaching out and taking your journal from his hand, tossing it on your bed. “Come on,” you taunted, “Or would you rather watch from under my bed?” 
He stood face to face with you in this standoff; you were unreadable, was this punishment? Or were you more like him than he had realized?
“I want to watch you jerk off into my panties” you whispered, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth. 
You were flirting. 
Almost instantaneously, his body felt like it had been set on fire; his cock rock hard and straining against his jeans. He unbuttoned his jeans, very aware that your eyes were watching him, and had before…
"Take your gloves off; I want you to feel them" you smiled up at him from under your lashes. 
He chewed the inside of his cheek but did as you asked, pulling them off and putting them in your outstretched hand, his fingers brushing your palm sending shockwaves through his overheated form. 
You ran your tongue between your lips, your fingers toying with the worn leather. 
"I'm waiting" you whispered and he watched as you took the gloves dragging the leather fingertips down your chest and between your cleavage. 
His eyes slipped closed as he wrapped his fingers around his shaft enveloped in that familiar silky fabric. 
"Look at me" 
He moaned, and opened them, you had moved closer, mere inches between you now. 
His breathing had gotten heavier, his knees threatening to give out. 
He gasped audibly when your hand closed around his; slender and warm, stroking slowly. You pressed against him and he shuddered. 
Your breath was hot against his neck. 
"I watch you too" you whispered and he squeezed his eyes shut, a deep guttural moan as he spilled over his hand and yours. 
You moaned into his neck, smiling against his skin, as you kissed his jaw dropping the newly soiled underwear at your feet. Your now bare hand, closing around his cock with no barrier between the two. He moaned as you stroked, he could feel himself growing hard against your palm. 
"I-I can't…" he breathed 
"Can't or won't?" You asked, squeezing gently and he moaned loud "This is what you wanted, isn't it?" 
You pulled back, and the pout on your lips made him want to bite them. Hard. 
"Or do you just like watching me?" You pressed against him "Get naked?" 
There was a silence that hung in the air before you spoke again. "I want you" you moaned and he broke. 
He slammed you up against the wall, his teeth sinking into your bottom lip before he sucked on it and you moaned against his lips. Your hands tugged hard on his jeans before yanking his jacket off. 
His hands pulled just as frantically at your clothes, still not convinced this wasn't a dream. He yanked your t-shirt over your head, both hands cupping your breasts over your bra, burying his nose into your cleavage, teeth sinking into the meaty flesh. You threw your head back moaning to the ceiling, pushing your chest out, fingers twisting in his golden locks, pulling hard. 
He sank to his knees in front of you, you had released your hold in his hair, eyes meeting his as he looked up at you from the floor, hands hovering over your hips; you pulled on your bottom lip with your thumb and index finger with a nod. “Do it” you nodded breathlessly and he throbbed painfully between his own legs. 
Fingers curling around the waist of your jeans, pulling them down with your panties in one swift motion. 
Chest heaving as you kicked them off, his bare hands sliding up your warm naked thighs. He leaned forward, nose pressed against your core; you moaned over him, and he felt your hands find his shoulders to steady yourself on the wall. He licked a hot stripe up your centre and your knees instantly buckled as you thrust your hips forward with a loud cry; He squeezed your hips harder, with a shove, pinning them against the wall with more force before he continued his assault on your most sensitive parts, you were absolutely soaked. He moaned into your folds and this time when your knees buckled he let them, arms hooking under your knees and around the backs of your thighs,your legs over either one of his shoulders, his hands pressing against the small of your back, forcing your core to be flush with his mouth. His boot slid against the polished floor trying to find its grip as he tipped you gently, distributing your weight, you braced yourself against the wall, giving him the leverage he needed to get to his feet; you leaned forward as he pulled you away from the wall just long enough before he dropped you on your back on your bed, hearing you gasp as the air rushed from your lungs. 
“God, please” you breathed as he knelt on the bed, head dipping between your now bent knees, placing soft kisses on the inside of your thighs, before his mouth enveloped your entire dripping core, fucking you with his tongue. 
Then you started to whimper and it was like music to his ears, heels in a fetal attempt at digging into your soft mattress, as you fisted the sheets underneath you, begging for it not to stop; for him not to stop. 
Your hips thrusting forward as your body started to shake, he reached up with his hands keeping your hips steady and your hands covered his, your nails biting into the backs as you arched your back, voice straining with effort as you came unraveled in his hands, 
He pulled back breathing hard himself, his head dropped, still between your bent knees, the taste of you on his lips as you swallowed hard, catching your breath. You pawed for him, your mouth claiming his in a breathless needy kiss, pulling him on top of you, your face pink and flushed. 
You pulled away first, breathing hard against his mouth as you spoke “More, I want more” 
He dropped his head and you pushed a hand through his hair, kissing his face and neck, any part of him you could reach from underneath him it seemed. 
“Tell me” His voice was thick with arousal with every intention to draw this out as long as he could. Even if it meant edging himself beyond a point of pleasure. 
“I want you to be rough with me” 
He sat back slightly, not sure he had heard you properly “What?” 
“I want you to be rough with me” you repeated, looking up at him “Bite me, slap me,” you paused for a beat “Choke me…Fuck me” 
He moved to kiss you and you pressed a flat palm to his chest, shaking your head sitting up, forcing him to shift backwards. 
“Not tonight” you sat up climbing off your bed, grabbing a silk robe and wrapping it around yourself. 
He tried to make the words he was hearing make sense; he stood up ignoring the painful throb between his thighs, your soft laugh caught his attention. He turned to look at you as you held your robe closed as you chewed on your lip. “You should take care of that,” you smiled biting a fingernail with a jerk of your chin “It looks painful” 
He couldn’t help chuckling then; that’s the kind of game you wanted to play; he didn’t say anything, just ran his tongue between his lips watching as you turned on your heel in the doorway “You found your way in, you can find your way out” and then you winked at him before disappearing; the bathroom door closing across the hall. 
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babydipper · 5 months
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“Is this what you’re looking for?” Regina leans on the doorframe of the locker room, smiling unimpressed and tugging on her t-shirt slightly. It was too easy to get inside and take it when the Gryffindor Quidditch Team was gone for practice. She didn’t have to put it on, not while wearing a lacy, black bra under, frankly, but something in her thought it might be funny and it was right because James Potter looks stricken and pale and ten thousand different things now that she’s standing in front of him. She looks at his bare chest. Up and down. And up and down again. Hm.
“I- Um, yes. I actually have been looking for it,” he mumbles, eyes on her. “Would you mind giving it back?”
She pretends to think about it and looks away. “I don’t know. I thought you wanted to see me in your clothes since you’re the one to court me through the letters, but maybe I misread some things.” And now, he gapes. His mouth opens a little and he’s lost for words and she almost laughs because how could he ever think she wouldn’t figure it out? She’s a Black through and through. Persistent and mean and resourceful. She caught him. She would always catch him. “Should I take it off?”
“Oh Merlin, no,” in the rise of panic he comes right to her, taking her wrists in his hands so she wouldn’t do it. She definitely would. Just for the thrill of it. Just to make him miserable. He’s still wet after the shower and she’s still wearing his t-shirt and a rather short skirt, so they freeze and for a moment the whole world is dead and the only thing that exist is the feeling of cotton touching her skin and warmth and power of Potter’s hands on her. Oh. He’s strong. And oh. He’s warm. And oh, oh, oh. He’s close. So she looks up, just to confirm that he, indeed, is standing so close her chest could touch his chest if she took a step. Potter swallows. Slowly. “Hi,” he whispers.
