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marleyybluu · 9 months

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Oscar Diaz x f!reader

Word count: 2k

Content warning: swearing, readers (now ex/husband) is still a piece of shit, Oscar gets a little protective, another half ass ending cus I ran out of words, lmk if i miss any. another untitled one cus i suck.

A/N: this is not necessarily part 2, I guess it could be read as a stand alone… idk lol. But this is a part of the 'Another Man’s Treasure' universe.

(I think I've used this picture before but oh well. not mines though)

You let out a heavy, exasperated sigh after turning your car off. Another long shift at the hospital had kicked your ass, you had no energy, just ready to take off your scrubs and dip yourself in a hot bath. Thank goodness your kids would be with their father this weekend, you just needed a break. You decided not to sit and rot in the car as usual, you grabbed all your things and carried them to the door. You unlocked your door and turned the knob pushing your way inside and immediately noticed something wrong.

You look over at the shoe rack and notice your kids' shoes still sitting in their spots, you close the door and your eyes dart in confusion. "Naomi... Malakai... Nathan." You cautiously called out, the sound of their feet thumping against the carpeted floors upstairs, you dropped your belongings and waited at the bottom of the stairs.

"Hi, Mommy." Your youngest greeted. "Hi, guys, what-what's going on? You're going to Dad's this weekend. Who's watching you? Grandma?"

Naomi shook her head. "Oscar, we called him to pick us up."

"Yeah, dad didn't show up." Nathan chimed in. Your blood boiled, your nostrils flared in hot anger. This was his second time missing pick-up, you could excuse him for being late and that was you being generous but completely disregarding your agreement was not only disrespectful of you but of your children. Your children who are always so excited to see him and tell him about their week at school, your children who write a list of things they can do with him in the short span of 72 hours. Your eyes softened at them. "Why didn't you call me? You know I would've dropped everything for you guys."

They shrugged. "We didn't want you to get mad."

"Mad?? You guys this is not your fault, are you kidding? Look, just... head back upstairs, I will call your father. Okay?"

The three of them nodded and jogged back to their respective rooms. You took your hair down from its ponytail and scratched your scalp, freeing it from its current state of stress, you groaned walking into the kitchen to see a pile of dishes in the sink and spilling onto the counter. You were not getting to those tonight, way too tired. You heard the whistling of a familiar tune coming up the stairs of the basement, Oscar flicked off the light and stopped whistling when he noticed you, he presented an uneasy smile on his face. A bit scared that you'd be mad he didn't call you when the kids' dad didn't show up. But you tilted your head and smiled earnestly at him.

"Hi, baby." Sleep was very apparent in your voice. "Hola, mi amor." He stretched out his arms and you fell into them, your head resting on his strong chest, his heartbeat against your ear you close your eyes as the hypnotic rhythm brings you a bit of peace. He kissed the top of your head. "How was your day?" You asked. He chuckled. "Good, I missed you though. Made you some food, did the laundry, and I'll do the dishes soon."

"No, it's okay, I'll do them tomorrow morning." You foolishly protested, still not used to having someone else actually do some chores. He sucked his teeth. "No, you won't because they'll be clean by tonight."

You smiled. "Thank you." You whispered. "It's just dishes baby."

You pull your head back to look up at him. "You know what I mean. Thanks for... taking them. Ugh, in my next life, I'll know not to choose an idiot to be the father of my children." Oscar let go of you so you could fish for your dinner, you popped open the microwave to see a plate prepped and ready for you, all you had to do was heat it up. While the buzz of the microwave continued in the background you pulled out your phone from your back pocket, you dialled your ex-husband's number, your nails tapping impatiently on the counter waiting for him to answer.

"Hey, you know what to do." Beep.

You hung up and called again, if he wanted you to act out, oh you'd act out.

On the fourth call attempt, you finally heard noise on the end. "Hello?" He sounded groggy like he'd just woken up. Oh, poor thing.

"What the fuck is your problem?"

He yawned. "What are you talking about?"

You scoffed beginning to pace back and forth in the kitchen you peaked past the arched entrance to see if you had any little listening ears before you let the words fly out of your mouth like a sailor, when it came to him your words were unlady-like. "What the fuck am I talking about? You know, I threw you a pity party by agreeing to shared custody when God knows I could have full, I expect you to hold up your end of the bargain you fucking asshole."

You could hear the amusement in his voice like getting you riled up got him off. "I can't do it this weekend, I told you."

You gritted your teeth remembering his excuse and you telling him that you didn't care. "Oh, yes, how could I forget? Poor you, you can't go out with the boys if you have responsibilities. Meanwhile, I take my children everywhere I go."

"Unless your little boy toy watches them."

"And yet, he's still doing a better job than you." You bit. "Look," You took a deep breath. "Us separating was hard enough on them, don't make this harder by not fulfilling the one thing you're required to do."

He could be heard soughing dramatically, and if you knew him well enough he was rubbing his eyes with frustration crawling under his skin. "Fine, I'll come get them tomorrow."

"Good." You hung up and tossed your phone on the counter with attitude. Your fingers found their usual spot on your temples, you rubbed them with stress written all over your body. This divorce was supposed to make everything easier, no contact with each other unless it involved your kids and yet he was still getting under your skin. A reassuring hand rested on your back. "Go sit, I'll bring the food."

"No, it's-"

"If you tell me no one more time we're gonna have a problem." A playful warning but a warning nonetheless. You put your hands up in surrender and follow his instructions going to the dining room to sit and wait for him. It didn't take long for him to pop up with your food. You looked up at him with puppy eyes and pursed your lips, he leaned down planting a kiss. "I'm gonna get your pyjamas out and get your stuff ready for bed."

You cooed, "You have no idea how much I love you."

He smiled pridefully. "I love you too, ma."

— —

6 PM.

You checked your phone just to make sure, and yeah, it was 6 p.m. The bright and burning sun was disappearing behind the horizon, the orange and pink hue replaced the blue sky, it was getting darker by the minute and he was still a no-show. Your phone was pressed against your ear as you took a peak at your kids as they sprawled out on the couch watching a movie with Oscar, you smiled softly. "You really don't mind? I'm not trynna get rid of them or anything but their bags have been packed since last night and I just feel so bad." You explained to your mom on the phone.

Oscar turned his head in an attempt to eavesdrop on your conversation. Naomi snuggled herself closer to him, he kissed the top of her head, he'd ask you what happened later.

"Okay, thanks mom, I'll let them know."

You left your phone on the counter and joined your family in the living room with a presentable smile on your face. "Who wants to go see grandma?" They all turned their heads, smiles stretching from ear to ear. "She'll be here soon, you can finish the movie don't worry." They nodded and turned back to the screen, their little bodies wiggling with excitement and anticipation, they loved your mom, she let them get away with anything.

Oscar was still looking at you, you blushed sending him an air kiss and he winked in return. He was first on the to-do list once your gremlins were gone.

Half an hour passed and there was a knock at the door, Malakai was the first to run to the door to let your mom inside. They greeted her before running upstairs to get their belongings. "Thanks again Mom."

"No problem and you two are okay with me dropping them off at school on Monday?"

You nodded. The three musketeers came back downstairs dropping their bags on the floor to hug, kiss and say goodbye to the both of you. Naomi takes a longer time with Oscar's hug. "Can you carry me to the car?" You heard her whisper, he agreed and grabbed her bag taking her outside. And as you stood in the door frame watching him help her inside, all the anger you had from last night and today had seemed to thaw out. You counted yourself as lucky to have found a man who took care of your children as if they were his own, double the luck that they loved him just as much. , sometimes you'd have to pry Naomi off of him when he had to go to work.

Your mom honked her horn and you waved them off blowing kisses until they were out of your view. Oscar walked up the steps, hunched over and looking at you through his brows, you knew what was coming. "Diaz." You warned. He scooped you up throwing you over his shoulder, you squealed and giggled as he carried you into the house. He kicked the door close with his foot, "I'm bout to fuck you up." Such a pleasant threat, especially with the addition of him spanking you. You laughed breathlessly as he tossed you onto the couch, finding himself between your legs.

You cupped his face pulling him in, your lips melting together in a needy chase, his hands wandering your body, making their way inside your shirt. His fingertips tickling your bare skin getting closer... and closer to-

Knock! Knock!

For fuck sake.

"Ignore it." He groaned. You sucked your teeth. "They probably forgot something."

He sighed kissing you once more before you got up leaving him with his blue balls, you opened the door and the smile on your face vanished. "You're kidding. You are fucking kidding me."

"Oh, not happy to see me?" Your ex-husband smugged tilting his head. You were in disbelief, at the audacity of this man to stand on your doorstep with that stupid grin on his face as if nothing was wrong. "I'm not actually. Why are you here?" You asked crossing your arms. He chuckled. "To get my kids?"

Your eyebrows raised in shock. You looked down at your Apple Watch to make sure the time was correct. And it was. "It is almost 7 PM, what time were you supposed to be here?"

He shrugged. "Does it matter?"

"It does fucking matter, Anthony! You said you'd be here at twelve, then you called at twelve saying you'd be here at two. Your children have had their bags packed since last night!" You said raising your voice. You pinched the bridge of your nose. "They're not here. So you can go." You proceeded to close the door but he had quickly wedged his foot in the frame. You looked up at him. "Anthony." You warned, your nostrils flared. That was Oscar's cue to get up and see what was going on, he opened the door and stood behind you with a scowl on his face. Anthony rolled his eyes.

"You couldn't wait to move another man into my house huh?"

"And it's never been more peaceful."

He looked past the both of you. "Where are my kids?"

"They're out."

"Where?"

"Don't worry about it." You sassed. "They at your mom's? 'Cause I'll just go pick them up from there."

"You will not."

He took a step forward causing you to take one back. "Watch me."

Oscar stepped in the middle of both of you, sizing up Anthony. "Who the fuck do you think you're talking to?"

Now this was a side you'd yet to see of Oscar. In your many conversations of getting to know each other, he'd felt comfortable enough to inform you of his old life. How he was the leader of an infamous street gang, Los Santos, even showed you pictures. You never wanted to say it out loud, afraid you'd make him feel weird, but seeing him in his cholo attire, the gun tucked in his waist and his shirt lifted up or sometimes off... oh it did something to you. You'd never ask him to delve back into his old ways, but you'd have little fantasies about what he used to be like.

Aggressive.

Rough.

Possessive.

"Nobody's scared of you. Some little bitch from Fiji, you just got here, don't know shit about shit."Anthony challenged, but you knew him well enough. He'd never been in a fight his whole life, you could put a gun next to him he'd piss his pants. Oscar half smiled taking another step forward. Anthony stepped back.

"I may have just got here but at least I know how to pick up my kids on time."

Your heart skipped. My kids.

"Your-"

"I know not to fucking lie to their mother about what time I'm coming to get 'em, I know not to disappoint them because the look on their faces is heartbreaking."

Anthony stuttered backwards, further down the steps and closer to his car. "And I know, that if you go to their grandmother's house and fuck up their weekend, I'll knock your teeth down your throat, pendejo."

You could see your ex-husband swallow any comebacks he had tried to come up with, the slight fear in his eyes as they darted to you as a plea for help but you just crossed your arms and shrugged. You weren't gonna help him. "Get the fuck out my face," Oscar growled. Anthony scurried off so fast you swore you saw smoke under his feet. His tires screeched as he pulled out of your driveway and down the street.

Oscar came back inside, trailing off to the kitchen. You closed the front door and followed him like a lost puppy. He reached into the fridge for one of his Corona’s and popped off the top. You bit your lip. "¿Que pasa?" He asked bringing his drink to his lips. You shrugged. "I think that was a solid first meeting."

He laughed. "Me too."

You leaned over the counter dragging your nail from side to side. "Sooo... was that Oscar or was that Spooky?" He playfully rolled his eyes and looked away. "If I have to go back to Spooky for you, I'll do it."

Your heart fluttered. "Any time?"

"Mhm."

You walked over to him, gently grabbing his hand and guiding him over to the steps and up the stairs. "You think Spooky can show out for one night?"

He pulled his hand from you and smacked your ass.

"Absolutamente, mi amor."

if you liked this fic, feel free to like this fic, reblogs and comments are appreciated.

peace and love, see you in the next one🤙🏾

🏷: @darqchilddaydreamz @realhotgurlshit @skyesthebomb

tags who might be interested: @luxaphrodevotee

#oscar diaz #spooky #spooky x reader #oscar diaz x fem!reader #spooky fanfic #spooky fanfiction #on my block fanfic #on my block #on my block fanfiction #marleywrites #marleysfanfictions

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trensu · 8 months

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This is a completed one shot I plan to post on ao3 eventually. (Okay I just don't want it on ao3 before I post the one other one I've been working on). It's a bit of backstory for Wayne and Eddie in the Hawkins Halfway House au. Enjoy!

Wayne sat in his small boat, lazily gripping a fishing pole. The coast was barely visible on the horizon, and his boat was the only one around for miles. His cooler already had his catch of the day to take back to the ramshackle cabin he was staying at during his fishing trip. Now he fished to relax.

He was almost drowsing when he heard the quavering voice. It startled him to alertness. Wayne was alone, too far from any other living thing to hear any voice other than his own and the occasional squawking of water birds. Yet, he could hear it.

Someone was singing. The voice, light and soft, barely floated above the sound of lapping water. Wayne couldn’t make out the words of the song but the tune was almost familiar. It would sound sweet, but the voice was unpracticed, fading in and out, sometimes picking up speed and other times slowing almost to a stop.

Regardless, something about it invited proximity. Unthinkingly, Wayne got to his feet to try to pin down the voice. Thankfully his boat was a modest size, only big enough for a group of four and space for their catch. It was only a couple of yards to the front of the boat, and the voice got louder the closer he got.

He leaned over the rail to see where the voice was coming from and there, a few feet away, a little head bobbed above the water. Dark, tangled curls framed large dark eyes, and floated in the water around it. It was a child.

“What on earth,” Wayne murmured to himself. There couldn’t be a kid here so far from shore and any other boats, without a single floating device in sight. The kid couldn’t be older than three or four years old, how long had they been treading water?

Wayne could feel worry start to build in him but it was dampened as the kid swam closer, making the clumsy song louder. The words of the song were mumbly and slurred together. He didn’t know what the kid was singing but as he listened he knew, suddenly, that the kid was starving.

He felt the hunger like it was his own. The child was so hungry, won’t he feed them? Didn’t he want to fill their belly? Please, please, he would feel so much better if he fed them.

The kid was in his boat now. Their skin was pale, almost iridescent, and their hair tumbled past their shoulders. Their body was small and worryingly thin. It didn’t occur to Wayne to question the child’s nudity and sexlessness aside from the vague concern that perhaps the child was cold. Even that faded to nothing because he knew the kid was hungry, so hungry.

Throughout it all, the child’s voice tripped and meandered through the song. Every now and then, alarm would surface in Wayne’s mind but the child would stumble back into rhythm and the worry faded. Wayne at some point had sat placidly in a vacant seat while he watched the child half walk, half crawl towards him.

The child got to him, tiny hands reaching towards him, and Wayne thought maybe he should pick them up. The calm shattered when the child opened his mouth wider than any human child should be able to, revealing rows of pointed, serrated teeth, and bit down on the closest part of Wayne they could reach. The song dropped abruptly, and Wayne screamed.

The teeth sunk into the thick leather of Wayne’s boot, the points of them barely deep enough to prick at the thin skin of his ankle. Instinctively, Wayne kicked out hard. The child was sent clear to the other end of the boat, banging up against the railing.

The child wailed in pain but it didn’t sound human. It was a piercing, shrill whistle mixed with a strange low moan and intermittent clicks. Wayne scrambled back, falling off the seat and smacking his elbow against his cooler. The lid popped open and icy water sloshed over, soaking his sleeve.

The child oriented themself and started crawling awkwardly, quickly, towards him, hungry, hungry, hungry. In a panic, Wayne plunged his hand into the cooler, grabbed one of the fish and flung it at the child. The fish slipped and flopped across the floor. The second it was in reach, the child snatched it up with a triumphant squeal and tore into its belly.

Wayne watched, stunned, as the child ate the whole damn thing, not a single scrap left behind. The child looked up at him with those huge dark eyes, face and hands smeared with fish guts. Wayne’s heart hammered in his chest as the child tried to crawl towards him again. He threw them another fish, and then a third.

By the time the kid finished the third fish, their eyes had gone heavy lidded and a pleased, clicking hum permeated the air. Wayne didn’t give himself a moment to think. He dove forward, scooped the child up, and flung it overboard. The child shrieked but Wayne didn’t care. He started the boat’s engine and sped off towards the coast.

What the fucking hell was that?

–

By the next morning, Wayne convinced himself it had been a nightmare. He’d fallen asleep while fishing and had a horrible nightmare. He didn’t look at the boots he wore yesterday. He decided today he was wearing his spare boots.

Wayne spent hours on his boat, filling up his cooler again with fish of varying sizes. He had started to relax when he heard the trembling singing again. He immediately scanned the water and there, a few yards away, bobbed a little head above the water.

A part of Wayne panicked, but it was small and hard to hear over the stumbling notes of the song. The child swam closer and the song got more audible over the sound of water. The child was hungry again, Wayne could feel it, but it wasn’t the ravenous, hollow bellied hunger from yesterday. Wayne watched the child dig their tiny claws to the side of the boat and climbed in.

Wayne grabbed a fish from the cooler almost before the child flopped on deck. The child snatched the fish thrown at him and giddily bit into it. The song stopped again but by then, the panic Wayne felt lost its mindlessness and became more fearful caution.

He threw the child two more fish and took their distraction to look them over more carefully than he had been able to yesterday. The child’s skin looked human for the most part, aside from the faint iridescence. However, the skin took on a scalier appearance along the child’s calves and forearms, where slight protrusions extended like the fins of a bony fish. There was a smattering of scales along the child’s rib cage, but heavy around the three slits they had on each side.

The child finished the third fish and scrambled over the side of the boat. There was barely a plop in the water. The kid swam fast but they only swam as far as to keep themself out of reach. Then it bobbed in the water watching Wayne, unblinkingly.

Wayne decided to call it a day, and started up his boat.

–

Wayne’s annual fishing trips were two weeks long. He always stayed at an abandoned cabin along the coast of Lake Michigan. Wayne saved his time off every year for this vacation. It wasn’t difficult to do, since Wayne had no family of his own to tend to and he rarely got sick.

Wayne never dwelled on it as he went about his daily routines, but when he was out here on a fishing trip, the loneliness sometimes crept in, uninvited. His parents had passed on years ago and he had no siblings to speak of. His childhood was such that he never had much opportunity to develop any intimate friendships. By the time he reached adulthood, he really never learned how to go about creating said friendships.

He was kind, polite, and quiet. Nobody ever had a single bad thing to say about him, but neither did they ever try to connect beyond the standard pleasantries. It didn’t necessarily bother Wayne; loneliness had lost its sting ages ago, and now carried a gentle familiarity when it visited unexpectedly.

However, Wayne knew that loneliness could do strange things to the mind. He wondered for a while if perhaps he had simply gone crazy. One look at his boots from that first encounter convinced him that it was very real.

–

By the fifth day, the child no longer sang. They also stopped running (swimming?) away right after eating. They stayed in the boat with Wayne for an hour or two. They would watch Wayne unwaveringly. It unnerved Wayne a bit, so to distract them both, he started talking to the kid.

It started with him verbalizing mundane observations (‘sun’s pretty hot today’), to simple recalls (‘last year, I caught a fish as big as you’), to more involved stories (‘the day I was drafted was the worst day of my life, I honestly don’t know how I’ve made it this far in life to meet you’). The child watched him throughout it all. Sometimes Wayne caught them mouthing along as he spoke.

By the eighth day, the child had pinned themself to Wayne’s side. They curled their scaly arms around Wayne’s leg, rubbing their forehead against Wayne’s knee with a happy, clicking hum as Wayne fished. Wayne had taken to giving the child his flannel to wear during their visits, for his own comfort rather than the child’s. The child appeared unbothered by their nudity. The clothing baffled them but they kept it on when Wayne wrapped them up in it.

That evening, Wayne tied his boat to the dock as usual. He gathered up his things and made his way to shore. As he walked, he heard the distinct sound of claws scrabbling wood. When he turned, he caught the child climbing up the wooden pole on the dock. The child pulled themself onto the wet planks of the dock and froze when they saw Wayne.

They stayed that way until Wayne started back towards the shore. He heard small wet footsteps behind him. He peeked over the shoulder to see the child following him. The child once again froze in place. After a moment, Wayne shifted his hold on his things to free up a hand.

“Well? Come on,” Wayne said, arm outstretched. The child beamed, shark teeth on display as his eyes crinkled with joy. The child tugged at the flannel Wayne had tied around his waist, and clumsily put it on before tucking their little hand in Wayne’s.

He gave the kid some more fish for dinner (‘fish!’ the child said, one of the few words they could actually speak) and made them a bed on the lone, lumpy couch in the cabin. The kid let themself be tucked in, though they were plainly confused about the whole thing. When Wayne woke in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, he had a small, heavily sleeping child plastered to his side, little claws hooked in his sleep shirt.

This continued for a few more days. Throughout them, Wayne soaked in the feeling of finally, finally not being alone in the world. The child listened to all his stories, and attempted to tell him stories of their own. They would find things in the water and show the items to Wayne, chattering excitedly. They had started to pick up some of the words Wayne taught them.

It was such a fulfilling time that Wayne began to worry, because his vacation was almost up. They only had three more days left together before he had to leave. The worry twisted his stomach and tightened his throat as the child sat across the rickety card table eating another fish for breakfast.

Wayne decided not to think about it.

–

Leaving the child at the lake on his last night broke his heart. He yelled at them when they tried to follow him on the dock. The child looked so confused. They whistled at him sadly, not even trying for words. Wayne stormed away before his will left him.

He couldn’t say the song woke him because never actually fell asleep. One minute he was tossing in bed and the next a strong, overpowering song flooded his senses and dragged him to the dock wearing only his pajamas.

At the dock, he sat on the damp wood, legs dangling over the edge. In the water there was a person, the most beautiful person he'd ever seen, with long flowing hair and delicate bone structure. Wayne wanted to get closer, needed to be nearer.

The song gentled until it came to a natural end. Wayne’s senses slowly returned to him. Then Wayne saw rows and rows of serrated teeth and impossibly round, large eyes. The person had no nose and their hair looked like seaweed. Not a person. A creature.

Before fear could overwhelm him, he heard excited, happy whistles and clicks. There, not too far from the creature, was the child. They watched the creature with an adoring expression.

“It told me you fed it,” the creature said. The child edged closer to the creature but the creature ignored them.

“Excuse me?” Wayne said.

“The abomination,” the creature said, tilting their head to where the child floated but didn't actually acknowledge them even as they creeped a little closer. “You should’ve let it starve.”

“Did you,” Wayne said as it dawned on him. “Did you abandon them here?”

“It cannot go into deeper waters,” the creature shrugged.

“Is this your kid?”

“I do not know what that–oh, I see. I am technically one of its progenitors, yes,” the creature said coolly. “It is not meant to exist. It is the product of trickery and fertility magic.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“A human wanted to keep me,” the creature said. “The human used some sort of power to create this thing, thinking to tie me to land like a selkie with its coat. The tie didn’t take and now there is this thing in the world. It is a mix of human and siren and it should not exist.”

The child kept swimming closer to the creature, making small entreating chirps. The creature finally acknowledged the child only to eye them dispassionately. When they got too close, the siren pushed them back. The child pouted and drifted at a distance for a while before attempting to get close again.

“I attempted to care for it. Siren offspring are rare. I did not want one to go to waste,” the siren said. “But sirens are hatched nearly full grown. This one is…it should still be gestating in its egg, were it a true siren. It can barely sing. It cannot dive deep. The abomination is hardly functional.”

“So you left them to die?” Wayne asked, aghast. The siren tilted their head.

“I left it. Whether it died or not would be decided by its own actions. The Lakes have little tolerance for the weak.”

The child got close enough again, without the creature noticing. They wrapped their tiny arms around the siren with a sweet smile. The siren reacted violently. With a shrill, angry whistle it grabbed the child by the hair and yanked them off. The child shrieked as the siren sent it spinning in the water.

“What are you doing?” Wayne yelled at the siren. “They just want to be held!”

“I am not prey to be held and drowned,” the siren hissed. The siren bared its teeth at the whimpering child. “Sirens know better than to get close to things larger than them, unless they want to be eaten."

The child’s pitiful sounds made Wayne’s heart ache. The siren, on the other hand, seemed completely unmoved. If the siren cared so little, it made no sense that it was here.

"If you just left it to die, why come back?" Wayne asked coldly.

"I thought I'd be collecting a corpse. I did not want to risk polluting the water with its unnatural state."

Wayne leaned over the side of the dock stretching out his arm and coaxing the child back. The child looked torn. They kept inching towards the siren then squirming towards Wayne when the siren chittered warningly at them. Eventually, the child made their way to Wayne. They reached up to him making little needy clicks. Wayne pulled them from the water and held them close, ignoring how soggy his pajamas with the water dripping from the kid. The siren watched all this blankly. Wayne smoothed down the kid’s hair in an attempt to soothe some of their distress.

“Are you claiming it?” the siren asked.

“What?”

“Are you keeping the abomination?”

“Does it matter?” Wayne asked irritably. “Why do you care?”

“I want to know whether I need to return to retrieve a body later or not,” the siren replied simply.

The kid had burrowed themself into Wayne’s chest. Their little claws caught on the threads of his pajamas as they sang to themself. The song was different from the one Wayne heard from him those first few days. It was sad. Lonely. They seemed to understand that the siren did not intend to stay.

“Well, I ain’t abandoning them,” Wayne said gruffly. “Did you at least give them a name?”

The siren made a sound Wayne couldn’t hope to decipher. At Wayne’s blank stare, the creature seemed amused for the first time.

“I do not know if there’s a human word for it. In our tongue, it means to go against a current or perhaps in a circle. A foolish and dangerous endeavor depending on circumstances.”

Like a whirlpool, Wayne thought, or an…

“Eddie,” Wayne said.

“If you’d prefer,” the siren said. It watched the two of them for a moment, bemused. “If it survives to maturity, you’re welcome to return it to the Lakes.”

“Awfully kind of you to offer,” Wayne said flatly with absolutely no intention of letting go of Eddie any time soon. The siren tilted its head.

“If you say so,” it said. Then it sank in the water with barely a ripple and was gone. Eddie squirmed in his arms and let out a little mournful cry as they tried to get to the water.

“Hush now,” Wayne said softly. “I won’t leave you alone. You’re coming home with me. What do you think of that, Eddie?”

Eddie blinked their big dark eyes at him. Their face broke into a big, toothy smile that two weeks ago would’ve scared the living daylights out of Wayne. Now, in the moonlight, surrounded by the cool waters of Lake Michigan, Wayne found it kind of cute.

#stranger things #eddie munson #wayne munson #sirens #im gonna tag this with #child abuse #just in case #i dont really count what happens as that because it's between supernatural creatures #and i dont think they have the same views or morals as humans?#trensu tells stories #hawkins halfway house for homeless horrors

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insult-2-injury · 2 years

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Rematch

Silco x Fem!Reader- NSFW! | MDNI

Warnings: Manhandling, Pretty rough sex, knives, BAMF reader, Fluffy at the End Though :)

I'm not sure what happened but I started this as a short project and then it turned into 5.8k words. I couldn't tell you what went wrong and this will happen again.

This fic was inspired by this amazing and sexy artwork by @wildragon

Link to artwork!

He’s found you.

You know it the second he prowls past the door of the frigid room you huddle inside, smoke trailing down the hallway from the tip of his cigar, the smell of it wrapping you in a taunting familiarity. He’s prolonging it, the search, pulling your nerves taut until you vibrate with a dreadful anticipation.

You wait.

He never misses. Never has. Never latches his bloodhound nose onto a scent and loses his way. He knows you’re in here, tucked back into the shadows.

But your senses are keen, too, and the cigar stench hasn’t faded quite so quickly as you would have wanted.

So, this was it, you think to yourself. The finale.

You know he’s out there, lying in wait. And he knows you know.

You rise, wincing when your knees crack from the prolonged position. No sound from outside, even to your finely tuned ears. Not so much as a breath, no fabric rustling from a position adjustment. Light-footed, you creep your way forward, walking your fingers across the hilt of the knife in your belt, trailing them over the jagged embedded gemstones, worn from his touch and yours.

It was about time you give it back.

Your aim is precise, a sharp whistle puncturing the air from the sheer speed of the weapon as it crosses the doors threshold and embeds into the wall in the hallway, hilt wavering only slightly from impact.

You step to the side and let out a startled breath.

The dreadful fluorescent lighting in the hallway is terribly bright, but the reflection in the knife’s gleam is radiant.

Two eyes stare back at you through the blade, one orange, one a shocking familiar teal widening with something akin to surprise at the sight of his knife before settling into a predatory, furious state.

He’s blocking the entrance in an instant and you trot several steps back, stomach dropping as you prepare yourself for what’s to come.

He stands with his head bowed, slightly hunched, looking all the more like a starved lion, barely restrained from pouncing on his waiting supper.

Your gaze rips away from his scorching eyes and lands on his arms- burgundy striped sleeves rolled up his wiry forearms, one hand propped against the stone wall, the other hanging loose by his side, a shocking amount of blood dripping down from his elbow, down the knobs of his fingers and to the floor.

The cigar hanging loosely from his lips twitches as he gives you something adjacent to a sneer, although there’s little humor in it when paired with the fury outlining every other feature of his face.

“Silco.”

His face doesn’t change, but the hand on the wall clenches into a tight fist, dragging forward, a track of glistening red succeeding the movement.

He takes a step forward and you rear back, knowing how terrified you appear.

Another twitch of his lips, this one taunting, something wild kindling in his eyes as he takes you in, eyes flitting across your worried brows, your heaving chest as you try to quell your pounding heart.

Silco slowly presses into the room, wordless.

“Do- do you remember this place?” you stutter, stumbling your feet over the ratty gym mats littering the floor.

A low growl rumbles in his chest as he expertly rolls his cigar over to one side of his mouth.

“You’ll find there’s little I don’t remember.”

His voice is grittier than before, cold and snakelike, and you’re reminded of the time that has elapsed since you’d last spoken.

Your gulp is loud in the stone room, echoing off the walls, providing soundtrack to your dance.

How long have you been playing this game now, half a year? Foiling plans, pulling strings from behind the scenes, going so far as to murder his people. You’d wanted him suffering, you’d wanted him angry, matching him move for move, and now it had culminated in this single moment, where you stand, toes curling over the edge of a dangerous precipice.

“Yes, I remember,” he hums. “What a fitting place you chose to die.”

“I don’t intend to die here.”

He lunges and you burst forward in a mad dash for the exit, but the world predictably spins, and stars splash across the borders of your vision as you’re thrust forward into the wall, one arm twisted behind your back painfully. Your other hand clings uselessly to his thigh, digging into the fabric there as you pant.

Smoke stings the inside of your nostrils and your cheek presses against the chilled stone as you stare wide-eyed at his hand crushing the cigar into the wall right before your nose. Your gaze dips as it falls abandoned to the ground and you gasp when the knife sinks into the wall instead with a sharp thud.

“I had my suspicions it was you from the very start. All your meddling. Making things difficult.” He hisses, pressing you painfully into the wall for emphasis. “Oh, you were always so good at being difficult, weren’t you? Forcing me to bloody my hands just to find you. I do hope you think you’re clever.”

“Please,” you whimper, as pathetic as you can muster. “Don’t hurt me.”

Silco’s tone is ragged, seething as he shoves his nose against your temple, lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he speaks each clipped word harshly into it.

“Cut. The. Act.”

You crane your neck but are unable to catch his eye. It’s near impossible to quit the incessant quake that has your muscles rattling against his, but the translation changes drastically as you allow your features to fall into the barely restrained fury just beneath the surface.

“Get off me.”

You attempt to slam your foot down on his insole, but there’s little space for it.

“There she is. Our little actress. Tell me, how’s Vander?” he purrs, a bitter self-satisfaction suffusing his tone. “Do you have him all wrapped around your finger now that I’m gone?”

Something bubbles up inside as you hurriedly turn to press your forehead against the wall, your chest heaving with ill-timed emotion.

Your hand is torn away from the fabric of his pants as he releases the arm behind your back, spins you around, and pins you against the wall again, his bony fingers latching onto your wrists now, blood smearing across the palms of your hands that now frame the space on either side of your head.

And he finds the remnants of laughter on your lips.

“You think I’m working with Vander? I knew you’d changed, Silco. But I didn’t think you’d be stupider.”

You not only hear but feel the rumble in his chest this time.

The vise that tightens painfully around your wrists speaks multitudes as you squirm.

“Careful now, darling,” his face tilts forward tauntingly, lips twitching into a cruel sneer, eyes brimming with lethal promise. “I am a changed man, after all.”

You study him with a daggered glare. Those painful scars you’ve seen only from afar until now. Janna, he used to be so expressive, in his own peculiar way- now so carefully withholding, impassive. But it didn’t take much searching to discern that dark edge clouding his features, steeping into that teal eye.

And that’s the color you remember, hovering above you, taunting, pinning you time and time again to these very gym mats during combat practice, you screeching and clawing like a mad cat beneath him.

All those times he’d bested you, humiliated you in front of the other Children of Zaun. But you’d keep coming back each day, a glutton for punishment, wanting to win so badly, recklessly throwing the first punch, spurred on by that smirk of his, sometimes even taking to the shadows, lying in wait for him to prowl past.

You’d never been one to make friends easily. Still weren’t. You weren’t an easy pill to swallow, but nor was he, and maybe that was what had him allowing your reckless assaults, what had him searching you out after a while, intent on putting you in your place. And oh, how he loved putting people in their place.

But you never stayed put. It wasn’t in your nature.

And that fact alone had pushed the two of you into something you couldn’t quite call a friendship- the tumultuous, spiteful waters too full of a strange tension to be defined as such.

Then he’d disappeared.

“I thought you were dead. For months,” you spit accusingly.

His eyes search yours for a drawn-out moment.

“Perhaps I did die.” He hungrily laps up your outrage as he trails one bloody hand down to your neck, encircling it lightly. “Perhaps you’ve done yourself a great disservice, drawing me into the open like this.”

“Easy really. You never did like a loose end.”

Your derisive laugh is cut off by a single warning squeeze to your throat and you close your eyes against the swell of heat that accompanies it.

You hedge your bets on Silco not killing you, not yet at least.

He is a changed man, yes, but the foundation he’s built upon is still the same. He is the same Silco who hungers for answers like a man perpetually starved- whose immovable, unrelenting nature calls to your own hurricane-like one.

There is still something there of the man you’d become so infatuated with.

At least you hope.

“And what were you hoping to achieve- running about, interfering, engaging in such senseless violence?” he croons.

You open your eyes, steadying yourself in order to dish out an outrageous eyeroll.

“They betrayed you anyhow, the ones I killed,” you say, sounding a little too proud of yourself, and not really answering his question at all. “Dropped you like a hot skillet as soon as money talk started. They would have offed you eventually. With the proper motivation.”

“Mm, out there doing me favors, then,” he mutters, looking unperturbed, thumb brushing lightly across your pulse, as if he isn’t surprised in the least that he has traitors among him. “Such a conniving thing.”

Your lips form a tight line, eyes falling shut again in frustration. He doesn’t get it.

“Look at me,” he commands, voice fatally soft, and you steadfastly disobey, scrunching your nose to emphasize just how little you were willing to relinquish. But your eyes pop wide open on instinct as soon as the hand wrapping a wet necklace around your throat squeezes and holds.

The slight upturn of Silco’s lips is minute, but primitive, nonetheless.

As much as common sense would have you clawing at your desperately contracting windpipe, you fist your free hand tightly in his shirt instead, trying to maintain a challenging glare even as your jaw drops open with unsuccessful breaths.

Even as something ancient and unbidden coils hotly in your abdomen.

“Be that as it may, you’ve pushed me far past the boundaries of my extensive patience.”

He releases abruptly and you reel forward as you greedily heave in oxygen, coughing and sputtering, the crown of your head pressing into his sternum as he allows you to catch your breath.

And as the shooting stars recede from your periphery, you tilt your head up and sneer.

“Good.”

You despise the dark amusement on his face.

“Should’ve just let them kill you,” you spit, reddening face inches from his, wanting, no needing a reaction.

And Silco’s face is unreadable.

“So, that’s why you’re here then? To kill me?” Two hands prop themselves beside your ears as he leans in. “Oh, you’re so close, keep trying.”

“I’m not here to kill you.”

You make as if to close the distance, nose stopping inches from his, a savage smile playing about your lips.

“But I will get what I came here for.”

A single exhale betrays him and the stone next to your head scrapes as his nails subtly dig in. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as his gaze flits to your mouth.

“And what would that be?”

“I want a fucking rematch.”