“Bonsoir,” she whispers back and blinks at him. James Potter shivers. It’s a nice thing to look at. “Can I know why are you writing me letters, now?”
“Mhm, no,” he shakes his head slowly, but doesn’t loosen the grip on her. “No, you can’t.”
“Why?” she tilts her head and licks her lips.
“Because curiosity is the only reason you are reading them. You are like Sirius like that.”
The second it leaves his mouth, she blinks and fights her way out of his grip. Like Sirius. Like Sirius. Like Sirius. She takes steps back, so full of rage that it’s in her head, in her blood, in her mouth and lungs. “Fuck you, James Potter,” she rampages, “Fuck you, you absolute blood traitor.” She turns and leaves him there because she’s nothing like Sirius. Nothing. Like. Sirius.
She wishes she was.
She ends up in the bathroom on the ground floor, looking in the mirror at a person who’s nothing like Sirius. The t-shirt has the Gryffindor lion on the chest, but her hair is a little too long and her nose is quite not right, so she’s rampaging again in hatred for this play pretend. She takes the t-shirt off and burns away the lion off it with her wand. When she looks up, the reflection is facing her in its lacey bra and its short skirt, panting heavily. It gazes at her unimpressed, storming eyes reflecting in the dying fire telling her that it would leave her, too, if it could.
But it can’t. Because its nothing like Sirius.
She laughs to herself at the irony.
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sc11vb · 3 months
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Heartbroken
A Heartless fanfic
1620 words
A/N: This is sad and sweet and made me cry at one particular part. I hope you enjoy reading it!! Let me know if you would like to see it on AO3!! Much love!!
She saw him everywhere.
She glimpsed his reflection in her mirrors, but he was always gone by the time she dared to turn around. 
She thought she heard his easy laugh echoing throughout the corridors of the home she’d never wanted, the Castle of Hearts.
It was all wrong.
Her heart was supposed to be gone; why did it feel as though there was another in her chest? This new heart - it was trying to repair what had been lost.
“A heart, once stolen, can never be given back.”
Could that be Jest’s heart, then? Could he be inching her towards feeling once again? Her mind had been a blank slate for so long, erased of the brokenness that had been her. The sweet relief of not being able to feel had satisfied her for a while, until he started coming back.
He was gone. He should stay gone. How would she - could she - love him, if her own heart refused to beat? It wasn’t hers anymore, anyways. But what if Jest still had a piece of her heart? What if he had coaxed her into being able to feel again, without her knowledge?
Cath scoffed to herself. It wasn’t as though Jest could return.
. . . . . .
Then he began coming to her while she was sleeping, in her dreams - or were those nightmares? Cath could never tell. He was the hazy, beautiful boy she had first known.
In those visions, he would hold her and kiss her and tell her he loved her. Sometimes, she would do the same. Sometimes, she would back away, startled by the unnaturalness of it all. He would always wear that expression of hurt as her footsteps receded nervously. But he had a reason to hurt. He was dead, after all.
Cath revelled in those moments, those times when she and Jest could make up for what was lost - for all the kisses that they had been unable to give, to share. She imagined a happy life in Chess where she was not a queen, not a king’s wife. Where she didn’t have to play at love.
. . . . . .
Then he started speaking to her.
His voice was the water that eroded her stone-coldness. He wore away at her hurt, chipped off the lingering pain.
He had always been one for achieving the impossible.
His words were always soothing and kind, never harsh, like they should’ve been. Cath had let him die. He should despise her, not welcome her into his arms like she belonged there. But these were just dreams … weren’t they?
And although Cath was loath to admit it, he needed to stop. She couldn’t go on like this.
. . . . . .
“We can stop the pain.”
The three sisters were back, having been summoned by Cath for their knowledge. They carried the remains of her black, broken heart … or did they? Was there a fresh part that she was unaware of, kept by Jest even in death?
“What do you ask for in return?” They always asked for a price, high or low.
“Tillie wants a strand of midnight hair, Lacie wants a gown you’ll never wear, and I want a jewel from the crown you can hardly bear.”
That was all easy enough to get.
A tug at her scalp was the midnight hair. A quick search of her plentiful wardrobe produced a white dress that reminded her too much of the roses Jest had bestowed upon her. A trip to a blacksmith, and her crown was absent of a singular ruby.
All were given to the sisters three.
“You must sleep, my queen,” said Tillie. “When the joker enters your dreams, you must bid him goodbye.”
“Do the impossible, and ask for your heart back.” This came from Elise.
Lacie stood next to Cath. “Sleep,” she murmured, and Cath slumped against the wall.
. . . . . .
“You’ve returned.”
As always, Cath opened her eyes to a garden of white roses. It was the common setting to any dreams featuring Jest. It was ironic, she supposed - the one flower that she had demanded never to see, she was always happiest to be greeted by.
The second thing in sight was Jest.
Cath could not help the tears burning at her eyelids. With a sob, she fell into Jest’s strong arms. He seemed more realistic than usual - it was him. Truly him. The boy she loved so greatly, brought to life in a vision.
What was this feeling? Why was it so familiar? Why did it ripen the pain, split open a nearly-healed wound that Cath had been so prudently nursing?
“Don’t cry, Cath,” Jest whispered. His lips brushed softly against her hair. “Shh. I’m here.”
Nonetheless, Cath sobbed again. This time, she dared to look into those lemon-yellow eyes. They were as sweet as the lemon tarts she had made (and twice as beautiful), before she’d truly known him, before she’d loved him, before she lost him. Before vengeance was a thing that occupied her every waking thought.
“Jest,” she said, her voice like broken glass. “Jest. Why did you leave me? Why would you go?”
“Oh, Cath.” His words sent a fresh wave of tears down her cheeks. She swiped at them, determined to make this a happy moment, instead of a tearful one.
Cath clutched his black tunic with shaking hands. She never wanted to let go. She wouldn’t let him leave again.
“I killed him,” she said. “No, Raven did. But I ordered the execution. Sir Peter is dead.”
A frown creased Jest’s beautiful, perfect mouth. “Cath …”
“I couldn’t bear the pain. Elise, Lacie, Tillie - they took my heart. Carved it clean out of my chest. And then I knew, more than ever, that Sir Peter’s death was the only thing that would truly allow me to let go of you.”
“If you let go, then why am I still here?” Jest made his way over to a bench in the white rose garden that Cath had never noticed. He sat on one side, and Cath sat on the other. It fit them perfectly, as if it had been built to suit both of their bodies as one.
“Because …” Cath’s lip trembled.She couldn’t help it. This was the boy she loved, returned to her. Even in a dream … He had to be real. This was Jest. This was the court joker whom she had given her heart to “Because you have my heart. Even in … death,” she struggled over the word, “you still have my love.”
“And you want it back.” Jest’s laugh was bitter. “That’s why you came back for me. Because you want me to return your stolen possession.” He turned away from her.
“Please, no, Jest - you can’t believe that,” Cath cried, clutching his arm. “I love you. You’re able to see me, and I’m able to see you - because our love is so strong.”
When Jest turned to face her again, their lips joined, his mouth crushing hers. She made a surprised sound before returning the kiss. She never wanted their lips to part. She didn’t want to say goodbye.
It was all happening too quickly. Time wouldn’t wait for her, especially since it had hurt her so easily before.