You use the hand fisted in his shirt to propel the other into the unsuspecting softness of his chest.

With a startled grunt, he stumbles backward a half step, eyes narrowing as in one move, you yank the dagger from the wall and narrowly duck to avoid his outstretched arm, crossing to the other side of the room.

After a long, nerve-wracking beat, Silco turns to you, an almost dizzying energy radiating off him as he levels you with a look that contains the same unrestrained fire he prowled in with.

“With my own dagger? Oh, I really didn’t think you had it in you.”

His hawklike gaze catches the cold shudder that walks down your spine before his eyes catch yours again, something dangerously excited igniting there.

All those times he’d bested you, pinned you right here on these mats, his half-hard length pressing into the space between your legs, eyes wild as you utilized anger to shrink from your desire- to run away.

He’s frustrated. And furious, so furious. But you’re sure, absolutely sure now, that he’s taking just as twisted of a delight in this as you are. It has you setting your jaw, twirling the blade tauntingly across your palm.

Your eyes fall to his bloodied hands, staining a dark crimson as they dry.

“To be fair, I did try to give it back.”

“Oh, there’s nothing fair about you.”

His own blade materializes seemingly out of thin air, hilt tossed about in his palm, black and orange in color.

How fitting.

He waits for you to lunge, and you do with a centering growl, keeping low, arm swinging in a sideways arc just as his does, forcing you to switch up, instead sliding into his booted feet as if sweeping in for a home run. He stumbles and you barely manage to regain your balance before darting out of the way of his blade.

“Still overeager, I see,” Silco pants, eyes tracking your form, circling you like a vulture, voice pitching strangely.

“Still a beanpole, I see,” you retort, flying at him again, as if determined to prove his point.

And you begin a vicious dance, meeting in the middle again and again. You leap out of the way of his attacks, clever and dexterous, using practiced history to anticipate his movements.

“I do, by the way” you say, managing to catch him off guard with a brutal kick to the stomach, “Think I’m clever.”

Silco hisses, but latches onto your ankle, yanking you forward.

“Do you?” he grits.

You spin mid-air, yelping as your full body weight smacks the mat, and you succeed in donkey kicking him away.

“I do,” you sputter, leaping back to your feet. “I mean Janna, how long have you been letting me run circles around you?”

Something dark and merciless casts a shadow over both orange and teal, his pupils dilating as his tongue presses into his teeth in calculation. His gaze trails unhurriedly down your body, as if capturing this moment of hubris, memorizing it.

And he exhales a soft grunt, focus narrowing back on the widening of your eyes as he cocks his head and this time, he’s the first to lunge.

You defend, spring back time and time again, blocking each of his relentless jabs, desperation pushing you to swing at him hard but he surprises you, a fist enclosing your wrist to jar you, pull you off kilter.

You twirl, side-step to correct, switch the knife to your other hand just in time to have it end up trapped between his arm and your side as he yanks you into his chest, arm encircling your mid-back.

Your bewildered gaze takes a moment to adjust to your new position- his knife poised delicately against your throat, face hovering directly over yours.

“Long enough,” he answers in a tattered voice, and your eyes flutter as his breath tickles the sweat-dampened hairs on your forehead.

The two of you are flushed, panting, and with the way he fastens you against him, your lower abdomen flush against an unmistakable hardness, his knife driving your upper body backward, you have to arch uncomfortably into him just to maintain eye contact.

In his gaze there is a hunger that shocks, overwhelms you in its intensity.

“Do you work for anyone?” he asks.

You try to make your weapon anything but useless at your side, wrenching your wrist, grazing the side of his thigh.

“I can still make it hurt,” you snarl, eyes pinning his with a cold glare as you try and muster something up out of that ever-flowing well of anger in your chest.

You use your free hand to attempt to grate your nails across any visible skin, because however self-assured he looks, the fight isn’t over.

Silco’s response is to lower his center hold to wrap around your waist, forcing you to grip tightly to the fabric of his shoulder just to keep from falling back.

His searing look demands an answer.

“Here and there-”

The knife digs in lightly.

“No,” you choke. “I don’t have a job.”

“And why is that?”

“I don’t kn-“

The knife drives you further back and you let out a tight, teeth-gritting squawk of frustration, the discomfort of craning your neck enough that you finally drop your head back, relaxing into his firm grip, the two of you standing in an awkward, uncomfortable mimicry of a ballroom dip.

“Because I’m- I was too busy trying to figure out what the fuck happened to you.” The words are cast from your mouth and into the open air like tiny, poisonous arrows. “I knew you wouldn’t have just up and left like they said. I searched everywhere- ate, slept, and breathed you, only to find out you were still alive…”

Pause.

“And you decided to make my life harder for it?”

Your cackling laugh sounds deranged from your position.

“Among other things. You deserved every-”

You choke on a gasp as Silco rolls his hips methodically slow, the ridge of his cock catching your clit and drawing his impressive length upward, wrenching an embarrassing, high-pitched moan from your throat as your fingers dig into his shirt.

This isn’t how it-

The knife in your hand clatters to the floor as he rolls against you again, rendering you speechless.

“Maddening. You are maddening.” His tone is so low, so ragged, it must be born from the deepest, most primal part of him. “You know, I used to spend hours concocting ways to get you to shut up.”

He abandons his own knife, sheathing it at his side, splaying his hands to drag up your spine, until one long-fingered hand clasps around the back of your neck.

You stare dazedly as he lifts you, blinking half-lidded as you drink them in, those carefully impassive features that you think you can see right through. You press your face gently into his neck, teasing along the hinge of his jaw, and you hate how well you fit, the way his knife-bladed nose buries perfectly into your hair, the gentleness contrasting his next clipped words.

“Shoving my cock down your throat to silence your incessant screeching. Fucking you back into those shadows where you thought you hid so well. Suffo-“

Silco’s words stutter into the crown of your head as you lick a long, salty stripe across his pulse point and his hand draws up to fist in your hair, pulling back so he can look at you.

“Suffocating you until those pretty eyes rolled back.”

Your hands fall to his hips to run down his sides, up again to pull him flush against you. His free hand follows suit, kneading into your ass as he hunches over you just slightly in order to track his middle and index down, applying a perfect, dragging pressure once, twice over the crotch of your pants before trailing back up to cup your soft flesh.

“Always such an angry thing,” he says almost reverently as you try and fail to stifle a whine, “Now look at you. So soft.”

Silco, one hand still kneading into your hair, steps back to make room for the other as it travels down your front.

It’s not practiced fear nor rage that you tremble from this time, it’s raw desire that has you shaking like a leaf as he slides his palm between your pants and underwear.

It’s been so long, you realize, since you’ve been touched, even held, that at the first swipe of his fingers across your clit, you cry out, wobbling, eyes screwing shut at the explosive sensation.

“I think,” he croons down at you, and his voice is so deceptively soft as he works you, “What you needed all along was for someone to just touch you.”

You can’t lose sight, won’t lose sight.

Even as he leans down to your ear.

“For me to touch you, hm?”

He drags tight circles around your aching bud and your knuckles crack as your hand unfists his shirt, smoothing down the rough material of his vest.

You nearly sob as the pressure builds sharply, and it’s almost humiliating how fast he’s able to bring you to that precipice.

“Pl-ease,” you pant, tilting your head up, moaning through your teeth. “I’m g-onna-”

His mouth is so close to yours, breath uneven, labored as he quickens his pace, his wild eyes mapping the pleasure as it tracks across your face.

“You can cum, darling.”

Your eyes flutter closed, and everything gets tighter, and tighter.

“I w-“ Seconds away, you’re seconds away from that cliff. “I w-“

The hand in your hair finds its way to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek.

“I win.“

And just as you cross the point of no return, you clumsily press the pointed end of his dagger into his upper back just enough that he’s able to identify it before tossing it to the side to clatter to the floor.

He could have killed you. But he didn’t. You could have killed him. But you didn’t.

The shock, the black that blows out the teal of his eye at the realization is enough to push you over the edge and you’re sinking your nails into his arm, clawing red, angry trails across his skin in desperation as your back bows and your knees buckle.

The punishing grip in your hair only heightens the domino effect and to Silco’s credit, he doesn’t stop working you, lowering you slowly to the ground as you writhe against him, a long, high-pitched whine freeing itself from your throat.

Light explodes behind your eyelids and you fall forward, curling in on yourself as your pussy clenches around nothing.

You blink stars out of your eyes as you peer down.

Silco is on his knees and you straddle his lap, his hard length nestled between the apex of your thighs. Through the dull ringing in your ears, you hear his sputtering.

And you hardly realize that your forehead presses against his until you’re jarred aggressively, two hands sliding up your sides to rid you of your shirt, your bra, tossing them furiously to the side.

He’s spitting acid.

“I should have killed you. The moment I discovered it was you.”

He grabs the back of your head, pulls you into a violent kiss, and a tidal wave of sensation has the world crashing back in and before you know it, your hands are eagerly twisted into the textured strands of his hair, hips grinding into his.

A familiar rumble of anger rocks through his chest and he yanks your hair back, runs one hand down your collarbone to cup one breast roughly.

“Desperate for more, already?” You squeal when he twists your nipple hard. “Do you really think after that little display you deserve anything I have to offer?”

“I think I deserve something.”

One of your hands falls to the strain in his pants and you run your palm along it, deriving a sick satisfaction from the way his abdomen tightens, his teeth grind.

He tilts forward, mouth enveloping one of your pebbling nipples and your gasp ratchets into a vulgar moan as his tongue flutters around the stiff peak, the sensation arcing its way directly between your legs, the heat too much. Too fast.

The hand not fondling him caresses the back of his head, unsure whether to pull him in or push him away as his teeth graze the sensitive skin and he sucks, pulling out of you a keening cry.

He moves to the other breast, lavishing it with similar attentions like a man starved, nipping sharply when you grow selfish, when your hand stops working at him.

You need him. You need more.

“Please.”

“Hm?”

“Please,” you snip impatiently, “You want me to beg, right? Isn’t that your thing?”

Silco releases your hair and you spring forward, nipping lightly at his bottom lip, working on his pants.

“I’m quite aware of your neediness already.”

“Asshole.”

He snatches your jaw in an iron grip and you maintain his fiery gaze with a determined glare as you thumb the complex buttons of his pants. Something oddly soft irons out the crease between his brow before you’ve take him into your palm much faster than anticipated, and he releases a shattered growl.

The speed at which he strikes you down is astonishing and you blink twice, confused, at your sudden view of the ceiling. Silco looms in your lower periphery, his adept hands making quick work of your pants, yanking them off, tossing them to the side. Your eye draws to the twitching length lying solid, inviting against his inner thigh and he meets your hungry gaze with one of his own.

You sit up, intent to pounce.

“Lay back down,” he commands harshly, and you ignore, sitting back on your haunches.

“No.”

Silco lurches forward as you spider back but he’s faster, and you let out an indignant screech as he snatches your ankles, yanking you toward him, your skin making an outrageous noise as it squeaks across the leather mat.

“If you want to make things difficult,” he growls, length grazing your thigh as he immobilizes your squirming form, folding your knees outward, spreading you lewdly to observe the glistening wetness between your legs. “I’m more than happy to oblige.”

“I’m more than happy to oblige,” you mock in a comically low voice and he smacks your thigh hard. You wriggle to try and aim a pathetic kick at his chest and with barely curbed aggravation he drags himself between your legs, propping himself over you.

Silco slides himself across your slick folds, catching at your entrance. Your body betrays you as you release a strangled moan. His arms quake just slightly, head dropping with a shuddered breath at the feel of your soaking heat, strands of his hair falling out of his careful style to tickle your neck.

He bounces back quicker than you do, grasping himself, dragging the swollen head of his cock torturously up and down your slit, studying you callously as you writhe beneath, punishment for your cheekiness.

“Fucker,” you spit and his lips twitch almost fondly. He drops his head to your sweat damp neck.

“I’ve been nice thus far,” he croons into the juncture of your jaw. “Can’t you try? To be nice?”

“I swear to Janna, put me on top if you can’t do this right. I’ve waited years for this, and it’s going to be done my way.”

“Unfortunately, that’s no longer in the cards after you held a knife to my back.”

“Served you right!” you yell.

He murmurs a quiet “Careful,” into your ear before he removes himself from your neck, sitting back on his haunches, positioning himself.

“I think you just want something to be upset about.”

“I do-oh“

Your lips freeze in an ‘oh’ as his hips begin a slow inch forward and you’re both made speechless. He pauses, and you don’t know whether it’s for you or him, his teal eye shutting tightly as if to anchor himself.

Silco is solid and so achingly hard inside you, and he stretches you painfully. But it’s exquisite. And he’s too slow, trying to savor it, you think, the moment. But he’s not answering your whining pleas and you’re squirming to grab his attention. Impatient.

Your legs wrap around his thighs, and you cross your ankles. You smile devilishly with the satisfaction of watching his eye shoot back open in realization before you thrust him the rest of the way inside.

His mouth falls open as a jagged, echoing groan is punched out of him, his fingers digging excruciatingly hard into the muscles of your inner thigh as his hips are pressed flush with yours.

You cry out at the sudden fullness, clawing uselessly at the mat. Oh, it’s excruciating. Wonderfully so. And you want him- no, need him to do something besides clutch into your skin, tower over you as if deciding which part of you to stab into first. And in a bid for a reaction out of the man, you clench around him, hard.

He hisses through his teeth.

“M-move.”

“Oh,” Silco breathes, his voice full of deadly promise, chest heaving with unbridled fury, only fueled by the wild lust eclipsing both eyes. “You make me mad.”

Fingers dig further into your thigh as he violently spreads your legs apart, crawling forward until his face is right above your panting one, shoulders pressing you into a curled position, knees spread impossibly wide.

Breathing is suddenly no longer a course of action as, without warning, his palm clamps down on your throat and squeezes, rendering you completely prone beneath him as you have no choice but to take it as he fucks into you mercilessly.

Deep, quick-fire thrusts nail hidden spots inside you that have mini fireworks exploding behind your eyelids.

Your chest burns and your body doesn’t know what sensation to focus on, what reality to latch onto, mind going completely and blissfully haywire as neurons seem to fire haphazardly. You grasp onto his arm like a lifeline, pleasure recycling over and over again as you convulse beneath him.

“You make me furious.”

There’s a rumbling, a purr, emitting from low in his chest, vibrating into your own, like a growling predator just emerged from its den. It feeds you, challenges you.

You fight to maintain the angry eye contact as you’re jostled, and he lets up, allowing you a few choked breaths before grasping your throat again.

He wrenches your head to the side, and his breath is a hot pant against your ear as he seethes, each syllable accompanied by the sound of his hips meetings yours in an obscene slap.

“Incorrigible. Never learned to behave. So rude. So impatient.”

The beginnings of another orgasm tingle across your sweat soaked skin as a rubber band stretches across your lower belly. Your hands latch onto his where they clasp around your throat, tightening his hold there.

Silco groans at the gesture, and suddenly he’s everywhere, heated words whispering into your neck, your cheekbones, your temple.

“You love it, don’t you? Me shutting you up like this. Should’ve done this ages ago. Given you the attention you so desperately begged for. With all your silly little tantrums.”

You don’t hear the rest.

It’s less of a crackling explosion, this one, more of a gentle, rolling thunderstorm as that band snaps. Except you’re completely fixed, held down entirely by Silco- can’t arch your back, can’t stretch your legs, you can’t even cry out- just have to lie there and take what he’s given you, a wild pressure renting out every hollow in your trembling body until he offers you an outlet by releasing your throat, a throaty wail resonating obscenely across the stone walls.

You suck in air, cough it back out, can hardly get a grip on yourself as pleasure ripples back and forth like you’re being steamrolled by it.

And you hardly know where you are, eyes squeezed shut, tiny whimpers accompanying every exhale, your thighs quivering uncontrollably, Silco still inside you, still impossibly hard, although not moving. You can sense he’s propped above you, can feel his eyes as they dart across your trembling features, watching as you work through the terribly powerful bliss.

And then all is still.

You crack open your eyes, fix them on the ceiling, blinking languidly, studying and counting the criss-crossing wooden slats like you’d just awoken from a deep slumber.

A calloused hand slides its way under the back of your neck, another wraps your mid-back and you allow yourself to be pulled up and into Silco lap, your arms wrapping the back of his neck automatically, nose burying itself in his neck.

It’s a complete contradiction, the way he rocks up into you now, slowly, like you’re something to be savored. And you ram your forehead into his shoulder, biting into the fabric of his vest as you try not to jolt with each wet slide of him inside your sensitive walls.

You keep your eyes closed for a moment just to listen to his soft grunts as he wrecks you again with gentle but thorough thrusts, each movement pushing a small, unrestrained whine from your lips as he fills you perfectly.

Silco puffs a laugh and you realize dazedly you’ve been muttering out loud.

“Perfect,” you rasp again, unashamed.

He tugs you backward and you surrender your position on his shoulder with a whine that he swallows, pressing his lips to yours and forging ahead with his expert tongue when you gasp at the newness of it, the tenderness.

He reaches a hand down between your bodies and you shake your head, lips breaking from his.

“I ca-I can’t. Too sensitive.”

“Shhh,” he croons gently before his thumb finds your aching bud.

You jump at the electric arc of sensation, yelp as his other hand grabs a hold of your hip, holding you steady as he increases his pace, beginning to chase his own release.

He’s already close, he has to be.

Silco swallows every tattered moan, every soft squeal that he pulls out of you with the expert roll of his thumb.

Your body writhes, contorts as he fucks up into you.

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” you murmur, almost panicking against his mouth and you can feel the smirking stretch of his lips.

And it slams into you again, a third orgasm rising so sharply you feel like you’ve just flown off the edge of a cliff with no ground in sight. You let out a long, anguished whine into his mouth and you’re clawing at him as one set of fingers continue to work you through it, the others threading your hair to better inhale your cries.

Your arms can hardly summon the energy to hold yourself upright, and you just slump onto his shoulder, spasming around him, drenching his cock as you cry out his name in a torn voice that draws his own release forth, pulsing in tandem as his hips stutter, spilling his load into you with a ragged groan.

Your fingers find his hair, shakily brushing through the soft strands, and you try to quell the aching emotion in your chest that has tears springing to your eyes, has you pressing yourself further into his shoulder to hide.

“I missed you,” you say. It’s all you can say, really.

A hand draws hesitantly down your spine, kneading each vertebrae, as if to ensure you were still there. Real.

“You’re not the only one,” he murmurs, and there's a long pause before he turns, dropping his chin gently to the top of your head, “Whose been waiting.”

<3 <3 <3

Hi, I hope you enjoyed! Sorry I was a day late with this one. It's 3am and my only hope at this point is that this story makes a modicum of sense. Thank you for reading, I love you all! Here's the AO3 Link if you'd rather read on there!

Stay unhinged!

Love, Sulty <3

@of-the-argonath

#silco #silco x reader #silco x you #silco arcane #arcane #reader insert #silco fic #sulty writes

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darklydeliciousdesires · 8 months

Text

Lost & Found - Chapter Nineteen.

Another chapter and wishes of a very happy Friday to my beautiful audience! :D

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen

Words - 3,763

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, Minors DNI. Recounts of kidnap, child trafficking, physical/verbal/sexual abuse.

4am. It was not a time Emma was used to seeing, unless she was up late being railed into a new shape by Guero, or enjoying the pleasures of partying. She knew Lee would be even less impressed, with how much she thrived upon a good night’s sleep.

The very lady was waiting outside as they came out, Gilly yawning in the passenger seat. With their bags dumped in the back of her Escalade and Axl dropped next door for a stay with his uncle Tyrone (who proclaimed ‘imma spoil the dude to death, man!’) they climbed in, still half asleep. Since Emma had no passport or ID yet, Lee, Gilly and Guero were sharing the driving, just over three hours each to make the ten-and-a-half-hour journey rather than flying.

“I feel bad, that we can’t fly and it’s because of me,” she huffed, Lee hitting the freeway, the engine roaring as the six hundred and eighty-two horses beneath the hood all charged to gallop.

“How come you ain’t got that sorted yet?” Gilly asked, Emma sipping from her bottle of cherry Coke, burping quietly.

“Because of a point Guero made,” she began, tightening the lid and placing it in her lap. “Since I’ve been a missing person, there’s obviously still a file open on me, one which will be closed when I show up. I’d likely have to be interviewed by the police over where I’ve been and who with for so long as well, too many questions would be asked.

“If I ratted on Rocco, my worry about being snatched would turn into a worry about being shot in the head. I was going to go down the new identity route and buy fake documents, but depending on how all of this goes, I may not need to.”

Lee looked at her in the rearview mirror, winking with a smile. “Here’s hoping, sugar.” She then paused before noting something glaring in similarity about the way all four had chosen to dress. “I can’t help but fuckin’ notice, I love the way all four of us try to look a little less like the tattooed reprobates that we are and instead, end up looking like the goddamned Addam’s Family.”

Every single person within the car was donned in black, all of them beginning to laugh when they noticed that their attempt at semi-smartness had them appearing as if they were attending a funeral.

“Goths R Us, man,” Gilly snorted with amusement, beginning to whistle the theme tune to the aforementioned family movie, Emma giving the double finger click at the required point, too.

“Well, I gotta say it, sunshine. You suit being a redhead,” Lee then spoke, turning to look at her, thinking how pretty her bestie looked in the long, red wig with tumbling waves.

“Doesn’t she, though?” Guero chimed, winking at Emma. “Maybe a little too much. Goddamn women, pulling some Jessica fucking Rabbit magic on a man."

"What is it about you guys and that woman?" Lee cried, moving her car to the middle lane to overtake a slow-moving vehicle ahead. "She's a fuckin’ drawing!"

"Yeah, and I'd nail her until I erased her, I swear to god," he chirped, Gilly busting into hysterics.

"Same, bro. I'd fuck her until her colours ran!" Everyone fell apart in fits of laughter, Lee thinking that already it was more than worth her 3am start and missing her precious sleep for the sheer entertainment value alone. She wasn’t the only one glad of it, the comic relief provided by her boyfriend and Gilly just the thing Emma needed to take her mind off the fact that with every mile that passed, she was nearing the man she feared most.

By the seven-hour point, Guero returned to her side in the back while Gilly took his turn behind the wheel, her nerves were palpable. Looking out of the window while gnawing on the side of her thumb, she saw a hand reach for hers in her peripherals, turning to watch Guero softly shake his head with a faint smile.

“You’re stressing.” Pulling her hand away from her mouth, he grasped it in his, shifting over a little closer and wrapping his arm around her. “You gotta stop. Nothing bad is gonna happen.”

“Easy to say that,” she muttered, leaning into him.

“Yeah, it fucking is,” he snorted, kissing her head. “Cuz’ I’ll fucking finish him if he lays a finger on you, and you know this.” His hand tightened its grip on hers, his nostrils flaring a little. The rage towards Rocco still swirled just as tempestuously as ever, along with his already short fuse.

He softened a little then, realising she likely didn’t need to hear it, or worry about him being able to hang onto his fiery temper. “I get it, you feeling nervous. It’ll be alright, though.”

Nervous was somewhat of an understatement, Emma feeling like she wanted to throw up as Gilly parked outside the hotel just over three hours later.

“So, what I’m thinking is that after talking to Obispo, these guys seemed to be enjoying everything the resort had to offer. Squash, golfing, casino, etc,” Lee began, after the guys had gone to check in. “Which means that I can hang around in the bar, keep an eye on the comings and goings of ‘em. Except, fuck. I don’t know what he fuckin’ looks like.”

Emma pulled out her phone, calling up Google. As with a lot of notable members of the mafia, Vincent’s face was very easily accessible. Clicking on his mugshot from an arrest after a large shoot out he’d been arrested for his part in around a decade ago, she turned the screen. “Like that, but a little aged. He’s very distinctive.”

Lee had already taken a good look at the hotel layout, scanning the pictures and seeing that from the large bar and restaurant area, the front desk and entrance was visible. She was entirely happy to play barfly with Gilly while Emma hid in her room. “Alright, and there’s my visual. He looks... intense.”

That was one way to describe a man who had once chopped off someone’s feet and fed them to Diavolo, his Akita. “He is, he’s very formidable.” Her voice was small, the quietness of her tone reminding Lee of her demeanour back when they’d first met, minus the shaking and the stuttered words.

Reaching for Emma’s hand, she cocked her head. “It’s fuckin’ gonna be fine. You forget I’m ex-military. I know how to run a fuckin’ smooth operation, sunshine.” She winked, Emma feeling at ease, squeezing her hand back before the arrival of Gilly and Guero parted them, hopping out of the car.

“Lobby is all clear from anyone of the Italian American persuasion,” Gilly spoke, swinging his rucksack over his shoulder. “Let’s go.” Taking Guero’s hand, she gripped it tightly, adjusting her sunglasses before beginning to walk. She felt as if she had a serpent writhing around in her guts, some cold, spiny creature that thrashed angrily, her heartbeat escalating, expecting him to pop up at any moment and snatch her again.

Heading in through the glass doors that slid open with a silky glide, her eyes were everywhere beneath her oversized aviators, Guero pulling her to the right, past the front desk and through to the safety of the ground floor hallway. Immediately, she felt herself unravel a little.

“Okay, we’ll see you guys at some point, I guess. I will call with details from my little stakeout,” Lee spoke, she and Gilly continuing down the hall as Guero opened the door to their room.

As soon as she was inside, she felt the creeping sensation at her back abate, yet she was a nervous mess, riddled with anxiety, wanting to go straight into her medication bottle and swallow back a couple of doses to calm herself. Taking more than her standard dose tended to have the opposite effect, though.

Reaching for Guero, she wrapped herself around him, burying her face against the side of his neck. Safe person. Safe person scent. It transported her back to a time where he was the only person she’d trusted while in the thick of her anxious duress, but for that moment her body refused to comply with the logic her brain was desperately trying to convey.

“Breathe, baby. It’s okay.” he told her, hands stroking her back, feeling her chest rising and falling rapidly against his, her heart pounding hard. He closed his eyes, arms tightening around her, a tide of anger rising within him. She’d worked so hard in the last near eleven months to recover, and now there she was again, trembling and frightened.

The urge to go and wait outside of Rocco’s room and bypass the plan completely, to shoot him in the head as soon as he laid eyes on the vile, abusive, child trafficking, raping sack of shit who’d once again reduced his sweetheart to a nervous wreck was almost all encompassing. He knew though that would land them in the kind of trouble none of them would survive, taking out a mafia boss without the agreement of those who served under him.

He couldn’t even imagine an alternative to Calabrese condoning the hit, or being told that the Romano family would handle it internally, should he be in complete agreement with the proposal they were bringing to him. None of them could live unless he died, and Emma? She’d be returned to Staten Island, with nobody to save her.

The thought of being dead and her alone in the world had been on his mind so much, he’d even considered fleeing with her to Mexico, should things not go in the favour of the Mayans. He loved his club, but he wouldn’t be a sitting duck, waiting for the weight of the mafia to crush them.

He believed in standing to fight, and his loyalty to the club tugged strongly at him, but he was smart enough not to remain on a sinking ship if he saw water beginning to pour in. He had not come to such a conclusion easily, either. His simple desire to survive outweighed anything else, now that it potentially could come down to that.

Realising he was spiralling into his own thoughts, he shook himself from it all, being present for her, as he needed to be before anything else. Holding her close had begun to calm her, Emma finally straightening to kiss him, resting her forehead to his.

“And I’m calmer now.” Her thumbs stroked over the flecks of stubble dotting his cheeks. “Thanks for always been so steadying when I need you to be.”

Smiling, he kissed her again. “You’re welcome, and good. I fucking hate seeing you like that, all cuz’ of him.”

Sucking in a breath over her teeth, she drew her shoulders up, the weight of her sigh tugging them down again. She hated feeling like that, too, everything rushing to the surface once more. “Let’s pray he isn’t going to be around much longer to do it, huh?”

It went without saying, he thought.

They hung around in the room for a few hours, Lee calling at just before seven, informing Emma that the mob guys had all just arrived in the bar for a drink, before being told by one of the staff that their cars were ready. With it looking like they were heading out elsewhere for the night, she was safe to go and eat dinner in the restaurant, a prospect that made her feel nervous, but that she participated in all the same. She changed into a long, tight grey dress, having to fend off Guero before they left.

“What’s the matter with you?” she laughed upon sitting at the table, Lee virtually vibrating in her seat opposite. “You look a little jazzed, buddy.”

“Been on the fuckin’ coffee all afternoon! Changed to sparkly water about halfway through, but I didn’t wanna get loaded propping up the bar and I think choosing to be caffeinated might’ve been a little bit of a fuckin’ mistake!”

Gilly snorted with laughter, shaking his head. “Dude, I told you to get decaf.”

“Can’t ever do that, fuckin’ decaf is bullshit! I’ll be fine, they gotta pool here and I brought my swimsuit. I’ll go swim it off, do some lengths, get all the energy out, y’know?”

Her very wide-eyed demeanour had them in soft fits, Lee’s hand shaking upon her beer glass, making her food order at a hundred miles an hour to the entertained looking waiter.

“And I gotta deal with this all night.” Gilly laughed, receiving an elbow from the hopped-up lady herself. She seemed to calm a little for eating, a firm but polite no given when the waiter asked them if they wanted coffee once they’d finished, calling it an evening at 10pm. Well, Lee and Gilly stayed up to see if Vincent returned back at a decent hour, but Emma and Guero headed straight back to their room.

Opening the door for her, he gestured that she should enter first. “There, you get me being a gentleman just once, before I turn straight animal.” He smacked her ass, kicking the door shut, Emma removing her boots and socks.

“Love, you’re always straight animal,” she purred, winking at him. He snaked his arms around her, moving her hair, softly biting the side of her neck with a playful growl. Those nibbles turned to kisses, hands pawing at her. Grasping his hoodie, she pulled it over his head, her nails gently raking down his chest as his mouth met hers, manoeuvring to the bed, pushing him onto it.

“I have to take this off, my head is like a furnace.” Pulling off the wig, she unclipped her hair and let it tumble loose, messy waves framing her face, Guero sitting up to watch keenly as she began to lower her dress. The way his eyebrows rose significantly at the reveal of her black, diamond mesh underwear tugged at the corners of her mouth.

“Wow. Get the fuck on me, right now.”

Ahh, the desired effect.

“Is that what you want, hmm?”

His eyes swept her with desire, his cock beginning to harden at just the sight of her, nodding in response to her words.

“Yeah, I know what you want,” she spoke, coming to sit astride him, pushing her fingers into his mouth, her nipples hard against his chest through the thin mesh of her bra. “You want to pin me down and fuck my tight little pussy until I gush all over your cock, don’t you? Mmm, I love it when you get me so wet that it starts running over my thighs, when you hold me down and pound me so hard, I get dizzy. Yeah, I love it like that.” She ran her tongue up the side of his neck, her hips beginning to gyrate, grinding herself against the big erection she felt tenting his jeans.

He groaned barbarously around the suck upon her fingers, his teeth clamping in a hard bite, Emma pulling them from between his gorgeous lips before her mouth locked to his. Their kisses rained sensuality and steamy heat, Guero lying back on the bed, the feel of pristine hotel linens sumptuous against his bare back, hands travelling all over her as he moaned against her tongue.

If there was a sweeter way to kill time, he was yet to experience it.

Moving beneath her, his body topped hers, pressing her into the bed as his hands slid to make short work of her underwear, sitting up only to shed the remainder of his clothes before his mouth was on hers once more. He kissed her with all the love and heated desire he felt for her, hand trailing down her thigh as he shifted his weight a little, fingers skimming over the sumptuously dewy petals of her cunt.

That first touch had her arching off the bed, her back bending like a crescent moon, her moan rich and full bodied, his thick, clever fingers spreading her wetness around, settling upon her clit and beginning to circle. His touch was so perfect, Emma mewling softly as she felt her core ache, his breaths heavy against her neck as he moved to kiss her elegant throat, a soft groan rumbling his as he pushed two fingers into her.

“Oh god, you’re so fucking wet for me already.” He rumbled, his mouth finding hers, kissing her with all the heat of a furnace, those keen fingers seeking out her sweet spots. Focused rotations forced soft little exclamations from her, Guero drinking them down like wine as his lips locked with hers. “Yeah, that feel good, baby?”

She couldn’t even form words, delight tumbling through her, merely uttering a soft little moan as her head fell back on the bed, his fingers entering, rotating, dragging back, moving his thumb to her clit to stroke it in perfect rhythm. It always boosted his ego a little, seeing how easily he could make her sail into bliss with just two fingers.

It didn’t take long for him to kiss a sizzling path down her body, his mouth craving to be quenched with what drenched his fingers, removing them, sucking her wetness from them with a hungry grunt. He pushed her legs wider so she splayed for him, delving his tongue right into her folds, the syrupy wet of her pussy drenching his mouth.

His tongue dragged her eagerly, long licks from her glossy opening to her clit making her very bones shudder in ecstasy, Guero groaning, watching her body undulate before him. The rolling heat of his tongue pressed flat as it circled her clit, sending waves of bliss through her, her little whimpers filling the air, his hands gripped at her waist as he felt her puddling against his tongue.

She looked down, watching him do it, gasping, her fingers raking through his hair. “You look so fucking hot with a mouthful of my pussy.”

He grinned against her, sucking on her clit. “And you look the same while you’re getting it ate, mamas.” He winked, closing his eyes, groaning as he took a mouthful of her, loving the feeling of her thighs skimming against his face as she writhed.

He sucked upon her like ripe fruit, his groans deep, like boulders rolling over one another, the heat radiating up her spine as she panted, watching him tipping her further into mindlessness before her eyes closed and her head fell back. The flickers of the very tip of his tongue working in speed over her clit were too much, but not enough, her body shaking in response of being so lit up. It felt like an ice storm meeting magma, her body gleaming for him, Guero pushing his fingers back within her heat, burrowing deep.

Placing a suck upon her clit, his cheeks hollowed, the pressure gentle at first, fingers circling her walls, entering her then with rapidity, that suck intensifying until he had her crying out softly. His hunger to devour had him tearing his fingers from her, covering her entire slit in the thirsty suck of his mouth, grunting against her folds as his tongue laved her incessantly.

Reaching for his jeans, he undid them, sliding them and his boxers down, kicking himself out of them with impatience, the need to be within her rocketing through him. His heart thundered in his chest as anticipation skittered over him, kissing his way back to her mouth, lips meeting hers in a hot mesh of filthy indulgence, his words matching.

“Wanna spread those gorgeous legs and let me fuck you, huh? Is that what you want, for me to bury my big dick right up deep in this pretty little pussy, huh blue eyes?” Those words fuelled the epicentre of her bonfire, Emma nodding, their kisses scorching as he moved between her legs and glided into her, her walls tensing on his shaft, dragging a groan from the depths of him. He sat back on his heels, taking root in her, his eyes watching the sight of it, his cock sinking in and out, her wetness bathing him thickly.

He fell to her then, the blinding need to chase the fire roaring through his veins consuming him, his flames catching at her edges as she wrapped her legs around him, their mouths meeting messily.

“Oh god,” she gasped, clasping his face, seduced further by the look of dark lust pooling his near black eyes. “Fuck me, yeah, that’s it. Oh, fuck me!”

And he did, pounding into her relentlessly, hitting her so deep, shocks skittered through her. He slowed then, wanting to make it last longer than the rampant charge his arousal was dictating, pulling himself back, thrusting a little shallower, almost retreating, slipping back deeply. His head dipped, sucking her nipples in turn, tongue circling them with a hungry grunt, his hands stroking paths of blissful heat up and down her thighs as his cock hit her deep, deep, deep.

“Mmmm, fuck. You look so goddamn pretty, spread all around my dick. Got me so fucking drenched, beautiful.” he groaned, sitting back up again, the sight so steeped in erotic heat, he had to close his eyes for a moment, those tingles pulsing too rapidly, the desire to chase his release held fast, slowing, long lashes parting again as he stared down at her. “That feel good, huh?”

“Oh, you’re fucking amazing!” she cried out, her body jolting when he brought his thumb to her clit, tight circles spreading glimmers through her, pleasure melting down her spine and puddling at her cunt, covering him further in her dew. She raised herself up on her elbows, her hips shunting against each of his thrusts, fucking him back with purpose as she let her gaze fall to watch it.

He reached beneath her chin, making her focus on him, his forehead resting to hers as he stared at her with so much love, her heart felt full to burst. Stroking his face, she felt like she could see her entire future in the dark sparkle of his lust blown pupils, nuzzling him, whispering her love, sharing kisses steeped in sweet, yet burning heat.

Her heart jolted suddenly with the weight of it, the realisation of exactly what she would lose if Vincent didn’t agree. He had to, because there was no way she would willingly or easily part from Guero now she’d finally found him.