“How long do we have?” Jest asked, when he was finally able to move away. “Before you leave and never return?”
“Until I wake from this dream. I don’t know how quickly time passes outside of here, but it waits for no one.” Cath traced her thumb across Jest’s cheekbones, around the dimples engraved so cleverly into his cheeks.
“I don’t want to waste any time,” Jest said. His voice had lowered. Cath dared to look him in the eyes. His pupils had dilated, eclipsing the twin golden suns.
“I don’t either,” Cath replied.
“How do we do this?”
“Something tells me you have a knack at accomplishing the impossible.”
Jest chuckled. “Perhaps not entirely what I meant at all.”
“You’ve also successfully undid my laces once before. I assume that’s what you meant?”
“More like it.”
. . . . . .
The sun that had been shining so brightly before had dimmed, and Cath assumed that her time with Jest was coming to a closure.
“I don’t ever want to leave you,” she said. 
“You’ll never truly be leaving me,” Jest responded, tracing the contours of her face. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. “Remember my name. Remember the court joker whom you loved. I’ll save your heart until I see you again - treasure it, protect it. No harm shall befall it. And then, when we’re together, it’ll be like we were never apart.”
Cath just smiled.
“I would never wish for your death,” Jest continued, “but I’ll await your return anxiously. Know that I am in a happy place - not a better one, but a kingdom in which we can be ourselves - and do not let anything lingering behind distract you.”
Cath felt like a liar when she nodded. But the knowledge that she would see Jest again kept her from too much pain, especially as she waited to give him his heart, and take hers back. Not for forever, though.
“Jest,” she said, relishing the feeling of his name on her tongue. He pressed a sweet kiss against her swollen lips.
“Say it,” he whispered. “Cath, I love you.”
“I love you too.” Her voice was shaking. There would never be enough kisses, never be enough times when she was entirely centred on Jest’s touch and that alone. “Jest,” she said again, knowing that it would be almost an eternity - almost forever - before she saw him again. “Goodbye.”
It was not a goodbye at all, but just another way to tell him she loved him.
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siren song - chapter 6*
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previous chapter: chapter 5
Masterlist
A/N: FIRST: I edited last chapter and added more detail. I wasn't really happy with how it turned out so there's a bit more. Also, MAJOR NSFW warning!! First time writing out smut so I hope it turned out okay!!
Ghost
31 August 2022
1300, Mexican Special Forces Base, Las Almas
As he ran an oiled rag over the barrel of his gun, Ghost thought of summer storms.
Everyone knew when they were coming; the clouds themselves were enough, but the sweet thickness of the air that accompanied them was a dead giveaway. As was the silence the preceded its arrival, the sounds of birds and insects both absent.
Everyone knew the destruction they caused, evident by the flooding and harsh winds that knocked tree trunks onto houses. Roads left undrivable, buildings in ruin.
And even knowing when these storms were about to hit land and knowing the devastation they could leave in their wake, people still sat on their porches and watched as darkness neared, not bothering to hide from its wrath.
And to some, this may seem foolish.
But a Ghost was not one of those people.
He knew there was a beauty in the calm before the storm but also the havoc swirling within it. Lightening tangled like spider webs in the sky would brighten the night like no other, and the heavy downpour didn’t have to feel like drowning; sometimes it was a drink of water after nearly dying of thirst.
And maybe because of all these things, he thought of her too.
She was an enigma. Calm like a gentle breeze, but fervent like a wildfire. Seemingly ruthless and sadistic, but merciful and disciplined. She was not afraid of him, and that was a rare thing in itself; Most people avoided Ghost, not that he was complaining. But she wasn’t fazed, didn’t look at him different because of the mask he wore, and that alone was a fact he reveled in. 
During their fight, he could feel the measure of her strength with every hit and determination with every block. The feeling her mouth wrapped around his thumb kept coming to his mind over and over, as did the sight of her smug expression after she bested him. And most of all, the look she gave him afterwards, when he pulled her in close; desire and longing, one he wasn’t sure he could deny if it came down to it.
Ghost took a couple of deep breaths, trying his best to push out all of the images of her. Her sultry gaze, a lacy bra underneath a white tank top dotted with blood, the sound of her moans over the comms, the feel of her against his body.
“Fuck…” Ghost mumbled, finally managing to wrangle up his errant thoughts and return to the task at hand. 
He was reassembling his weapon with ease, barely even registering the motions, when Soap walked in.
“Lt.,” he greeted, setting his rifle bag at the foot of his bed. Ghost nodded his head in return and traded out the newly assembled weapon for his side arm. As he began taking the pistol apart, Soap sat on the side of the bed.
“Has Siren come back yet?” Soap asked him. 
Back? Ghost thought. He wasn’t aware that she had gone anywhere.
“Last I saw her was a few hours ago. No idea where she is now,” Ghost told him.
Soap hummed in acknowledgement, a contemplative look on his face. “Shepherd called for her about a half hour ago.”
That struck Ghost as odd. Not that he didn’t think she was capable of dealing with Shepherd; no, he was more concerned that he, a Lieutenant, was not asked for.
“Wonder why,” Ghost said out loud.
Soap shrugged. “Think it was about the other night?”
Ghost could guess that he was talking about the night she went undercover. A night he was sure he wouldn’t forget anytime soon.
“‘Dunno,” Ghost said. 
Probably not, he thought to himself. Shepherd didn’t seem too phased by it and from his instructions that night, he seemed to expect that level of performance. 
Before he could contemplate anymore, the woman plaguing his thoughts walked through the door to their room, barely sparing either of them a glance as she hurridely grabbed her bag and headed to the bathroom. Ghost and Soap shared a puzzled look, not sure what to think of her lack of acknowledgement.
Siren
31 August 2022,
1400, Mexican Special Forces base, Las Almas
You looked in the mirror and once again, you were someone different.
There were no indications of a hardened soldier or an assassin who preyed on weak men. The woman in front of you had kind eyes and a soft smile, a vision of what could have been if life had dealt you a different hand. Sometimes you mourned that life; Maybe by now you’d have a little house and a nice partner to settle down with. But every time you tried to imagine it, you just couldn’t. It was more like forcing a puzzle piece into where it didn’t fit; it would never work, not without cutting out parts of yourself.
Instead of the tight ponytail you typically sported, your hair laid over your left collarbone in an easy braid. The makeup you wore was subtle this time. You didn’t need to stand out; you didn’t need to be the most stunning, most desirable woman this time. You needed to blend in, inconspicuous enough to get near but not draw too much attention. You wore a flowy yellow and orange sundress topped with a jean jacket. You looked “normal” and that was exactly what you were going for.
You put a knife in your jacket pocket and left the bathroom, tote in hand. You walked out and placed the tote by your bed before turning to your teammates. You felt their stares from the moment you walked in and that didn’t change once you left the bathroom in civilian clothes.
“What did Shepherd need you for?” Soap asked as you got a crossbody purse to put your wallet in.
“He wants me to go out for intel,” you told him. “Just me.” 
“Alone?” Ghost asked incredulously. “No backup?”
You nodded and put on your flats. 
“Not sure that’s a great idea,” Soap commented.
“Regardless, it’s a direct order,” you said, looking at both of them. “I’m not doing what I did last time. Its minimal contact, just listening for Alejandro’s boys to translate.”
“It’s reckless is what it is,” Ghost told you sternly. 
You rolled your eyes before letting out a sigh. “You’ve never gone on a mission alone with no backup?”
Ghost didn’t respond to that which is exactly what you expected. He seemed the type to work alone with little to no protections that he’d come out alive. 
“You don’t know me, Lieutenant,” you said harshly, taking a step closer to him so you could look glare into his eyes. “You have no idea what kind of shit I have done. The kind where a wrong move leads to death and extraction isn’t an option. This is nothing. Just because I’m not a man—“
“That’s not what this is about,” Ghost interrupted, stepping even closer so you were toe-to-toe. “We are a team. I don’t give a fuck if it’s you or Soap. We shouldn’t take risks if we don’t have to.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter. Direct orders from Shepherd supersede yours.” 
For a brief moment, you glared at each other, neither of you giving in. 
“She’s got a point,” Soap said, much to Ghost’s chagrin. 
Ghost took a breath as if he were going to respond but you spoke instead. You needed to get out there soon and going back-and-forth with your superior wasn’t getting you anywhere. “I’ll wear an earpiece this time. You can talk to me if you need to and let me know if they hear anything suspicious. The braid should cover it.”
A beat passed. 
“Fine,” Ghost conceded, the slight frustration present in his tone. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
You hummed in acknowledgement and watched as he left the room, likely to the control room. 
You gathered your things, tossed a goodbye to Soap over your shoulder, and began looking for Alejandro to let him know the plan and to acquire an earpiece.
Once again, you found yourself in a bar in Las Almas, different than the previous one for obvious reasons.
You sat alone at a table in the corner of the room, sipping a cranberry vodka and mentally going over your backstory today. You weren’t planning on needing it but men have come up to you unprovoked before.
Today you were Isabella, 25, on vacation from your job. You worked in sales at an advertisement company in the US but were open to other opportunities if they were offered. You made sure your body language was relaxed and casual, and to not linger look anywhere for too long. 
It was a moderately populated bar, with patrons playing pool, watching a soccer game on TV, and chatting amongst themselves. You were near a table of men that you were fairly confident were cartel members but didn’t get a good enough look to know for sure. You were hoping the mic would pick up their voices from where you were, but if not, you may have to improvise.
“Alright, hang tight Sergeant while Alejandro listens in,” Ghost said over the comms. You couldn’t really respond so you complied, just sipping your drink and feigning interest in the ongoing game on TV.
In all honesty, you were surprised Shepherd hadn’t wanted more out of you. When he was desperate for results, he normally sent you in with execute authority, willing to toe the line of legality as long as it got answers. And you were fine with that. You made yourself into the weapon that you were, it would be idiotic to not use it. You didn’t lose a bit of sleep over the people he sent you after; they were evil in more ways than one and normally involved in nefarious practices outside of terrorism. 
“Keep doing what you’re doing. We’re getting something.”
And so, you did.
You allowed your gaze to roam over to the table of about five men, only picking out a few words from their conversation. A name appeared a few times, “Diego”, possibly something for the Los Vaqueros to look into.
As you looked around, you saw a different group of men, about three, get up from their place at the bar. Just as it looked like they were about to leave, one of them turned around and started walking your way. 
You hoped he was going to the bathroom just so you didn’t have to talk to him and ruin any intel coming through from the mic. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem you would be that lucky tonight. 
“Hola,” he greeted with a charming smile. “I’ve never seen you here before.”
Just as he had begun talking to you, Ghost’s voice rang out in your ear. “Get rid of him, Sergeant.”
“Oh, hi!” you greeted with a smile. “I’m on vacation. It’s my first time here actually.” 
“Maybe I could show you around some?” he suggested, standing closer to the seat you were in, leaning on the table with one of his hands.
“I’m sorry,” you said with a small, embarrassed smile. “I have a boyfriend. I’m actually waiting for him here.”
“Oh,” he said, looking a little dejected. “I hope you have a good time.”
You nodded and watched his retreating form.
“Good girl.”
You sucked in a breath of surprise at the praise.
Bastard, you thought to yourself. His voice was so dark and deep, and now closer than ever since he was literally talking just to you over the comms. And he knew what he was doing. Likely an attempt to get you back from your fight earlier and the tactics you used. 
A little bit of time passed, filled with you keeping your mind under control and Ghost updating you on their progress. Just as you finished your second drink, the men at the table got up to leave. And, just as you suspected, they sported tattoos of the cartel symbol on their bodies.
“Alright, we’ll be there soon,” Ghost said. “Don’t go anywhere.”
You paid your tab in cash and left the building shortly after, content to wait on a bench for your ride to pick you up. 
Thoughts of Ghost were becoming quite distracting; the feel of his body against yours, his hand around your neck, a hand inching up your thigh after stitching you up. He was effortlessly intoxicating and all you wanted to do was breathe him in. You weren’t blind, either. You knew that he had to feel it too. Why else would he react so strongly after the fight?
“You’re playing a dangerous game, Siren”
And why did that warning feel more like an invitation?
—-
You made it back to the base after being escorted by one of Alejandro’s men. You weren’t summoned for a meeting about their findings yet so you headed back to your shared room, hoping to get out of the dress and back into your tactical clothes.
Upon arriving, you saw Ghost sitting on the edge of his bed, cleaning his weapons again. It was almost ritual-like, with how often he would clean them. 
Soap was nowhere to be seen, likely at the dining hall.
“Lieutenant,” you greeted. He looked up and nodded in return, going back to his task without a further word.
You went into the bathroom and began deconstructing Isabella. You took out your braid and let your locks fall naturally around your face. You hung your jean jacket on a towel rack outside of the door, leaving only your sundress to unzip.
You reached around the back to reach the zipper, but it was at a very awkward angle, and not something you could do by yourself.
You sighed. Perhaps this could be the opportunity you had been waiting for to finally get him out of your system.
“Ghost?” you called out. “Can you help me for a sec?”
You felt giddiness rise in your chest, and for once in a long time, it was not because you were preparing to kill someone.
You heard faint footsteps getting closer and two knocks on the bathroom door. You opened it to find your Lieutenant eyeing you warily like you were a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Smart man.
You stepped away to let him in and shut the door behind him. 
“I can’t unzip this,” you told him, gesturing to your dress. “Could you do it for me? Please?”
He nodded once and you turned to face the mirror.
As he came up behind you, you felt the need to push a little bit, just to see what would come of it.
“I told you it wasn’t dangerous.”
He met your gaze in the mirror and narrowed his eyes. “You were lucky.”
“Maybe so,” you replied, feeling his warm hand make contact with your back where the zipper was. “I think I did a great job, though. Worthy of a reward if I do say so myself.” 
Every breath between you felt measured, both of you trying to figure the other out as you neared a precipice you couldn’t back away from.
He hummed in acknowledgement and began slowly dragging the zipper down, eyes never breaking from yours.
“After all, you said I was a good girl,” you teased, a smirk forming.
A hand flew to your waist, holding you still as the zipper finally reached the bottom of its track.
You were presenting a clear challenge with your eyes alone, one that you hoped he would take. However, you could see him debating with himself, so you decided to take matters into your own hands with a little provocation.
“Show me what it’s like to be with someone other than people like them,” you told him pointedly.
“Like who?” 
“Those weak men,” you said, taking the hand on your waist and guiding it up to your abdomen, “the ones that never take a chance,” and up higher, “the ones that can’t keep up,” and leaving it to rest on your covered breast while you whispered the last part.
“The ones that can’t make me cum.”