#guero mayans mc #guero mayans mc fanfiction #guero x ofc #guero smut #mayans mc fanfiction #mayans mc fanfic #mayans mc fic #mayans mc season 5

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socksracoon10 · 4 days

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From The Unknown

A/N: MY LOVES I AM BACK!! Finally finished all my exams and I desperately needed some Aragorn content! It's so good to be back! Pairing: Aragorn x F!Reader Fangorn forest was never kind to trespassers, especially in late times. The Uruk-hais and Orcs had gouged out many of the Ents, and you were there to witness some of it. Currently hiding behind a shrouded bush, you meticulously sharpened your knife as you tuned into the sounds of your surroundings. A whistle of the wind, the soft rustling of the leaves, and the occasional moaning of the tree creatures as they moved from one area to the other. You almost swore they were moving on purpose to frighten you; one of them nearly placed its large foot onto you the night before when you were scavenging for food. The knife glistened in the moonlight and you twirled it between your fingers, letting it slip and fall gracefully before your thumb jerked it upwards to be caught again.

A crunch of the branches forced you to spin around; it wasn't a deep one made by the Ents, they would never step on their kind. This one was lighter, more precise. Frowning, you held out your knife and approached the sight of the noise, your eyes narrowing at the dark branches that folded around you. If it was an Orc, it would not be the first time you had to deal with one, and with the very little amount of courage that simmered in you, you leaped forward only to be caught and spun around. Your knife was quickly knocked onto the ground, and an arm wrapped around your neck.

"I wasn't expecting to see someone like you in Fangorn," The voice behind you cooed; he had a gentle voice, one that would sing lullabies to the Ents if he wanted to. You wriggled under his grasp, quickly ducking under his arm and bringing your hand onto his shoulders.

"Who are you?" You inquired, wasting no time in understanding the man before you. He cracked half a smile, nodding his head as if he knew you were not one to back down without gaining sufficient answers.

"My name is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. I am here to find-" He began but was instantly cut off by your nosiness,

"Aragorn? As in... Isildur's heir? They have spoken wonders about you, and yet... you do not match your title," You scoffed, dropping your arms. You crouched down to pick up your knife, before pocketing it carefully. Aragorn continued smiling at you, before bowing his head,

"Forgive me, I have spent the past few years disheveled as ever. I am here on a mission, though. And I require your assistance."

You never liked working with others, it was one of the main reasons you had spent so long in solitude. As a female, your opinions were often overlooked and Eru knows the amount of men that joked about your place being at home. It tightened your heart at the very remembrance; you grabbed what was left of your items and stashed them into your bag before stalking off.

Aragorn was a bit surprised at your dismissive attitude and took it upon himself to follow you, his footsteps softly trailed behind and he occasionally looked down to ensure he didn't accidentally trip over the roots. He could not deny that he was intrigued by you; why would a woman choose to stay in Fangorn, especially so close to Isengard? Were you aware of the growing dangers, or did you choose to be ignorant? And judging by your appearance, you surely were no elf or dwarf. You were a mere human, not even one of his descendants. He observed your movements; you went in zig-zags, never once staying in one path. He thought it was a good strategy if you were in danger, but of now, he wasn't sure how to gauge a response from you. Considering you hadn't complained about him following you, he figured his presence was still welcome but he had to test the waters before making another move.

"How long have you lived here?" He questioned, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of your face. You swung yourself over a fallen Ent, before turning back to face him,

"Around a few months."

"A few months, and why so? What are you trying to achieve?"

"It's not about achieving anything, I merely wish to observe. I like to keep track of things that happen around me."

"I find your response to be a blatant lie, no man would put himself in danger such as this just to keep track of things," Aragorn exclaimed, leaning closer. You eyed him, warily, unsure of whether you should tell him the truth or not. He was one of the most important figures in Middle Earth and yet you could not bear to divulge him in your revenge tale. Your parents were killed by the Uruk-hai, and you felt useless as you hid for your life. There was something so awful about the tale to you; your parents were dead, but you had done nothing to save them. Swallowing thickly, you turned away from Aragorn and decided to continue wandering around the forest. He did not deserve a full answer, at least not in your eyes. Besides, you surely could not be of much importance to him.

Aragorn's eyes flickered over to Legolas and Gimli who hid among the shadows, and he raised his hand, gesturing for them to wait patiently. They were in search of two hobbits and believed that you would know of their whereabouts, but your reluctance in helping seemed to agitate Gimli more and more.

"Why won't she jus' say it?" Gimli grumbled, shaking his head. He raised his axe to stomp it, aggressively, but Legolas quickly caught it in the air before whispering back,

"Be patient, dwarf. These are matters we should not intervene in. Aragorn will find a way, you must control yourself." He scolded and Gimli's face burned with rage; he hated being chastised like a little boy, especially by an elf of all beings. He muttered a few curses under his breath, before shifting uncomfortably next to a bush, doing everything he could to separate himself from Legolas. In the meantime, Aragorn had now started walking beside you, rather than from behind. You could sense the urgency in his stare, but his patience was what surprised you the most. Finally, after much silence, you sat on a broken log and gestured for him to sit down as well.

"I assume you are looking for the Hobbits," You exclaimed, and his eyes widened at your words.

"Yes, yes I am." He responded,

"They were taken by Treebeard, an Ent, but I did not know which direction they had gone to. Treebeard was never fond of me, anyway. I had overstayed his welcome and before I could even make note, he used his leg to forcefully shove me away." You explained, and Aragorn nodded, before thanking me. A satisfied sigh was heard behind you and your head snapped over your shoulder to find Gimli and Legolas approaching,

"At least she finally opened her mouth," The dwarf scoffed and Legolas nudged him with his elbow, sending him a quick glare before smiling at Aragorn. The man stood up, clearly happy that he had gotten the information that he needed. You sighed under your breath, realizing that your purpose for the future Elessar was fulfilled. You would have to return to foraging these woods and finding a new place closer to enact your revenge. However, as you stood up, Aragorn called out to you.

"I never got your name," He smiled, hands folded in front of him.

"My name is (Y/N) (L/N)," You responded, unsure of what use your name would be to him.

"Well, (L/N), you keep track of your surroundings. I believe we'll need your resources - I'll need your resources." Aragorn stated a twinkle in his eyes. You tilted your head to the side, processing his words. There was something about his eyes that startled you, it forced you into him whether you liked it or not. His eyes were from an unknown place that you had seen when you were a child. And now those eyes beckoned you for an adventure that you sorely needed.

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batrogers · 2 months

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For @factorialrabbits, and due to a lovely discussion with the ASAU people last night, have some fun violence!

Hyrule Warriors Link and an injured fairy. 400 words.

CW for serious gore under the cut.

IIII

There were crows clustered by the pond, and Link did not trust them in the slightest. The battlefield was mostly quiet; the monsters were either dead, fleeing, or captive and only hoping for mercy Link knew Zelda would not give... but they wouldn’t know that until they’d talked.

For what good that information might be, of course.

It wasn’t his problem. Link wound his way to the pond, uneasily, expecting to find another body they’d missed. It’d be a pain if he did; they’d been hoping to use the pond for water but if someone died in it...

When he arrived, there didn’t seem to be anything there. There was two crows fighting on a rock, squawking and snapping at each other over something, something small. There wasn’t much blood at all.

Link whistled at them, irritated, and shooed them off. The birds scattered as soon as he approached, unwilling to argue with a human being, and Link approached the small stain on the rock, expecting to see a dropped eyeball.

It was hard to make out at first. There was light – bright light, like something glowing, and two delicate wings, one crumpled badly and torn. Between them lay blood, and frail limbs and...

Link closed his eyes. An eyeball would’ve been easier.

Fuck.

He had to wet his lips. He tried, then tried again and crouched, whistling low and as clearly as he could a soft tune. He almost didn’t expect the fairy to respond: there was a lot of damage. So much, he paused and poured alcohol on his hands before trying to put... things... back into place before he scooped the frail body into his hands.

The tiny thing looked at him. His thoughts froze in horror, but it kept looking, turning her little face and opening and closing her mouth. No words came out. He swallowed, hard.

He knew, intellectually, fairies could survive the kind of damage he could. He knew that. But it was something else to see one half-open and moving still as he tried to think of what sounds he could make to tell her to stop, hold still please.

I’m trying to help.

The little thing gave a small gasp, attempting to fill her damaged lungs again, and Link gave up and closed his fingers into a tight little cage over her body nestled in his palm.

They had other fairies back at camp. They’d know more than him what they had to do.

#my writing #gore cw #violence cw #Zelda fanfic #HW:DE #Hyrule Warriors #LOZ Fairy #HW Link

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girlwithwolftatoo · 2 years

Note

Can you do Marc or Jake and you in the car driving on a road trip and your singing September by Earth Wind and Fire and there vibing to it but they don’t want to do it openly bc there to stubborn so you have poke or tickle them till they start signing and when the song stops they just go back to the way they were

(Everytime I think of that song, comes to my mind the little bird whistling it in front of the mirror)

Marc Spector:

*He doesn't listen to music. He doesn't even turn the radio on. He's driving, he's concentrated, he's... a little boring for the trips sometimes.

*Anyways, he'll let you plug your phone and listen to your tunes in a moderate level. "Maybe some music will brush away that grumpiness of yours" you joke.

*Because he's not very into music, you don't know nothing about his likes, and your ratio is so random he sometimes stares at you for moving sexy and then headbang as music switches.

*But who doesn't love EWaF? They have great songs! Marc pretends everything's right while you make a tiny dance with your hands at the rhytm of "September" while you give him glances.

*"C'mon, Marc, sing with me! Baaa-dee-yaaa, say do you remember-!" He'll struggle to keep his face straight, and ends up failing. "You're a little nuts, did you know?" he grunts with a chuckle.

*You can pretend you're holding a mic and passing it to him. He'll shake his head and mumble the lyrics. "Oh no, sing it right!" you nag him. At the end he'll do as you tell him to.

Jake Lockley:

*This man likes to listen any sort of music, and sometimes loses himself into it, but usually he keeps his facade of thug, even if you're at his side singing or dancing or shaking your head along the tunes.

*Unlike Marc, Jake will directly tell you he doesn't like to sing nor do any "ridiculous shit", so you'll need the heavy machinery to make him get in the funky mood.

*Since he's the driver, you don't want to distract him, so during red lights you do this thing that is a finger dancing on his hand or the wheel. He cannot help but look at your fingers doing this silly moves while you yell the chorus. "Drop it" he comands you, and now your fingers move to his shoulder.

*"I'm the tiny happines fairy, Jake" you say in a higher voice tone "If you don't show you're happy I will die and my remains will stain your limo with my stench" Jake gives you this half exhasperated, half amused look. "Voy a aplastar a esa pinche hadita" ("I'm going to crush that fucking little fairy").

*If you keep going, Jake will grab your hand, kiss your fingers and ask you if you want to have some "real fun tonight". He's serious, and you know what it means: dine, dance, break some criminals' jaws and make out in the back of the limo... probably listening "September" by EWaF.

#moon knight #moon boys #jake lockley #marc spector #jake lockley x reader #marc spector x reader #moon knight headcanon #moon knight series #moon knight x reader #marvel series #oscar isaac

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pocket-ozwynn · 2 years

Text

Gentle Timbre

[Borrower!AU]

Word Count: 2128

CW: Adult language, brief shooter video game violence

Note: Credit to @chamomile-g-tea for giving me the idea for the latter half of this one-shot

Zelly screamed.

“HE’S CRACKED, HE’S CRACKED!” she yelled over comms. as she bolted and dropped into a slide. She moved with breakneck speeds down the hill to get into a better firing position after hearing the opposing shooter’s shields explode against their initial push. Concussive rounds spat out from her LMG as she trained her sights on the cycloptic robot who’d given her hell these last few seconds. And while they’d move to fire a grappling hook to make a hasty retreat, Zelly managed to down them before they got the chance.

A wave of vermillion light rolled out from Tanma as they scanned the area. Thanks to that area-wide scan, Zelly clocked the two final combatants hidden behind some containers not too far away. She quietly moved to flank while switching to the more accurate R-301. As she did so, she heard the tell-tale whistle of a loosed arc star that Tanma tossed between the two marked players. With a concussive EMP discharge that briefly scrambled Zelly’s visuals and fried the enemy shields, Zelly and Cybertooth were able to move in and cut the final two players down amidst the confusion.

As the announcer declared her team victorious, Zelly threw her fists into the air with a triumphant yell. She could barely hear her teammates over the sound of her own vulgar cheering. She leaned back as far as she could and kicked her feet with delight.

In her celebration, she BANGED her knee against the desk and immediately had the wind knocked out of her. She swore loudly and gave a pained, exhausted laugh as she nursed her knee with one hand and reached out to grab her water bottle for a big swig with the other.

Her heart was racing and her adrenaline was pumping. She felt unstoppable after that match. But she’d been so focused that she’d tuned out everything around her, what time was it even? She-

Oh wait, Rowan! She’d totally forgotten he was in her lap.

She quickly looked down to flash an apologetic, if not embarrassed, smile. “I’m SO sorry Ro’! I-I got too into it, I hope I didn’t knock you around too mu-”

He was gone.

“Babe?” She looked around. Had she knocked him on the floor while she was cheering? No, she would’ve heard him make some kind of noise if she had. He wasn’t on her desk...and he wasn’t on the floor either. She quickly patted her pockets and chest to make sure he wasn’t on her person (though she was certain she would’ve noticed if he was). After realizing he wasn’t in the immediate area, Zelly felt a bit of panic well up.

“Shit shit shit...” Zelly swore. She turned around in her chair to look around. Why did Rowan have to be so goddamn small? Sometimes it was really nice having a bite-sized boyfriend, but when there were disgruntled enemies who wanted Rowan’s head or if she had to catsit Hanzo (like tonight of all nights) it did make things a bit more stressful when he suddenly was GONE.

//-time for one more?// Tanma asked, their husky voice was made even raspier thanks to their raucous post-match celebration.

Zelly was already getting out of her chair when she registered Tanma’s question. She awkwardly twisted about and hit the undeafen button. “Sorry guys, I gotta run. I, uh-” Quick, think of a lie. “I heard something in the kitchen. Gotta make sure my fridge didn’t fall over.” Worst lie ever, but it’ll do.

Zelly ripped off her headphones before hearing their reply and did a sweep of her room. She moved to her bed and quickly ran her hands over the surface to see if she could feel his body against her fingers, but when that proved fruitless she ripped off the pillows. Nothing. Eventually, she even tore off the sheets till they were a mountainous pile off to the side. Still no sign of Rowan.

More colorful, demonetizing-worthy words tumbled past her lips as she continued to turn over the room for any signs of her little lover. She ran fingers through her hair as she tried to recall all the places Rowan could be. Eventually, she sprinted out the door and hurried down the stairs. She went to call out, but paused as she spotted Hazno in the dim mood lighting of the living room.

Nikol’s cat was perched on the armrest, his eyes fixed on something--or rather someone--curled up on the couch cushion. It didn’t take long for Zelly to realize that the little dark form was Rowan.

Shit, not again, Zelly swore as she recalled how she and Rowan had met the first time. Granted Hanzo was far more used to Rowan than her neighbor’s cat Chu Chu was, Zelly didn’t want to take her chances. Thrice-Crowed or not, the thought of Rowan being some animal’s meal terrified her. So she ran over and tried to scare Hanzo--thankfully, it worked almost immediately. The cat yowled and bolted.

“SCRAM Hanzo! Rowan’s not your dinner!”

She had more colorful words to add, but her anger and panic was mellowed out by Rowan’s warm, if not weary, chuckle. “He was not bothering me, darling. Don’t worry...I had my eye on him. Though I appreciate the concern.”

Zelly blushed. Of course he had the situation under control, this was Rowan they were talking about. He could absolutely take care of himself. But even if he could, that didn’t mean that Zelly didn’t want to help him in whatever way she could.

She silently nodded as she crawled up onto the couch to join Rowan. Her colorful hair spilled out onto the cushion and around her diminutive lover as she rested her head near him.

They lay in silence for a bit, and Zelly just...watched him breathe. He had his back to her--which made sense. Rowan had once remarked that he prefered sleeping in the direction he believed danger would come. Since Hanzo had been on the arm rest, it wasn’t surprising that Rowan had been laying in that direction to keep an eye on him.

There was something about his breathing and how quiet he was being that keyed Zelly in to the fact that he wasn’t doing okay tonight.

Zelly reached out and gently ran a fingertip down his spine. The muscles trembled in response. He even hummed in quiet approval. “You doing okay? Sorry if I got too loud...”

Rowan cleared his throat and rolled over right onto her pink locks. He took her fingertip up in his hands to bestow a loving peck before scooting a bit closer towards her. He wriggled in a bit, allowing her hair to caress his face as he looked up at her.

“My beloved, rest assured I find your hot passion intoxicating.” Rowan replied with a sultry purr and a small, albeit incredibly tired, smile as he gazed up into her eyes. Zelly felt her heart race as she studied his minute features. “After all, it would be quite hypocritical of me if I was put off by your warrior zeal.”

“Intoxicating, huh...?” Zelly murmured as she bit her lip. She felt a bit of heat rise in her cheeks, but she set aside the butterflies in her heart to address the real concern. He was deflecting her question.

“So, um...why are you down here then? I mean...if you were tired and not put off by my noise, my lap IS pretty damn cozy--if I do say so myself...or like. Our bed is plenty enough room for you. That’s WAY more comfy than the couch.”

Rowan raised an eyebrow.

“Our bed?” Rowan mused. “My love, that bed is built for titans. To call it our bed is a bit of a misno-”

Zelly gave him a flat look before reaffirming lovingly, “Titan or not, you’re my boyfriend--it’s ours, Ro’. Not just mine.”

Rowan blushed and hummed thoughtfully at that. His smile widened a bit more as he nodded. “R-Right. Our bed. I apologize."

“No need to apologize, babe,” Zelly reassured as she leaned in and nuzzled her nose against his chest. She crossed her eyes a bit to get a good look at him before pulling back. “If you don’t wanna talk about what’s up though, that’s-”

Rowan’s chest shuddered as he drew a breath thick with emotion. He cleared his throat and shook his head. “No, no. It’s, um...nothing new. It...just has to do with Mother. That’s all.”

“Oh Ro’...” Zelly pursed her lips knowing. “I’m so sorry, hun.”

“You were thoroughly engaged with your companions, and I did not wish to disturb you,” Rowan elaborated.

Zelly gave a small smile of disbelief. Then, with all the love she could muster she replied with a gentle “shut the hell up.”

Rowan blinked. “Pardon?”