A hand flew up to grip your throat, causing you to grin at the motion while he pushed his body tight against yours. 
“You’re something else, Siren.” His voice was deeper than you’d ever heard it and it only multiplied the feeling of your arousal.
“I know.” You smiled at him and watched his eyes darken.
He released your throat and pulled the straps of your sundress down your shoulders and peeled it off slowly. It fell to the ground, pooling around your feet, leaving you in a lacy set of underwear and strapless bra while he was fully dressed in tactical gear minus a vest.
You reached around and removed your bra; immediately a hand found your breast and began tugging on your already hardened peak, making you release a quiet moan of pleasure.
Before you could really get into it, his other hand threaded itself into the hair at the base of your skull and made a fist, pulling your head back to look at him in the mirror.
“One rule,” he said. You nodded as best as you could, still slightly distracted by his hand traveling from your breast down your abdomen and stopping right when the tips of his fingers reached your panty line.
“With me, you’re real,” he ordered. “No fake moans. If something doesn’t feel good, you’re going to tell me. This isn’t your job; this is just us.”
You nodded reverently but he tightened his grip causing you to hiss in pleasure-pain.
“Say it.”
“Yes, Ghost. Just us. Now fucking touch me you bastard.”
He chuckled lowly, sliding his hand underneath your underwear and running his fingers through your folds.
“Soaked,” he commented smugly, dragging some of your wetness up to rub your bundle of nerves with his middle finger. You watched the outline of his hand in the mirror, the veins in his arm, the muscles flexing as he began moving his fingers in circles. 
“Fuck,” you whispered, just this small touch making you feel so good, so much better than when you touched yourself. “More,” you demanded.
Ghost removed his hand, causing you to whimper at the loss. He spun you around and both of his hands found the edges of your underwear and dragged them down, leaving you completely bare before him. He lifted you by the waist to sit on the sink, your back against the mirror.
He put his hands on both knees and spread them apart, exposing your arousal to him. You watched his eyes flare and his chest rise and fall faster.
He brought his middle and ring finger of one hand to your lips.
“Suck.”
You eagerly opened your mouth and hollowed out your cheeks, caressing his fingers with your tongue. Instead of just staying still like last time, his moved his fingers forward, deeper into your mouth. You stared at him as you swallowed them down, not choking on the digits as he tested your gag reflex. He quietly groaned and removed his now slicked fingers.
The same hand reached down and cupped the apex of your thighs, rubbing your clit a few times before easing his fingers into you, causing your eyes to roll backwards. When you opened your eyes, he waited for you to look right at him before curling them up, eliciting a true moan, one you hadn’t ever heard come from yourself.
He built up a rhythm, going in and out, curling his fingers with every plunge inside, a pressure building up in your abdomen. You were in a constant state of pleasure, mindless to the rest of the world besides the masked man in front of you.
Ghost continued to finger fuck you, dirty and slow, pushing moans out of you effortlessly. You knew you were getting closer and closer and couldn’t stop your words or reactions.
“Shit, shit, shit,” you cried out, thighs beginning to shake.
His unoccupied hand came up to grip your chin and level your stare with his.
“Watch me when you cum,” he ordered. You nodded enthusiastically, not willing to take your eyes off of his.
He sped up and rubbed your clit with his thumb on every push in. You moaned loudly, your eyes becoming hooded as the pleasure became too much for your body to handle. You watched him right as he shoved you over the edge, waves of ecstasy crashing over you. He helped you ride out your orgasm and when you came down, he removed his fingers, now more slick than they were from your mouth.
Ghost’s other hand raised his balaclava enough to reveal his lips, and he placed his fingers coated in your slick into his mouth, groaning as the taste hit his tongue.
“Your cunt tastes fucking good,” he growled, pulling your boneless form off of the sink and turning you around once again, making you lean against the sink on your hands. Even though you just came, you were drunk on him and wanted him even more, wanted anything he’d give you.
“Fuck me, Ghost,” you demanded, sticking your ass out a little, desperate to feel his cock splitting you open.
“Gladly.” His hands fumbled to undo his belt and pants. You felt his warm, velvety cock against your ass and watched as he spat down on his hand. He stroked himself a few times before lining himself up behind you, looking at you before moving.
“Please,” you whispered.
Ghost pushed his hips forward, his cock entering you in one go and causing you to drop your jaw from the fullness while he let out a loud groan.
“Fucking hell,” he said, hands coming up to grip your hips tightly. He pulled almost all the way out before thrusting harshly back in and forcing a moan from you. He filled you just right, on the right side of painful and the epitome of pleasure. 
As he rocked in and out, pulling your hips back into him on every thrust in, you thought that if you died right now, you’d be fucking happy, being impaled on this man’s cock.
You have been fucked by countless men but nothing, nothing could ever compare to the borderline religious experience you were having as his length buried itself inside of you over and over again. 
You watched his eyes in the mirror; he would look downward to where he was disappearing inside of you and then up to your face, meeting your eyes with an intensity you’d never seen before. His thrusts picked up in pace, but he never sacrificed firmness for speed, the slap of his hips hitting your skin echoing in the bathroom. 
Your moans also picked up in frequency as you began to approach your peak once more, his cock hitting the spot deep inside you perfectly each time. You gripped the sink edge so hard that your fingertips were white with the effort.
He pulled you upright, one hand wrapped around your neck, causing an arch to form in your back as he fucked you. His other hand travelled down to your clit and circled it with precision, causing your pleasure to skyrocket tenfold. 
“Oh my god…” you cried as his thrusts continued with a deadly consistency. 
“Cum,” Ghost told you. “Cum on my cock.” 
You cried out the only name you had for him. He shoved himself inside of you deep and held there while you shook and spasmed around him. 
“Fuckin’ good girl,” he said in that gravely tone of his.
He maneuvered your body into another position, bending you more forward and holding your arms behind you. With one hand gripping your shoulder and the other holding your arms, he pulled out slowly and slammed back in, causing an almost-sob to come out of you. You felt so damn good, tears started to prick at the corner of your eyes.
The sound of your wetness became very loud as he continued to move in and out, joining the sound of heavy breathing, skin on skin, and your uncontrolled moans.
“So fucking wet,” he groaned, fucking you with an such an intensity that you wouldn’t be surprised to see bruises on you the next day. In fact, you hoped you would, if only to remind you that this wasn’t some dream. 
He sped up again; The way he held your body meant that with every thrust in, it jolted you forward but his hands stopped you and brought you backwards instead, making it feel like his cock was pounding into you even deeper than before. You watched yourself getting fucked by your Lieutenant; you looked so fucked out and in a daze. He wasn’t unaffected though. His eyes would occasionally roll back in pleasure and groans would surface after a particularly deep thrust.
“God, Ghost, you feel so good,” you told him. “Never felt like this before.”
“Good.”
Before long, his thrusts became more erratic, signaling he was reaching his end as well. He let go of your arms and instead gripped your waist. 
“Touch yourself,” he choked out. You obeyed, rubbing your clit with a furious intensity. You felt yourself approaching an orgasm for the third time, the feeling rapidly increasing with his more vocal groans as he neared the end.
“Shit,” you cried out, falling into pleasure a final time, muscles twitching so badly that Ghost had to hold up most of your weight. By the time you came back to yourself, he couldn’t hold back anymore.
He quickly pulled out and came on your lower back, a heavy groan echoing through the bathroom. You both were still for a second, catching your breath.