Zelly got in close so she would fill Rowan’s vision. Being a “titan” had its perks, and she knew it’d be a lot harder for him to ignore her words if she got in close like this. She reached up and gently placed two fingertips to her back. She could feel his heartbeat against her fingertips. But his breathing...it felt tight. Shallow. Restrained. All of his muscles felt so tense.

“You’re a lot more important to me then some stupid game, okay?” Zelly clarified. “Especially if you’re feeling stuff about your Mom. You don’t hafta bottle up how you’re feeling because you think you’d be interrupting me, okay? I’m just playing stupid games with my silly friends. That stuff can wait, I promise.”

Rowan looked ready to protest, but Zelly cut him off by wrapping her thumb around and placing it gently on his chest. He paused. Zelly could feel his heart racing faster.

“I don’t know what you’ve gone through,” Zelly admitted quietly. “Your world is so much different than mine. It’s one that’s been both amazing and crazy at the same time.”

Rowan had finally met her gaze. Great, now she was actually feeling oddly nervous. Assassin who’d cast down tyrants and liberated captive kingdoms, looking up at a med school drop out who played video games for a living who was trying to console him. No pressure, right?

“Please let me know when you’re hurting...because I do wanna help, dammit. Lemme know when I need to unplug, even if you just need me to listen or to hold you...okay?”

Rowan nodded as he drank in her words carefully. She could feel his muscles relax ever so slightly against her. “Thank you, Zelly. I do appreciate that reminder. And I hope I don’t seem ungrateful, your love is just rather...”

Rowan paused, then added softly: “...foreign.”

Zelly rubbed her thumb in circles over his chest, hoping that would show a tender love that she couldn’t find the right words to express.

Finally, Rowan looked back up at her. He scooted closer to her, till her face was within arm’s reach, and reached out to rest a hand gently on the tip of her nose. Zelly couldn’t help but shiver. God, she could feel every individual finger. It was incredible how such strong hands could be so gentle.

“But know this,” Rowan added reverently. “There is no paragon greater than you, Zelly Klouse-Calloway.”

“I know we both struggle sometimes to understand the worlds we were born into...but I cannot help but feel that no other soul in all of Creation could listen my soul’s whisperings like you do. So...please. Do not shortchange yourself, my titan. Your love means more to me than you could ever know. YOU are the woman my cold, quiet heart decided to finally beat for. I would not change a single jot of who you are, my love--not for all the riches of the crown, nor the hidden knowledge of the Empyrean."

“W-Wow...” Zelly stammered. She cleared her throat and chuckled sheepishly. “Hey now, not fair, I was coming down here to help YOU feel better...not the other way around.”

Rowan chuckled. “Is empathy is mutually exclusive?”

“Well, no,” Zelly protested. “I just...I wish I had those same kind of words to help you when you’re hurting.”

“Bold of you to assume you haven’t eased my burdens already,” he warmly reassured as he caressed her nose. “You love in far more powerful ways than words, my beloved.”

"Well...good. At least I was able to do something to help,” Zelly whispered with a smile. She leaned in and gave him a tender, full-faced kiss. As she pulled away, she quietly asked. “Do...you want to talk about your Mom tonight? Or do you just want me to hold you?”

“I would prefer the latter, if permissible.”

"For sure, love. Anything you need.”

#ogtoc Rowan #ogtoc Zelly #gt #g/t #giant/tiny #g/t writing #gt writing #wholesome giantess #Ozwynn's Borrower!AU #Borrowers #Borrower!AU #i'm super sleepy but I don't really wanna bother editing this one too much?#just some Feelings I wanted to explore with these two<3 #Offline Valor

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fuckin-nancy · 2 years

Text

A Free Hand

rating: explicit characters: Deputy (female), John Seed words: 2,014 (3,387 total) chapter: 2 out of 2 additional tags: smut, enemies with benefits, male-receiving oral, rough sex summary:

Rook has all but made it her mission in life to push John Seed's buttons. This time, however, she may have pushed too far.

[AO3] [Chapter 1]

Rook opened her eyes, her head dully throbbing and her throat parched. She blinked a few times to clear her blurry vision and she'd have rubbed them, too, but her hands hung bound behind her.

She knew where she was: John Seed's bunker. She swayed, trying to see if she could scoot in the chair she was tied to, but no luck. A glance downward confirmed it was bolted to the floor. Seemed like John had learned his lesson from last time.

Twisting her wrists to and fro, she was greeted by an awfully familiar jingling... handcuffs?

Oh, but of course he would.

John kept her waiting, which she supposed was only fair. She had no way to measure time—no clock in sight, no sounds but for the soft whir of what she assumed was the ventilation system—but by her best estimate, about two hours elapsed before the door finally creaked open.

She took the isolation as best she could, but she wasn't accustomed to remaining stationary for ten minutes, let alone hours on end. By the time John came strolling in, whistling a tune she didn't recognize and holding a glass of what appeared to be water, she could have cried from relief.

He affected astonishment when he saw her. "My, what do we have here? The Deputy, bound and completely at my mercy?"

"It's like a dream come true, huh?" she said, her voice little more than a croak.

He chuckled, but dipped down to put the glass to her lips, and rolled his eyes exaggeratedly when she turned her head away. He took a sip, eyes locked on hers. "If I wanted you drugged or poisoned, Deputy, you would be so already."

She supposed she couldn't dispute that. This time when John lowered the glass and gently tipped it, she gratefully drank every last drop.

He set it down, stepped back, and took a good look at her, eyeing her up and down. Appraising his catch and appreciating her predicament. For Rook's part, she stared him down with an air of indifference, keeping utterly still.

After a full few minutes of silence, however, she was the one who broke first. She'd waited for long enough already, and she was dying for something to happen—anything. "Well?"

"Well what?" He folded his arms against his chest.

"Well, what're you going to do?" She paused. "Or did you just want to hang out? If that's the case, all you had to do was call—"

"Do you know how long I waited?" He spoke barely above a whisper, but he cut straight through her babbling all the same. Something in his gaze had darkened.

She shifted in her seat, trying her damnedest not to smile. "I don't know, a few hours?"

"Twenty-two, to be exact."

"Damn, really?" She couldn't hold back her snicker. "It took them that long to go looking?"

"I don't see how this is a laughing matter, Deputy."

"No?" She shifted again. Damn, her arms were really starting to ache. "Hey, look on the bright side. I'm sure you don't get enough alone time as it is. For a busy man like yourself, twenty-two hours of uninterrupted reflection is a godsend."

His eyes narrowed. "Well, I wouldn't call it a godsend, but yes—I suppose I did have ample time to consider things."

"And?"

He answered by undoing his belt and unzipping his pants. Her eyes slid down to his cock, already half-hard and absolutely tantalizing. She had to force herself to look back up at his face, to meet his smouldering gaze.

She licked her lips, and he followed the movement with dilated pupils.

The tip of his cock grazed her chin. He brushed a hand across her cheek, clasped the back of her head, tangled his fingers in her hair.

She wrapped her lips around the head and swirled her tongue around it, earning a contented sigh from above. She lowered her head, took him as far as she comfortably could, and when she hummed around his length, he let out a shuddering groan, his hand tightening in her hair. "Thaaat's right. Right where you belong."

He was content to let her do all the work, it seemed, as she continuously bobbed up and down his cock, working herself further and further. She only wished her hands were available to pleasure him more, but that was his own fault. His taunts blended seamlessly with his praises, and his moans with her own.

Abruptly he pulled out of her mouth with a wet pop and reached behind her to undo the cuffs, only to find her clasping them behind her back, already undone.

She grinned up at him, committing his bewildered expression to memory. "I still had the key—figured I'd be seeing these bad boys again. Looks like I was right."

Suddenly there was a knife in his hand, and she she only had time to let out a startled yell before he ripped through the rope binding her in one swift swipe, tearing through the front of her shirt in the process. He yanked her up by the forearms, spun her around, and walked her a few steps before shoving her onto the nearby table. Rust-coloured flecks stained the wood near her face, and she tried hard not to consider what they were and how they'd gotten there.

He stripped her of her clothing, ripping her shirt the rest of the way and tossing it aside, getting frustrated when her bra wouldn't unclasp quickly enough for him and slicing through that, too. He unbuttoned her pants and slid them down her legs, underwear included, but when they pooled around her boots he let out a muttered curse and Rook flinched when the knife clanged to the floor. Her toes barely scraped the concrete, but he wouldn't let her back up, pressing himself against her.

The edge of the table dug uncomfortably into her thighs but she had more pressing concerns, such as John promptly shoving three fingers inside her. She whimpered, and he chuckled lowly in her ear. "Did sucking my cock really get you this wet? You're absolutely insatiable."

"G-guess your cock is just that good, Johnny," she stammered, trying to move her hips in time with the pumping of his fingers, though with her feet off the floor she didn't have much leverage.

He removed them much too soon for her liking, but almost immediately the head of his cock rubbing between her folds had her keening.

But he wouldn't push inside. Rook squirmed, trying to catch him, but he quickly stopped her movement with a growl and hands bracketing her hips.

"So eager, Deputy?" he murmured in her ear, his breath hot. "I don't know if you deserve it, being such a bad girl." He continued his slow, delicious grind against her, and all she could think was that she wanted more. She'd waited long enough.

"Don't play coy," she panted. "You want this just as much as I do."

"Perhaps." He stilled above her, and she could have screamed. His lips skimmed the shell of her ear. "But I think you owe me an apology, first."

Smartass as she was, she couldn't help blurting out, "Good luck getting one." He pulled away from her entirely, and she shamed herself by breathlessly yelping, "Wait!"

He stopped directly behind her, still not touching her, but he said, "Say it. Swallow your pride, Deputy. There's a reason that word is etched into your skin. It's now or never."

"I..." Her eyes squeezed shut. She was glad he couldn't see her face, because it blazed hotter than the sun. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

The tell-tale sound of a condom wrapper being ripped open met her ears. "And?"

"And I..." She let out a breath. "I humbly beg for your forgiveness."

"Ah. You beg for it, do you?" She felt the all-encompassing warmth of his chest against her back as he caged her in, but still he kept his hips from hers.

"John, for fuck's sake. Please, just—" She turned her head as far as possible so she could just barely see his face, look into his eyes. "I'm sorry. Please fuck me, please."

He bent down and pressed the gentlest kiss to her temple. "I graciously accept your apology."

Then he was pushing past her entrance, and they sighed in unison at the long stretch. With a jolt she realized that while she was nearly naked, John was almost entirely clothed, and she hated how much she loved it. John built his rhythm quickly, thrusts coming rough and fast, gripping her hips with bruising force, and all she could do was hang on to the table's edge for dear life. There was no stopping the staccato gasps pouring out of her even if she'd wanted to. They mingled with his own grunts, the squelching of her sex, the rattle of the table, the incessant slap of skin on skin.

"Fuck, John!" she cried. Her fingers were numb from being clenched so hard, and her thighs would be bruised from being continuously slammed against the table but she didn't care, all she cared about was the drag of John's cock inside her and the long, hard thrusts that reached places she couldn't reach by herself.

He wrapped an arm around her middle, pressed himself even more tightly against her, and his other hand slid under her hip and found his prize just above where they were joined. He ran just a few furious circles over her clit before she was gone.

Her orgasm shattered her senses, and her cunt squeezing his cock had him losing his rhythm and cumming right alongside her with a strangled curse. He fucked her through it, hips stuttering, gasping for air like he'd run a marathon.

He stayed inside her a few moments, his strangely comforting weight atop her, until both their breaths had slowed and steadied. When he finally pulled out Rook was boneless, entirely fucked out, content to just lie there for all eternity even as John cleaned himself up behind her. It was only when he gave her an impatient smack on the ass that she made any effort to move.

She couldn't help but groan at the soreness. Jesus, it would be a while before she could sit down without thinking of him. She didn't even have her pants up before John was back to his normal pristine self, save the slight flush and the utter carnal satisfaction in his eyes. He watched her dress with folded arms, his foot tapping the floor, the picture of impatience. It only slowed her down, of course. She made a point of pocketing her handcuffs, to which he rolled his eyes.

"You'd better hurry if you want to get out without anyone seeing," he said, going over to the door when she was done. "I bought you some time, but they won't stay away forever."

"And I'm just supposed to walk out like this?" She gestured to the front of her shirt, in absolute tatters.

He eyed the swell of her breasts before meeting her gaze impassively. "Well, perhaps you shouldn't have provoked me."

"Where's the fun in that?" She smiled at him, and her smile only widened when he returned it. She reached out and took his hand, giving it a light squeeze. "You sure you wanna just let me go?"

"Don't make me reconsider," he said tersely, belying his gruffness by raising her hand to his lips. Even after everything, her heart fluttered when he pressed a kiss against her knuckles. "The prospect is far too tempting, but we both have jobs to do. Now, off with you."

"Until next time." She went down the hall with a spring in her step. On a hunch she stopped and cast a look over her shoulder, only to find John standing right where she'd left him. Their eyes met.

It wouldn't be long until the next time, she knew. John enjoyed this cat and mouse game as much as she did.

#Far Cry 5 #John Seed #John Seed x Deputy #John Seed x Female Deputy #my writing

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regicidal-defenestration · 1 year

Text

KaF3 Countdown - Music/Sound design

“Energy sink.”

Kane held out a hand without turning from his work.

Feels stared blankly at the open box in front of him.

“Does it look like a fork?”

“It looks,” Kane said, “like an energy sink.”

“A spoon with a bit stuck on the back?”

“That one please.”

Feels handed over the spoon- sorry- energy sink, and shuffled closer to get a better look at what Kane was doing.

Kane had stuck the thing upright in something that probably wasn't blue tack, but looked suspiciously like it. Strings of beads were wrapped around it, and a wire snaked out from between them to a speaker balanced on the ground. The urge to poke something and see what happened was overwhelming.

“When you said we had to set it up away from the flat, I expected something…”

Feels made a vague gesture, taking in the hill, the night sky, the distant lights of a village down in the valley, and the cold wind that his coat wasn’t quite keeping out.

“Bigger. More dangerous than that dragon you summoned.”

“I apologised for that one!”

Feels grinned. He had mostly forgiven Kane for setting the carpet on fire (a second time), but it was fun to keep bringing it up.

“What’s the deal with our being here though?”

“It’s less of an issue of being indoors so much as being in London. It’s too loud, not- not in the noise sense, although that too honestly, but I mean all those millions of people in close proximity, with all their thoughts and worries and dreams, all we’d be doing is amplifying them and quite honestly I don’t want to hear all that.”

He flicked a bead, and Feels was somewhat disappointed when the entire structure remained upright, and nothing interesting came out the speaker.

“Nothing magical about moorland then?”

“I like the moors,” Kane protested.

“Turn the speaker on?”

Ah- that’d explain the lack of anything.

Pressing buttons at random until a little red light came on, Feels settled down on the heather, gazing out over the valley.

It seemed to go on forever; valley became moorland again became the starry sky, impossible to draw the line between each. When the wind dropped, the silence filled the world entirely, barely broken by the rustling of pheasants or the bleat of sheep. Beside him, Kane came to sit down too, resting his head on the other man’s shoulder.

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed there, breathing in the night.

When the speaker crackled to life, Feels half expected Kane to jump up and investigate, but the man stayed seated, only lifting his head towards the sound.

“What is it?” Feels asked, keeping his voice hushed for a reason he couldn’t name.

“The sound of the universe,” Kane replied, just as quietly. “Collected by the energy sink, then amplified through the beads and speaker. I never- I never thought we’d actually hear it.”

It sounded like this: an open G note on a violin.

It sounded like this: a syncopated pulsing, so low in pitch it could barely be heard.

It sounded like this: the tuning of an orchestra, leaves in the wind, rain on a tin roof and rain on the ocean. A whistle - high, low, and high again. Metallic, a spinning penny coming to a stop. The sound of planets and atoms turning.

“I’d always-” Kane began, swallowed, stopped. There was an unmistakable note of sadness in his voice when he continued.

“I’d always thought it’d sound more- more tuneful.”

He waved a hand vaguely in the air, letting out half a laugh.

“God. I’m sitting here with you, listening to the sound of the bloody universe itself!, and I’m complaining.”

Another almost-laugh.

“The stories always said you could dance to it.”

Feels nudged him gently.

"Could teach you how to waltz when we get back to the hostel.”

That got a real laugh. He said nothing though, just leaned his head back against Feels.

Feels wrapped his arm around Kane’s shoulder.

“I think it’s beautiful.”

Kane sighed.

“It is, isn’t it.”

And the universe played on.

#this is eventually about music; not at all about sound design; and mostly about how i miss the moors #kane and feels #kaf3countdown #writing

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audioaujom · 9 months

Text

1: Mother Knows Best

CHTangled Hub, next >

Hello and welcome! I’m not sure where this came from, but if you want all of the exposition it's listed in the Hub. Just know that while this may seem strange or fucked up at times, it's all in good fun! Also don’t ask how many times I’ve seen Tangled.

Word Count: 1390

Chapter TWs: Manipulation, Unhealthy Relationships, Threats of Violence

“Today’s the day. I'm gonna do it.” Zac announced loudly, his legs swinging back and forth under the ceiling rafter he was sitting on. “I'm gonna ask him and he's gonna say yes and it's gonna be fine. Right, Lou?”

The small chameleon perched on Zac’s shoulder stared back at him, deadpan, Zac ignoring the expression by plastering on a cheerful smile.

“Yeah, you're right. It's gonna be fine.”

Zac jumped, nearly falling off the rafter as he heard the familiar voice of Brennan call, “Zachary!” from the ground below.

“That's my cue!” Jumping down to the floor, Zac helped Lou hide before throwing open the window shutters so Brennan could get in. “It'll be fine!”

It only took a minute for Brennan to scale the outside of the tower, covered in a wide hooded cloak and carrying a basket slung over one arm. He brushed the hood of it back as he stepped inside, carefully setting down the basket with a smile.

“It looks nice in here today.” Brennan commented off-handedly, dropping the cloak he was wearing on a nearby chair. “Bored enough to clean?”

“Just like always.” Zac smiled, leg bouncing nervously beneath him. “I also got around to more painting, though I’m still not very good at it.”

“Skill comes with practice, Zac.” Brennan said lightly, patting him on the shoulder before stepping past him to glance at his reflection in a mirror. “You’re bound to get somewhere good eventually.”

“Yeah, I guess, or whatever.” Zac nodded several times, psyching himself up to ask, “Hey so, I was wondering, if you know what’s coming up tom—”

“Oh, man. Look at that.” Brennan let out a low whistle, looking at the wrinkled and dry skin on the back of his hands. “Must be one of those days.”

“Um, so, as I was saying tomorrow is going to be—!” Zac tried again, only for Brennan to cut him off again.

“How about you sing for me?” Brennan offered, expression demanding. “Then we can talk.”

“Oh.” Zac deflated a little, sighing. “Okay.”

In an instant he had a chair out, shoving Brennan backwards into it so he could sit on an ottoman across from him. He took a deep breath and pinched his arm as hard as he could until tears welled up in his eyes, leaning forward as he started humming the familiar tune as fast as he could manage.

“Wait, Zac, hold— Zac!” Brennan reached out to grab Zac’s face as the wrinkled areas of his skin quickly popped out of existence, first concerned and then annoyed as Zac blinked away his remaining tears with a smile.

“So, as I was saying, tomorrow’s this super important day, right?” Leaning forward, Zac ignored Brennan’s glare. “Because as I’m sure we both know, you know, it’s my birthday and all that.”

“Are you sure? I thought that was last year.” Brennan frowned playfully, before smiling as Zac shot him an annoyed stare.

“Well, as I’m sure you know… or, well… what I’m trying to say is— ask is…”

“Hey.” Brennan interrupted, a little gentler this time. “Stop mumbling, you know what I’ve always said about that.”

“Can I go see the floating lights this year?” Zac finally blurted out, his stomach twisting into tight knots at the unreadable frown that crossed Brennan’s face.

“What?”

“Er, well, can we go see the floating lights?” Zac tried again, grabbing Brennan by the hands to guide him over to the half-completed painting of the night sky he’d been working on all morning. “I want you to take me to see them.”

“The stars? The things you can see perfectly well from your window every night?” Brennan asked, arms crossed.

“No, not those.” Zac shook his head, gulping a little before correcting, “The… lanterns. The ones that show up every year on my birthday.”

“You want to go outside?” Incredulous, Brennan stared Zac down until he felt nauseous. “Zac, please, why would you ever want that?”

Hunching in on himself, Zac was beginning to regret asking. “Well, to see the lights, for starters.”

“Even though you can see them perfectly well from the window?” Brennan grabbed one of Zac’s shoulders, squeezing lightly. “Do you really think that seeing them up close warrants all the danger you'd have to face to get there?”

“Well… yeah.”

“It's because you don't know what's out there.” Brennan lamented, dramatically sitting back down in the chair Zac had set out with a dismissive click of the tongue. “You’re fortunate enough to never have experienced anything really dangerous.”

“But if you went with me, what would be—?” Desperate, Zac hovered over the arm of the chair only for Brennan to shake his head sadly.

“Oh, Zac.” He sighed, turning apologetic eyes to the boy beside him. “It’s my fault for raising you like this. So naive.” Making sure to hold eye contact, he continued, “The only way I can protect you is by having you stay here. Inside. Away from all of the everything else.”

“What if you taught me to protect myself?” Zac asked, the dread in his stomach threatening to rise up his throat as vomit. “Wouldn't that work?”

“There's no way you could learn to protect yourself! Have you seriously forgotten?” Brennan rose to his feet, walking over to the counter by the kitchen and running his hand through a pocket of dust that Zac must’ve missed earlier. “I mean look around you. You can't even manage to properly clean up one room on your own!”

“But you go out all the time!” Zac countered, hurriedly picking up the towel he’d been cleaning with and wiping away the spot of dust. “How bad could it really be?”

“The people out there aren't like me. They're monsters, Zac.” Snatching the towel from Zac’s hands, Brennan twisted it tightly in his hands to snap it in the air like a whip. “If someone out there found out what you could do, do you have any idea what they'd do to you?”

Zac stared down at his feet, shuffling them awkwardly instead of answering.

“They'd try to take your eyes out. Can you imagine?” Cupping Zac’s face, Brennan waited for Zac to look up before he tossed the towel away and mimed a weapon by Zac’s eyes with one hand. “They’d hold you down and take something sharp to the side of your face, and then they would gouge them out one at a time, slowly—painfully—and then let you bleed out. Cause what use are you without those eyes?” Blinking back terrified tears, any protests Zac had died in his throat as Brennan continued, “Or worse yet they'd keep you around and use you. 24/7 you'd be doing nothing but crying until you stop and they have to beat the tears out of you.”

As soon as Brennan let go of him, Zac stumbled into the counter, legs too shaky to hold up his weight as he tried to keep his terrified breathing even.

“Do you understand? I'm protecting you from them. From all the claws and fangs and horns, and from the much more real threats, too.” Brennan watched Zac struggle to support himself for a long, cold moment, before stepping over and offering him a hug. “I just wish you could see that. This is all for you.”

“...sorry, Brennan.” Zac mumbled out, hesitating before accepting the hug. “I just…”

“I know.” Brennan soothed, hugging Zac tightly. “And it hurts me to have to keep you away from it all like this, it really does.” Letting go once Zac seemed stable enough on his feet, Brennan slowly walked away and into the kitchen. “I know that all you want is to go outside and be normal, but you can't. And if keeping you safe makes me the bad guy, then, well… that's fine. As long as you're safe.”

“...yeah.” Swallowing back his dread and terror, Zac conceded, “I won't ask again.”

“You better not. My answer is never going to change.” Brennan huffed, shaking off the tension in the air with a breezy, “Now, what do you want for dinner?”

Brennan looked back as Zac stared at him in disbelief, smirking wide.

“Oh, come on. The least I can do after crushing your dreams—no matter how unrealistic they may be—is offer you the pleasure of choosing dinner.”

#tangled au #tangled #collegehumor #college humor #dropout tv #dimension 20 #zac oyama #brennan lee mulligan #fanfiction #fanfic #cross posted on ao3 #writing #whump #angst

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wri0thesley · 3 years

Note

Heyo! Could I please get a scenario of phone sex with Gojo please? Thank you so much, I found you through AO3 and love your writing!

a good night’s rest - gojo x fem!reader (2.7k)

gojo sends you a picture of himself in a hotel bed whilst he’s away on a mission. it preys on your mind. thankfully, gojo’s got a bit of a predicament on his end too.

warnings: nsfw/minors dni! established relationship. phone sex, masturbation, use of toys. reader is afab and uses fem pronouns.

[reblogs/comments appreciated! // my jjk masterlist]

You’ve long since learned to deal with being on your own.

It’s not that your boyfriend doesn’t want to be with you – when he is here, he wraps his arms around you and covers your face with kisses and squeezes you, holding you so tightly that you feel like he’ll never let go – but more that he has no choice but to have to go away. Satoru Gojo is the strongest jujutsu sorcerer in the whole goddamn world, and with that comes a world of responsibility. So even though his constant missions all around Japan and abroad make you pout and tug at his clothes and sigh, you accept that it’s a fact of life.

And when he is there with you, you make the most of him to the tune of his mouth on yours and you sinking down onto his cock until neither of you can think about anything but one another’s body, sweat-slicked and needy and pressed against each other as you climb to your peaks together, over and over and over.

But that doesn’t mean you don’t get needy when he’s away.

Tonight had been one of those nights. He’d sent you a picture of himself in his hotel bed, blindfold pushed up to reveal crystalline blue eyes with galaxies swirling in them, his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth and two fingers held up to his cheek in a peace sign. It’s a silly photograph, more than anything else – but it had been hard for you to concentrate on anything when he’d been shirtless beneath the blankets. When you’d seen the lean lines of his broad shoulders and muscled chest, the bare, unmarked collarbones that were begging to be kissed and bitten.

After you’d noticed the bare top half, it had been impossible to not let your gaze linger on all of the other things. The pink tip of his tongue (that you wish was buried between your legs), the two fingers (that you wish were inside of you), the blankets bunched up around his hips hiding his cock (you’d wondered if he was naked in his fancy hotel bed and squeezed your legs together, a soft breath escaping you at the thought).

You’d sent him a picture back of you blowing a kiss to the camera, but you hadn’t been able to shake the thoughts about him.

So you’d let your fingers wander. Cupped your breast in your hand, tugged at your nipples – stroked over your stomach with the barest hint of your fingertips, brushing your soaked slit through the thin material of your underwear. You’d imagined they were Gojo’s fingers as well as you could, but it hadn’t been enough. It hadn’t been enough to bite into your lip and circle your clit imagining Gojo’s voice teasing you about how wet you were for him; and it hadn’t been enough when you’d slipped one finger inside of yourself to the knuckle and it hadn’t hit you in all the same places that Gojo’s fingers do.

You’d been laid on your bed, teeth clenched and sweat beading on your hairline with tears of frustration welling in the corners of your eyes, when your phone had begun to ring and you’d seen Gojo’s name flash up.

“Hello?” You’d breathed into the receiver, fumbling with the hand not inside of you to answer. You hear an answering sigh, Gojo’s voice pitching into a whine as he says;

“Doll? I miss you.”

Your eyes close.

“I miss you too,” you breathe. You wonder if he can hear the light hitch in your breath – if he’s wondering what you’re doing right now. You hope not. It would be embarrassing, you think, to be caught in this particular act. “It’s nice to hear your voice.”

“It’s nice to hear yours!” He chirps, too bright considering that it’s what – two in the morning? “I’ve been trying to go back to sleep ever since you sent me that picture, but . . .” His voice drops, low. “Cupcake--”

“Did you like it?” You ask, the change in his tone sending shivers down your spine. He chuckles down the line and you feel yourself clench around the finger still buried inside of you, a little bolt of electric heat shooting down your spine.

“Like it? Oh . . .” He takes a soft little breath. “You knew exactly what you were doin’, huh?”

“Says you,” you whisper, your voice dropping to something low and throaty. “Were you wearing underwear in the one you sent?”

He chuckles down the line.

“We-e-ell,” he says, drawing out the syllable into a sing-song, “I’m sure not wearing it now.”

“Me neither,” you admit. Your face is burning hot, but you move the phone a little – you pull your finger half out of you before driving it back in, the wet sound obvious even (you hope) through the line. Gojo makes a groan, a whistle through his teeth – but he manages to keep his tone teasing as he says;

“Ahh, now – is that what I think it is? Tch!” He clicks his tongue at you in mock disappointment. “You’re so naughty, dollface--”

“What are you doing right now?” You ask him, and he laughs. You hear the noise of something slick and wet and you think of him pumping his shaft (how thick, how long it always looks in his hand) and have to swallow back the lump in your throat.

“That’d be telling!” He says, brightly, but he ends with a light laugh. “I think you can guess, can’t you?”

“D’you miss me that much?” You slide a second finger inside of yourself, relishing the stretch of your slick, tight walls around you.

“More than words can say,” he breathes. “I’d fuckin’ kill to have you with me right now, doll-- my hands don’t feel half as good as yours--”

“My fingers don’t reach as far as yours,” you admit, breathlessly. You know he must be able to hear that those fingers are sliding in and out of you faster and harder with every moment that passes. “I--”

“Get a toy,” Gojo says. His voice has dropped a semitone; low, and commanding. He’s usually carefree with his words, but when he gets an idea into his head he clings to it. He loves being in control. “The blue one, you know the one I like--”

You fumble, pulling your fingers out of yourself with a slick pop. The bottom drawer has a little collection of sex toys in, most of which you’d owned before you’d met Gojo – some of which he’d bought you, though, because he liked the idea of spicing up your sex life.

“It’s not that I don’t think I can satisfy you,” he’d said, with a crooked, cheeky grin. “But . . . it’s nice to introduce some tools every so often, right?” He’d winked at you and pressed the blue dildo into your hand. “This one’s almost as long as me and only a little bit thinner--”

“I’ve got it,” you breathe, once you’re back on the bed, and Gojo makes a pleased hum in the back of his throat.

“Get it nice and wet for me like a good girl,” he says. Even though he can’t see you, you open your mouth and gently begin to kiss and lick the toy as if it were Gojo’s cock. You give kitten licks to the swollen head, soft kisses along where the slit would be (those always make Gojo groan, tilt his head back so you can see the column of his throat and you throb with need at how gorgeous he looks when you’re on your knees for him). Gently suckling just the head into the cavern of your mouth, before sliding further down on it--

You make a conscious effort to not quieten your noises. It’s a sloppier blowjob than you’d give Gojo, but all he has to go on right now is the audio of the phone call and you imagine the wet noises of you drooling around the toy are much sexier than you silently giving it a careful suck to wet it before you put it inside you.

Judging from Gojo’s reaction – the groaning you can hear coming from the other end, the ragged sighs – your efforts are not in vain.

“Good girl,” he says, as if he can see you, when you manage to deep-throat almost the whole thing. “I think that’s plenty wet enough now, right? T-tell me how you’re feeling--”

The light stutter is endearing – you imagine him stroking his thumb over the slit of his cock, swirling his pre-come over the reddened tip.

“I’m so wet,” you whimper, through the phone. “If I don’t get something inside of me soon I think I’ll die--”

“Fuck,” he says. “I wish it was me you were putting inside, doll.”

“Me too,” you say, with a sigh. “But this’ll have to do--”

“I’ll fuck you until I can’t walk when I’m home, I promise.” There’s a steely undercurrent to Gojo’s words that do not leave you doubting he means them sincerely. “But for now . . . bring the toy down your body, princess.” You follow his instructions, shivering at the sensation of the wet tip of it leaving a trail of your own saliva. “Touch your tits for me, come on-- if I were there, I’d kiss and bite your nipples until they were sore and aching, but . . . I’m not, so you’re gonna have to do it for me. Give ‘em a pinch--”

The hand not holding the toy puts the phone on speaker and places it beside you on the bed so you can heed his instructions. The sound of his low voice giving you orders and commands seems to intensify the ache inside of you threefold – as you pinch your nipples almost hard enough to hurt, as you squeeze the heavy weight of your breast and wish your fingertips were as big and as rough as Gojo’s. His hands always feel so good on you. You whimper aloud as you skim the sensitive skin, your nipples sore points as Gojo finally says;

“The toy, doll. I want you to rub it through your pussy for me, I wanna hear how wet you are--”

It does, indeed, make an indecent noise as the head of the dildo parts your slick folds. You’re drenched.

“Fuck,” Gojo groans. “You sound like you’re dripping--”

“I am,” you say, choked as you rub the smooth head over your poor, swollen clit. He hasn’t told you to put it inside of you yet, so you hold back; but fuck, you want to. You need to. “Wish you were here, Satoru--”

“I wish I was too,” he reassures you. “I need your hands on me, princess. Need your pretty cunt. Need to feel you squeeze around me and fuck you until you can’t walk--” As he speaks, you hear a growl in the back of his throat and imagine his hand getting faster on his cock. Your thighs are trembling.

“Satoru—” You whine, again, his words not helping the ache in your lower belly that feels like a physical pain. “N-need something inside of me, need it--”

“Shhh,” he breathes, “put it in, c’mon. Slowly. Let me imagine it filling you up.”

You’re so grateful for him telling you to put it in that you almost get greedy and press it in you in one fell swoop – but you want to be good for Gojo, so you manage to control yourself. You feel the wider flare of the head open you up as you ease it inside you inch by inch, your greedy channel swallowing it up and clinging to it tight and hot. It feels much better than your fingers do – it hits you deeper, fuller, wider. The muscles in your thighs clench as you put your feet on the bed, keeping your legs parted as wide as you can.

“Is it in?” He asks, and you make a soft whimper of assent. “How’s it feel?”

“N-not as good as you--”

You win a chuckle from him that has a strained chord in.

“Yeah, I know. But it’s the next best thing, right? You full? It good? I haven’t got anything to imagine is you except my own hand, dollface, so you’re winning the battle--”

“I’ll make it up to you,” the words tumble out of you, your breath heaving.

“Oh, I know you will . . . You wanna move the toy for me now? You wanna fuck yourself on it? I wanna hear you come, doll, so I can come with you--”

You don’t need to be told twice. You pull the toy out of you and immediately thrust it back in, establishing a rhythm as quickly as you can. Gojo would take his time – he loves having you at his mercy, shivering and shaking and begging him to go faster and faster and harder and harder, but you do not have the patience for that tonight without his body on top of yours. So you let the fast noises of you fucking yourself on the dildo echo around the too-empty bedroom, the curved spot of it hitting you just right with every desperate flex and thrust of your wrists. You want to be fucked out of your mind. You’re moaning, gasping, sighing his name aloud – and in return, you can hear the sound of Gojo’s hands on his shaft. He’s whispering your name in turn, along with filthy things about how tight you always are for him and how you’re his favourite, his good girl, he’s gonna fuck you into next week when he sees you, he needs your cunt around his cock right fucking now--

The hand not controlling the movement of the toy skims your stomach to part the plump lips of your sex, to play with your clit as you fuck yourself on the dildo. You circle the sensitive bundle of nerves a few times before beginning to rub in earnest, needing the direct stimulation. The pad of your finger is not large and calloused like Gojo’s is (his finger always feels so good on your clit, too – he always seems to know exactly how to swirl it, how much pressure to put on it, to build you up), but in tandem with the shaft currently plunging in and out of your walls--

“Satoru,” you pant, turning your head so your cheek is pressed against the pillow. “I’m-- I’m close--”

“Fuck,” you hear the slick sounds get faster, almost impossibly so. “Fuck, fuck, I want you to come for me, dollface, angel, cupcake, baby girl, princess-- lemme hear your pretty voice--”

Your eyes flutter closed and a vision of Gojo swims to the forefront of your mind – his pale hair slicked back with sweat, his shoulders so broad, his eyes glittering so dangerously as his teeth dig into his unfairly plump bottom lip. You recall the sound of his voice telling you to come.

The swirling tornado of heat inside of you seems to all converge on a single point between your thighs, and the ache in both of your wrists seems, too, to dissipate entirely as that point explodes into a thousand pieces and rains pleasurable sparks all over you, a tsunami crashing onto a peaceful shore.

You wail out Gojo’s name as you come, and whilst you’re still cresting the great wave of pleasure Gojo grunts out your own and you know that he’s come too.

You lie there with the toy still buried inside of you as you ride out the final waves, the trembling aftershocks. Your legs seize up and you lose your footing on the sheets so you’re simply laid there, a boneless, useless mess whose breath will not seem to stay in their lungs.

Gojo’s breathing is stuttered, and you cannot help the thrill that goes through you at the knowledge that you always get to be the one to break Satoru Gojo’s cool composure. Your fingers ache, but the sheets beneath them as you relax into the bed is blessedly cool.

“I’ll be home as soon as I can,” Gojo’s voice comes, after the two of you have spent a few minutes simply breathing deep and satisfied down the line at one another. “I can’t wait to see you.”

“I can’t wait to see you either,” you murmur, a smile on your face that leaks through into your tone. Gojo’s own smile is obvious when he speaks, too;

“Thanks, dollface. I think I’ll get a good night’s rest now.”