He was the first to move; he grabbed a washcloth and wiped his spend from your back and rubbed his fingers over the already forming bruises on your waist from when he came.
“’S okay,” you told him, voice hoarse from use. “We should do that again.”
Your Lieutenant looked back up at you. You were a bit of a mess, with hair mussed and a full-body flush present from all the blood rushing. But that didn’t stop you from giving him a serious stare.
“I’m serious,” you told him. “This doesn’t have to be the last time.”
“We’ll see.” 
“You’re welcome to stay but I’m going to shower. We worked up quite a sweat.” 
He nodded and was quiet for a second.
“I’m going to go out. Don’t need Soap investigating where we both went if he comes back.”
You nodded in agreement and watched as he tucked himself back in his pants and fixed his belt before walking out. You weren’t offended that he was leaving. You were honest about your intentions; it didn’t need to be anything more than sex. 
You had a pleasant ache in your muscles, and you felt sore in all the right places, something you hadn’t really ever felt. You were being honest when you said you hadn’t felt anything like that before.
Hopefully it happens again. And soon.
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swiftieblyth · 12 days
Text
The Nightshade Sisters: The Sorting Hat
Warnings- dead mom, abusive dad, raised by aunt uncles and godparents, death eaters, Voldemort, violence and murder, Draco Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy, all other Harry Potter stuff
Let me know if there’s anything else!
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Rosie stayed with Ron and Harry as they made their way up to the castle but never talked to them. 
“Welcome to Hogwarts,” an old lady in a which hat said to all the first years. “The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common room. ‘The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours. The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting. I shall return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly.” The lady walked away and all the students looked around.
“It’s true then,” a pale, blond-haired boy called, making everyone look at him. “What they’re saying on the train. Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts.”
Harry and Ron looked at each other as the first years started merming around them. Rosie took a few steps back not wanting people to see her with him. 
“This is Grabbe, and Goyle,” the boy continued motoning to the two big boys next to him. He smiled and walked in front of Harry. “And I’m Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.” Ron laughed a little and the blond looked at him with disgust. “Think my name is funny, do you? No need to ask you yours. Red hair and a hammy down robe, you must be a Weasley. You’ll soon find out that some wizarding families are better than the others, Potter. You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there.”
“I think I can tell who the wrong sort are for myself, thanks.” Harry replied, Draco scoffed and walked away. As he turned he made eye contact with Rosie and smiled a bit, making Rosie blush. As Draco walked away the lady with the hat came back in and looked at them.
“We’re ready for you now. Follow me.” Professor McGonagall stated. She led them into the Great Hall and everyone looked around in amazement.
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“Ceddie, look,” Lacy called as she saw Rosie. “It’s Rosie.” 
Rosie looked over and saw her two siblings smiling at her, and gave them a smile and a small wave, as they did the same to her. Lacy made a heart of her hands and blew a kiss to Rosie.
“Well don’t embarrass her, Lace,” Cedric smiled.
“I’m sorry, I just can’t help it. I’m so proud of her. She’s gone through so much.”
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The group of first years made their way to the front of the room and got ready to be sorted into their houses. “When I call your name,” McGonagall explained. “You will put on the hat, and sit on the stool. Granger, Hermionie.”
“Oh no,” Herminoie breathed. “Okay, relax.”
“Mental that one.” Ron whispered to Harry as Hermionie got sorted into Gryffindor.
“Malfoy, Draco.” McGonagall called, and the boy from earlier made his way up to the sorting hat. Before the hat was even fully on his head it called out Slytherin. The blond smirked, and walked away to sit with his friends.
“Nightshade, Rosie,” McGonagall called. Rosie’s heart stopped as she made her way up, feeling everyone watch her.
Lacy grabbed Cedric’s arm and squeezed it.
Rosie sat on the stool and McGonagall put the hat on her head.
“Hm,” the hat recalled. “Interesting you are. Nightshade, sister of Lacy Nightshade?”
“Yes.” Rosie whispered. 
“Shy, girl, I could put you in Hufflepuff with your sister, but that doesn’t seem right. You’re intelligent like your uncle, definitely have his brains, and it seems more than just that.”
“I don’t have it, if that’s what you’re implying,” Rosie whispered. “I was just born an animagus.”
 “I see. There’s a darker side to you, a mysterious side. Just like your aunt. SLYTHERIN!” The hat yelled.
The Slytherins started cheering and standing up, as McGonagall took the hat off of Rosie’s head. Rosie made her way to the Slytherin table but looked at her siblings at the Hufflepuff table. Lacy gave her a small smile. “It’s okay, Little Ross. We still love you.” Cedric mouthed to her, making her feel better.
“Welcome to Slytherin,” someone smiled, as Rosie sat down at the table. Rosie smiled, but didn’t reply. Someone patted her back, making her flinch a little. She sat down hoping no one saw and looked down at the table.
Lacy saw Rosie flinch and let out a breath, squeezing Cedric’s arm. “Did you see that?” Lacy asked, trying to get a better few of her sister. “Can you see her? Is she okay?”
“She’s okay. She’s sitting. I saw everything happen. Someone just patted her back, and it scared her.”
“Oh poor girl.” Lacy sighed.
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A tall wizard with long white hair, and a long white beard stood up and opened his arms, getting everyone’s attention. “Welcome,” he called. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!” The man finished, and dishes filled with food of all kinds appeared on every table.
Rosie grabbed some food and started eating, keeping to herself as everyone around her talked with their friends. “So Rosie,” the prefect sitting next to her asked. “Which one of your parents was in Slytherin?”
“Oh um,” Rosie struggled, looking at her food, not wanting to answer. “My aunt and uncle were both Slytherins.”
“What about your parents?” One of the big boys from earlier asked. 
Rosie looked up and saw the two big boys and the blonde looking at her. “W- what?”
The big boys snickered at her response but the blonde just kept staring at her, with curiosity in his eyes.
“You’re parents,” the other big boy replied. “Have you gotten any?”
“Yeah, just not Slytherin.” Rosie lied.
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The dinner finally ended and Rosie followed the Slytherins to their common rooms. Rosie went to her room and lied in her bed while everyone else was in the common room talking. Rosie looked at a picture of her and her family. It was taken last year before the accident. The family showed Cedric and his parents, Rosie, and Lacy, their aunt and uncle, and their younger cousins, Hannah and Emma. Emma was just a few months old in the picture, sleeping peacefully in her mother’s arms, and Hannah who was about five at the time was in her father's arms. Rosie put the picture down and started to cry into her pillow. 
After a few seconds Rosie felt something soft cuddling up next to her, Rosie looked up and saw her cat, Brownie, nuzzling her face into her side. “Hi, Brownie,” Rosie smiled, petting her cat.
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Rosie fluttered her eyes open and looked around the dark room. She noticed that everyone was there, she didn’t know what time it was but she didn’t care, she got out her book and went to the common room with Brownie following close behind. Rosie sat down on the couch in front of the fire and watched it as Brownie jumped into her lap. 
“I miss him, Brownie,” Rosie whispered, stroking her cat. “He was like my dad. I know he was my uncle, but he raised me after… After what happened with my parents.”
While Rosie was talking to her cat, the blonde boy, Draco, started making his way down the stairs to the common room. He stopped when he heard a soft quiet voice coming from the common room. He peeked his head around the corner and saw Rosie, talking, petting her cat who was on her lap. Tears threatened to fall out of her eyes. 
“Ceddie’s been a huge help to me over these past few months,” Rosie explained to the cat, a tear falling on her face. “I feel so bad for Hannah and Emma not being able to grow up with their dad, when he was actually a great guy. I wish my dad was good…” Rosie got cut off by a noise coming from around the corner. “He-hello?” She asked.
Draco walked around the corner and scared Rosie. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Draco explained. “I heard you talking and I was… Well I don’t know, I’ve barely heard you talk so I was listening.” 
Rosie stared at him with wide eyes, a hint of blush on her face. “How long have you been there?”
“Not long, I promise. I’m sorry, it’s just…” Draco struggled. “You don’t talk much do you?”
Rosie looked down at her hands, and shook her head. “It’s not that I don’t like people,” Rosie explained. “It’s just, they don’t like me.”
“Well, I like you,” Draco stated, sitting down next to her. “And I can talk for you when you need me to.”
“Thank you…Malfoy?” Rosie asked, unsure of his name.
“Draco.” Draco let out, putting his hand out to her.
“Rosie,” Rosie smiled, shaking his hand. “Rosie Nightshade.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Rosie Nightshade.”
“You too, Draco Malfoy.”
“Who were you talking to?”
“Oh, just my cat,” Rosie explained, gesturing to Brownie, purring on her lap. “Brownie. I have the cat and my sister has the owl.”
“You have a sister?”
“Yeah. I have an older sister, two younger sisters, and an older brother.”
“Wow, what’s it like having so many siblings? Is it fun?”
“It can be. My older siblings are both in Hufflepuff, so I don’t really understand why I’m in Slytherin.”
“Maybe there’s a reason you’re here. Maybe we were supposed to become friends,” Draco threw out.
“Friends?” Rosie asked. “We’re friends?”
“Yeah, is that a problem?”
“Well I mean, I’ve never had friends before.”
“What why?”
“No one likes me, when they get to know me, and hear about my life. They just pity me.”
“Rosie, I will never pity you.”
            “You don’t know that. You barely even know me.”
            “Then, let me know you. We could be great friends if you give me a chance.”
            “You have to promise not to pity me.”
            “I promise.”
“My mum died shortly after I was born, and apparently my dad became abusive.”
“Oh, Rosie, I’m so sorry,” Draco let out.
“It’s okay. I don’t really remember him, but my sister does.”
“What about your brother? Does your brother remember it?”
“My brother isn’t his son.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s technically my Godbrother. After my aunt and uncles found out about my dad, they fought to take us in. Once my aunt and her husband had their first kid they decided that we needed Godparents so, it only seemed fitting that they would be my aunt's best friends family. We had all grown up knowing them anyways, and my sister and I had already been really close with their son since birth. How ever, last year my uncle died, so me, my three sisters, and our aunt, and our other uncle, my aunt and mum's brother, moved in with our Godfamily.”
“Oh, Rosie, I’m so sorry.” 
“See, there it is. You’re pitying me, just like everyone else.”
“Rosie, I promise, that I’m not pitying you. I hate that all of that has happened to you, and I want to protect you from the world. If you’ll let me, I want to be your best friend.”
“I’d like that.”
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LACY’S POV:
“How do you think she’s doing?” Lacy asked Cedric as they sat in the Huffelpuff common room. 
“Lace, she’ll be okay.”
“I know. But I’m just so worried about her. She was so worried about being in a different house than everyone she knows.”
“Hey, Lace, she’ll make friends, okay?”
“I know, but Cedie, I mean you know how hard things are for her.”
“I know, Lace.”
“And I mean gosh, she’s so close with Uncle Remus, and I know she’s going to hate not being able to be with him and take care of him during full moons.”
“I know. But hey, she’s going to write to him. You know that. She’s going to be just fine. How about you go to bed? We can see her in the morning.”
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emiliosandozsequence · 3 months
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what are ur true crime documentary recommendations?
OH I GOT SO MANY hang on let me go look through the streaming services i use to remember them.
needless to say trigger warning for all of these!! and yes i have watched all of these at least once!!
relentless
i'll be gone in the dark
the texas killing fields
night stalker: the hunt for a serial killer
sins of our mother
the devil next door
i am a killer
i am a stalker
the puppet master: the ultimate conman
the curious case of natalia grace
making a murderer
the keepers
the trial of gabriel fernandez
the anthrax attacks
murder mountain
the girl in the picture
murdaugh murders: a southern scandal
capturing the killer nurse
the tinder swindler
keep sweet pray and obey
the family
evil genius
the murder of gabby petito
down the hill: the delphi murders
lost women of highway 20
mommy dead and dearest
the cheshire murders
finding andrea
heaven's gate: the cult of cults
there's something wrong with aunt diane
beware the slenderman
who killed garret philips?
murder in boston: root, rampage, and reckoning
the murder of laci peterson
wild crime: murder in yosemite
wild crime: blood mountain
murder among the mormons
crime beat
dark desires
there is 100% ones i'm forgetting, but!! these are some of my favs from netflix, hbomax, and hulu!!
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turtle-babe83 · 1 year
Text
All 4-1 Challenge: January
@thelaundrybitch @tmnt-tychou @post-apocalyptic-daydream @leosgirl82 @nittleboo @scholastic-dragon @dilucsflame33 @fyreball66 @lec743 @happymoonangel @hotredphoenix @sharpwindow @luna-neko-hamato
Prompts:
“Why do you have a pair of her panties in your dresser?” “WHY ARE YOU IN MY DRESSER?!”
“I wouldn’t use that towel if I were you…”
💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚
Raphael was keeping a secret from him. Leo could read him like a book. So far, his poking around hadn’t revealed anything substantial and he was growing increasingly frustrated. There had to be something. Raph wasn’t exactly subtle so evidence was bound to turn up.
Cigarettes? Nah, Raph was too health conscious.
Illegal steroids? Hmm, perhaps. The brute did pride himself on his muscle and strength.
He needed to dig deeper to find the truth. He waited until Raph had gone topside with Donnie to raid the junkyard. Mikey was being forced into a meditation session with their father. The coast was clear. He snuck into Raphael’s room, immediately crinkling his nose. It smelled musky and sweaty, like old gym socks. Soda cans, empty pizza boxes, and dirty dishes littered every surface but the bed, which was completely disheveled. At least now he knew where all the missing spoons were.
Bending down, he peeked under the bed. Nothing but more of the same trash and a whole burrow of dust bunnies. Leo fought the urge to sneeze. He checked the bookshelves where Raph kept his prize comics and collectible action figures. Nothing out of the ordinary there. Then he started on the dresser. Bottom drawer, sweat pants and a few cans of Orange Crush. Leo snickered. He would have to keep that in mind, and tell Mikey about Raph’s secret stash the next time the hot head went against his orders. The next drawer up was nostalgic T-shirts from back when the terrapin was still small enough to wear them over his shell. The second drawer from the top was shorts, his brother’s typical attire. So that left the top drawer.
Leo paused momentarily, feeling a twinge of guilt for going through Raphael’s things. But he was dead certain that his brother was hiding something and wasn’t it his duty as leader to know everything about his team? What if it was something that could jeopardize their home base, or put them in danger? With fresh resolve, he grabbed the drawer pulls and yanked it open. This was the big guy’s underwear drawer. Ugh, he really didn’t want to go rifling through it, but what better place to hide something?
Carefully, he began to sort through the contents to see what else was hidden inside. He was about to give up his search with his fingers brushed against something unexpected. Something silky. Something with a lacy edge. With a look of shock, Leo lifted a pair of women’s panties from the drawer, bikini style with lace strings on the sides and along the edges in an inky black. He knew exactly who they belonged to. He had seen the strings one time when she was working out with them. She had stretched from side to side and they had peeked out from the sides of her workout shorts.
“What the hell?” he muttered.
A voice rumbled from the doorway, causing him to jump, “I’ll say! What da hell are ya doin’ in my room?”
Leo whirled around to find the turtle in question standing behind him, fuming.
“Good thing I came back fer my flashlight. What gives ya the right ta go through my shit, Leo?” Raphael continued, until he saw what was dangling from his older brother’s finger. Suddenly, Raph looked nervous.
“Why do you have a pair of her panties in your dresser?” Leo asked evenly.
Raph sputtered, waving his arms around, “WHY ARE YA IN MY DRESSER, LEO?!”
Leo shook his head, lips thinning into a straight line. That wasn’t going to work.
“Why, Raph?”
“I like ta wear’em,” he spat out, crossing his arms.
Leo blinked. Wait, what? Then, he narrowed his eyes and studied his face closer.
“Nice try, but this teeny thing wouldn’t fit your big green toe. What’s really going on here, Raph?”
Raphael shuffled his feet, then huffed out a sigh.
“She left’em here the last time she trained wit us. I found’em in the bathroom after her shower. Must’ve fallen off the edge of the sink. I, uh, kept’em…ya know, ta…..ya know?”
Leo kept staring at his brother, trying to make sense of the mess of words that just fell from his lips, when realization suddenly dawned on him.
“YOU USE THEM TO JERK OFF?!” he screeched, dropping them like they were on fire.
Looking around frantically, Leo spotted a towel hanging on the back of a chair and grabbed it, starting to wipe his hands on it, when Raph winced.
“I wouldn’t use that towel if I were ya…” he trailed off.
Leo froze, slowly looking closer at the towel, where he noticed some crusty substance dried to the cotton fibers. With a high pitched sound, he dropped it as well. Raph, for his part, looked utterly embarrassed at having been found out. He bent to retrieve the panties, when a new voice came from behind him.
“Hey guys, what are y-wait. ARE THOSE MY PANTIES?!?!”
Leo gulped as he watched his brother’s eyes go comically wide. Looks like Raph’s secret was going to put them in danger, after all.
😳
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morrisxn02 · 6 months
Text
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ogden college (un)official class playlist ! available NOW at a therapist near you !
PART ONE: the student body
lacy by olivia rodrigo・henrietta astor
"oh, i care, i care, i care. like ribbons that you wear. my stomach's all in knots. you've got the one thing that i want..."
hurricane by halsey・reina azarolla
“i’m a wanderer, i’m a one-night-stand. don’t belong to no city, don’t belong to no man. i’m the violence in the pouring rain. i’m a hurricane.”
american teenager by ethel cain・ida clarke
“grew up under yellow lights on the street, putting too much faith in the make believe.”
this link is dead by deftones・lincoln crawford 
"pay attention! watch me close! as i decide which way i move"
february 15h by hobo johnson・nova dodson
"she went to columbia and i went to jail. i just wanted another apple when she really wanted yale. and that is the problem where all of this lies. i'm emotionally unstable. i'm a crazy fucking guy!"
crocodile tears by suzanna son・sassa fiske
"crocodile sitting all alone, painting nails the shade of pink to match princess peach's cheek. maybe they'll think i'm beautiful. maybe i can trick them."
perfect day by hoku・charlie fletcher 
“people say, they say that it’s just a phase. they tell me to act my age. well, i am.” 
the boy who blocked his own shot by brand new・jesse hart 
“a crown of gold, a heart harder than stone and it hurts to hold on, but it’s missed when it’s gone”
happy by marina・carmen hearst
"couldn't relax, couldn't sit back and let the sunlight in my lap. i sang a hymn to bring me peace and then came a melody."
too much by carlie rae jepsen・ollie inoue
"i live for the fire, and the rain, and the drama too, boy. and it feels like you never say what you want, and it feels like i can't get through, babe."
nina cried power by hozier and mavis staples・ mika ishii
“power has been cried by those stronger than me straight into the face that tells you to rattle your chains if you love being free. ah lord, and i could cry power!”
people watching by conan gray・logan iyande
“i’m only looking just to live through you vicariously. i’ve never really been in love, not seriously.”
summer child by conan gray・samantha jimenez 
"and you laugh and you dance in the wind, and you sway, and you hug and you kiss, but there's darkness behind those eyes."
savage daughter by sarah hester ross・ nixie linghui
“i am my mother’s savage daughter. the one who runs barefoot, cursing sharp stones. i am my mother’s savage daughter. i will not cut my hair. i will not lower my voice.”
mirrorball by taylor swift・roxie marsh
“hush. when no one is around, my dear, you’ find me on my tallest tiptoes, spinning in my highest heels, love. shinning just for you.”
don’t tell my mom by renée rapp・courtney mills
“so don’t tell my mom i’m falling apart. she hurts when i hurt. my scars are her scars. she’ll talk to her friends, impress all of them. at least in her mind, her daughter is fine.”
donttrustme by 3oh!3・cara morrison
“she's an actress, but she ain't got no need. she's got money from her parents and a trust fund back east."
halloween by novo amor・edward morrison 
“more and more with every accolade, i get carried with away with being carried away.”
i did something bad by taylor swift・greer morrison
"they're burning all the witches even if you aren't one. so light me up. go ahead and light me up."
autoestima by cupido, lola indigo and alizzz・ milo navarro
“my mother and my father gave me an extremely nice face. people don’t usually like pretty people like me.”
forsaken by paris paloma・alethea pierce
"i think i've done something to upset the stars again. the moon won't return my calls, but i deserve it. i deserve it all.”
strange overtones by david byrne, performed by whitney・lennon reed
"how long have i been missing? it's getting colder tonight. snowfall's reminiscing... i watched it melt before my eyes."
frankenstein by rina saywama・magnolia rhodes
"put me together, thread a needle so i'm like other people without all of the evil. i'm trying to be normal, but the trauma is immortal and none of this is your fault."
baseball by hippo campus・monty richler
“there goes that moonboy looking jungly with all his leaves a-growing.”
king by florence and the machine・anya saetang
"my empty halls echo with grand self-mythology. i am no mother, i am no bride. i am king."
stick season by noah kahan・nathaniel shaw 
“now i'm stuck between my anger and the blame that i can't face and the memories are something even smoking weed does not replace." 
liability by lorde・natalia vega
"she's so hard to please, but she's a forest fire. i do my best to meet her demands, play at romance, we slow dance in the living room, but all a stranger would see is one girl, swaying alone, stroking her cheek."
satanist by boygenius・jacqui velazquez 
“will you be a nihilist with me? if nothing matters, man, that’s a relief…”
you're on your own, kid by taylor swift・parker walsh
"there were pages turned with the bridges burned, everything you lose is a step you take. so make the friendship bracelets, take the moment and taste it. you've got no reason to be afraid. you're on your own kid. yeah, you can face this..."
river by leon bridges・malik wright 
"as my sins flow down the jordan, oh, i wanna come near ya and give ya every part of me. but there's blood in my hands, and my lips aren't clean..."
tolerate it by taylor swift・mari zuko
“i made you my temple, my mural, my sky. now i’m begging for footnotes in the story of your life.”
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