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo thirst #not sfw #writing #afab reader #fem pronouns #jjk posting #jjk writing #Anonymous

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tinyyoungblood · 3 years

Note

okay amazing here goes...so SOUR has been on repeat and your one-shot based on the album was super cute and just EVERYTHING 🥺 but also i was listening to 'traitor' the other day and the first line goes "brown guilty eyes and little white lies" and i just. the entire song puts me in the feels over a boyfriend i never had but anyway i was thinking what if...angst with peter parker!! maybe he's been more distant lately and lying about where he's been at nights or something? i'm not sure the world is your oyster!! thank you in advance💘 hehe

strangers with memories | peter parker

pairing: peter parker x reader

warnings: pure angst

a/n: “the world is your oyster” lol you’re so sweet <3 we don’t claim the peter parker in this fic because he knows better than this. enjoy x

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was nights like these that made you feel like everything was exactly how it was supposed to be. The window was opened, leaving outside noise from the street to breeze in and blend in with the lo-fi beats playing quietly from Peter’s laptop.

Your legs were tangled under a soft blanket as Peter showed you outfit pictures from his Pinterest board, asking for your opinion. It simply made sense. The world felt at peace.

“No, I don’t think you understand. Orange and teal look really good together, see.” Peter turned his phone around to show you his screen. You squinted at the brightness, but once your eyes adjusted, you burst out laughing.

“Sure, if you want look like Perry the Platypus. Get that away from me.” You shoved his hand away and Peter grinned. He swiped to another picture with the same colours combination, and you shrieked. “Not the brown beanie! Dr. Doofenshmirtz would have a field day with this.”

Peter chuckled. He rose to his feet and tossed his phone next to you on the mattress. “I’m going to the bathroom”, he declared with an air of casualness that made you crack a smile. He was halfway through the doorway when he popped his head back in and asked, “You want anything?”

“From the bathroom?” You looked up from your phone.

Peter shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Uh-huh.”

You suppressed your smile. “I’m good, thanks.” He gave you another shrug and left the bathroom, whistling a tune you didn’t know.

Not a second later, Peter’s phone gave off a subtle ping. It wasn’t your intention to look, but reflexes made you glance at it from the corner of your eyes. You regretted it instantly. Your shoulders tensed. It was just a text message—nothing scandalous, but the contact name made your stomach drop.

MJ.

Her name popped up on Peter’s phone screen more often than not. You really didn’t want to be bothered. You knew they were only friends, but you could already see the broad smile edging his face as he read the message. You hated where your thoughts had taken you.

Peter trusted you and you wanted to trust him as well, desperately. You demanded yourself to take the high ground. It still felt stupid and your chest caved in just at the thought of Peter grinning at his phone. He barely even answered your texts anymore.

You could already hear the white lies he was going to feed you. But you felt yourself wanting to keep the white lies. At least, that meant getting to keep Peter. All you could do was swallow the lump in your throat and take a deep breath. The world still blurred around you.

“May asked if you’re in the mood for Thai food.” Your gaze shot to Peter’s. He was leaning against the door frame, arms folded over his chest with the same calm expression as before. Don’t ruin this. Keep the peace.

You forced a smile. “Thanks, but I don’t like Thai food.”

Peter frowned at that. “Since when? You’ve always liked it.” He appeared almost affronted before realisation crossed his face. “Oh wait, my bad, MJ liked it. We actually just had Thai food together the other night with Ned.” A private smile curled around his lips at the memory.

“Sounds nice,” you replied weakly. It was all you could say.

Peter didn’t seem to mind. He pushed himself off and strolled over, picking up his phone to see the texts he had just received. He chuckled softly at whatever he had been sent and punched in a reply.

You simply sat there, fiddling with the blanket that suddenly felt too hot. Say something, the voice inside your head demanded. Be exciting. Don’t make him lose interest. Your hands curled into a fist. You felt ridiculous.

“So about Friday night,” you began awkwardly, feeling suddenly very out of place although there was nobody else in the room. Peter’s eyes were bright with delight as he typed away on his phone.

“Hm?” He said, and you had a feeling it wasn’t because he wanted to you to go on. He just wasn’t sure if you had spoken at all.

Your cheeks hurt from forcing a smile. “Are you going to pick me up or should we just meet there?”

Peter’s eyebrows creased. “Meet you where?”

“At the movies,” you said curtly. “We wanted to watch that movie, remember? It was your idea.” The bite in your tone finally made Peter look up. It was like watching a slow car crash.

“Was it?” Peter mused, and you nodded stiffly.

“Oh.”

From somewhere on the street, you heard people arguing. Their sharp voices cut into the room and drilled themselves into your chest. Don’t let this be us. That isn’t us. We’re better than that. You fixed your eyes on the curve of Peter’s neck, concentrating on his breathing to feel like he wasn’t drifting away. In reality, you knew that the ship was already leaving the harbour and there was nothing you could do.

“Sorry,” Peter finally said, lips pursed. “I kind of already made plans with MJ. Her uncle has this cool train collection that she wanted to show me. She told me about it at lunch today and I’m really excited. It’s pretty awesome.”

Your face dropped and he had the good sense to add, “But we can always catch the movie on Monday night if you want.”

“Why not on the weekend?” A part of you dreaded to hear the answer.

Peter didn’t hesitate as he waved you off. “Ned and I wanted to get started on that new Lego set I told you about.” You had no recollection of that. Peter’s eyes flickered to you before another text message came in, demanding his full attention. The sound made you feel nauseous. The ship was a dot now, fading into the horizon while you were still stranded.

“You can join us if you want,” Peter offered with eyes glued to his phone. “MJ is going to bring Thai food, I think.”

You didn’t bother to reply. You felt claustrophobic. Pushing yourself off his bed, you headed for the window. It was already opened by a crack, but you needed fresh air. It was almost overwhelming when you stepped over the window sill and let yourself out onto the fire escape. The stairs screeched but you didn’t care for the noise. What you needed was proof that there was more out there.

The railing was cold as you wrapped your hands around them. Each window across the street was alit in numerous colours. Silhouettes moved in those colours—people with their own lives and sorrows. The world continued to live.

You settled on one of the stairs and stared up at the night sky. No stars, nothing. You were really stuck at the harbour. Peter’s room was glowing in purple thanks to the LED strips you had set up together a few weeks ago. He had bought old vinyl records and you spent the entire night rating them until sunlight pooled in through the curtains. It all felt like a pipe dream now.

You didn’t know how long you’d been sitting outside by yourself. All you knew were the colour blocks of windows, shifting in and out of blurriness. You had been too busy watching the ship sail away that you only now realised how much you had starved yourself. One good night wasn’t going to change that. Your mind was just really good at leaving out the bad parts.

“Here you are.” Peter’s voice caught you off guard. You turned away, wiping your tearstained cheeks hastily as he watched you with knitted brows. “I just came to tell you that I invited Ned and MJ over. I hope that’s fine.”

When you didn’t reply, Peter stepped out and sat on the window sill. “You okay?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “Do I look okay to you?”

“Well,” he said, “You’ve been acting weird all week, so…I’m not sure”

“I have been acting weird?” You echoed.

Peter hesitated but lifted his shoulder in a half shrug. “Yeah, but you’re always smiling, so I just assume you’re all right.”

“You can’t be serious,” you said bitterly, tucking your hands under your thighs to stop them from shaking. “Just look what we’ve become. You can’t even tell anymore if I’m putting on a fake smile.”

“What are you talking about?” He cocked his head to the side.

“Oh, you know.” You waved your hand at nothing. “Air pollution, climate change, everything and nothing these days. But you wouldn’t know, would you.”

“Y/N,” Peter said with an edge to his voice. “Are you going to tell me what this is really about?”

You hadn’t realised that you had started pacing until his question made you halt and whip around. There was acid in your tone as you snapped, “Don’t you miss me at all?”

“What?” Peter looked stumped. “We see each other every day at school. You’re literally standing in front of me right now.”

You scoffed and sat back down on the stairs. “Love really does make people blind,” you murmured and stared at the sky. Maybe it was going to rain.

Peter exhaled sharply and knelt before you, lowering your chin to look you in the eye. He thought he could find an answer in them, but you knew that if he’d been blind to it all this time, he wasn’t going to see it now. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he admitted, and your chest ached.

You wrapped your arms around yourself. “I want you. That’s all I wanted.”

“Wanted? You have me.” Peter pressed his lips together. “You have me right now, Y/N.”

“I don’t.” You couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. “MJ has you. She’s had you for a while now, and I’m just here watching you both from afar.”

Peter opened his mouth, most likely wanting to deny it, but no sounds came out. He simply stared and stared and stared. Your heart was racing. There was no way back, so you went on, “I don’t care if you’re just friends. I really don’t care, because it hurts just as much knowing that I still let you treat me like that. I miss you and you’re sitting right in front of me. And you know what the worst part is?”

Memories flooded your mind, bricking you like thorns. You devoured them, hungrily, because you were used to living on crumbs. Peter holding you in his arms. Peter looking tenderly after your wounds and kissing your tears. Peter turning sorrow into bliss until you were drunk on laughter and the sky was dusted in stars.

A sad smile hung to your lips. “I still think the world of you. All those nights when I had prayed for someone like you. Someone who could be my safe person and I could be theirs—I thought I had that with you.”

“You do,” Peter hissed, and at once you wondered where he found the strength to believe his own lies. He sighed. “I promise you, you did. It’s just…” Your throat went dry as he bit his tongue. “It’s not something you can control, okay? Maybe you’re just not my only safe person anymore. It’s…it’s not a big deal.” Peter’s gaze dropped as your breath caught.

You were glad you were sitting. There was no doubt that your knees would’ve given out otherwise. His confession felt like a punch to the gut. That small, pathetic voice inside your head screamed and trashed, denying everything he’d just said. A part of you was always so hopeful—Peter used to love that about you.

Remember, it tried to reason, he promised he would never hurt you. Remember how it felt to have his arms around you. It couldn’t have been a lie. None of it could’ve been a lie. You squeezed your eyes shut.

“You’re not actually sorry,” you heard yourself say. “You’re just saying that to feel good about yourself. If you were sorry, you would’ve never made all those promises—” You didn’t have it in yourself to continue. No words would’ve done you justice anyway. “If you’re just going to keep hurting me, then leave me alone.”

Something dark flared in his brown eyes. “Leave you alone?” asked Peter incredulously. “This is stupid and you know it. All of this, just because I’m friends with MJ. Don’t you think it’s a little ridiculous? We’re just friends. There’s no reason for you to get paranoid.”

“I’m being paranoid now?” Your eyes narrowed.

“That’s what I would call it, yes.”

“Then tell me this.” You jumped to your feet. “Last week, when Mr. Harrison took points off my assignment because I supposedly handed it in too late, why didn’t you speak up for me? You were there, you knew I handed it in time. All I needed was for you to tell him the truth, but you didn’t say a damn thing. Now I’m failing that class, and you know why this is the first time you’re hearing about this?”

Peter remained silent, but his eyes flickered, and the crease between his brows was evidence enough.

“Because you were too distracted giggling with MJ in the back. You didn’t even notice when I stormed out of that room, so don’t lie to yourself, Peter. You haven’t been by my side in a while now.”

You shook your head when Peter averted his gaze. Of course, he had nothing to say. Both of you knew it wasn’t just about that class. It was about the missed calls, the empty words, and all the times he had stood you up and let you down. At least he respected you enough to not deny it. No more white lies.

“See, this is the thing,” you began, swinging your leg over the window sill to step inside the room. You faced Peter and waited until his gaze drifted to yours. “You gave me your word and I was stupid enough to believe you. I trusted you. It was supposed to be you and me against the world, but you sat back and watched it beat me down because you were too busy falling in love with somebody else.”

Peter’s expression shifted and you turned your back to him. Seeing his frustration replaced by realisation was something you knew you couldn’t stomach.

So you made to leave. It was only when you were halfway through the room that you recognised the feeling simmering in your gut as something a bit different than resentment. You looked back over your shoulder, eyebrows lowered, and struggled to find your voice.

“Peter?”

It was barely a whisper, but you knew he heard you. He tore his gaze from the floor and looked at you. Wild storms were trapped in his eyes, an ocean rising. It was devasting to look at.

But it was then that you realised, that although Peter had never cheated on you, his brown guilty eyes still made him a traitor. You took a deep breath.

“Just don’t treat her how you treated me,” was all you said. And with that, you were gone.

* * *

i’d really appreciate if you left some feedback since i barely ever write angst and want to know what you think:) stay hydrated guys

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker one shot #peter parker imagine #peter parker oneshot #peter parker angst #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x yn #peter parker imagines #spiderman imagine #spiderman one shot #spiderman x reader #spiderman x y/n #peter parker fandom

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pocketfulofrecs · 3 years

Text

Dee - So! We have a little game in our discord server where writers write a fic together, blindly, without any plot. One writer starts a thread, other follows up, and then another joins in. Our first run produced the story you see below. It was a game between @auspiciouscandy, @whiteflowercrimsonparasol (or justdoityoufucker) and myself or @vrishchikawrites.

We thought it should be shared with everyone. That's why Ju and I decided to start a new section on Pocketful called Storytime with Bunnies. We'll publish all stories that we write there on Pocketful and eventually on Ao3.

Personally, it was a great deal of fun and I'm so happy that we're continuing it! I hope you like the story! It was written by three people and still turned out so smooth!

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A Strange Encounter

by Vrishchika, justdoityoufucker, and auspiciouscandy

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It is dark, but Wei Ying has never been afraid of darkness.

The juniors shuffle nervously behind him, sticking so close to his back, he can feel the warmth of their bodies. Suddenly, there is a noise - loud in the silence of the night and out of place. Wei Ying clutches Chengqing tightly, ready to strike. He turns in the direction of the noise only to suck in a sharp breath and try to suppress the sigh threatening to overtake him.

He’d mostly been following the juniors, letting them take the lead to hunt the nest of low-level yao that had been terrorizing the small mountain town. They’d done well, so far, and had dealt with half of the yao without incident. The problem started when they’d run into a higher-level yao, which was to be expected given his luck on night hunts, but he hadn’t expected to see a strange man.

He seems almost as tall as Chifeng-zun had been; Wei Ying can't see his features clearly, but his instincts warn him to be cautious. The man says nothing as he steps forward. He doesn't have a corpse's stiff gait. Each step brings him closer and reveals more of him. Pale skin, dark eyes, lips as red as blood, almost unnaturally still features.

His beauty is disarming, but Wei Ying is unmoved. He's married to the most beautiful man in existence, after all. But he is curious. What is this strange, beautiful man doing in the middle of the woods? And while he looks the man over, cautious of any sharp movement the man could make, he steps forward. Though contrary to his beautiful appearance, his body is but a corpse and it is difficult to hide when he staggers and what appears to be his arm drops down onto the floor. Wei Ying hears someone gagging behind him, but he cannot take his eyes off the man; every instinct in his body is screaming about the danger in front of them.

Just when he is about to speak, the man's face changes to a look of pained horror, a look that the stiffness of a corpse shouldn't be able to achieve. There is something about the way his jaw moves, that makes it seem as if he was trying to speak, but no sound leaves his red, red lips.

"Stop," Wei Ying says, putting the force of his cultivation into the word. The corpse's mouth opens even wider, and Wei Ying senses it before anything, "Cover your ears!" he shouts, but it is too late, there are some indistinguishable whispers he catches before his hands reach his ears, and he doubts any of the juniors were fast enough even as he hears their swords immediately drop to the floor.

He wracks his brain to match the odd corpse with any of the descriptions he remembers from his studies and it suddenly clicks into place. He remembers tales of bewitching creatures. Beings that can ensnare and seduce with their voice and their beauty. Beings that can control the living mind as Wei Ying controls corpses. He remembers tales of how cultivators of immense strength would drop their swords and simply submit to these creatures, allowing them to consume their Qi without protest.

His eyes flicker towards his juniors, alarm stirring in his chest. What can he do? Think. Think, Wei Ying!

And he reaches a conclusion, the corpse uses its voice to control, to influence, and had Wei Ying not used his own to do the same? Resentful energy and spiritual energy are almost similar, it's risky, but there isn't much else to do. He already perceives the juniors trying to walk past him, and he is overcome with waves after waves of compulsion from his small amount of exposure, so Wei Ying does the only thing he can think of.

He gathers the power towards his throat. His voice laced with command, he opens his mouth and sings not a real tune, at first, but simply unbridled power that cuts off the corpse's control over the juniors.

But he cannot just wrest control; he needs to suppress the corpse, and that takes more than random notes. He slides into a familiar song, lyrics that Lan Zhan shared but have never been sung before in deference to their usual duets. The juniors have never heard Wei-qianbei sing before; they have heard his tuneful humming, whistling, and music, but not his true singing voice. It renders them silent. Wei Ying's voice is resonant and it bounces off the surrounding trees and rocks, becoming amplified. The effect is otherworldly, unlike anything they have ever experienced.

It halts the strange creature in his tracks. He sways dazedly. Something about the expression is almost covetous.

Wei Ying hears Sizhui whisper his name in worry. He is his father's son and has somehow inherited all of Hanguang-jun's protectiveness. Even now, he takes a shaky step forward to stand before Wei Ying. But there's no reason he should worry; Wei Ying's control over his power is absolute, his control over the corpse-creature the same.

He changes the intent of his power, the tone of his singing, to lure the creature to lower its guard and step closer. He trusts that Sizhui knows what to do, that the other juniors will assist as his voice lulls it into submission. The creature stumbles forward, his hand stretched out towards Wei Ying. He sways with every step and Wei Ying tracks his movements carefully.

"Good boy," he croons, maintaining a singing tone in his voice, "Whatever shall we do with you?"

The corpse's hand is still outstretched and his expression is still mesmerized. Wei Ying reaches out and closes his fingers around the hand, keeping his voice mellow and soothing. "You're a strong one, aren't you?" he sings, ignoring Sizhui's alarmed noise.

The corpse will only need to twist his grip to break Wei Ying's arm but something tells him he's safe. He leans forward, curious, "Wei Ying," and Wei Ying freezes. He doesn't let off his control but it is enough for the corpse to pull him closer, a hand reaching up to caress his hair—he is aware of the gasped whispers by the juniors of, 'Hanguang-jun,' the juniors who were just beginning to take control—but this is something out of his expectation. A normally high-level corpse of this type would be troublesome on its own, but one that could mimic?

The danger levels have increased far more than what juniors can handle; Wei Ying pivots in his singing, pulls Sizhui behind him and crowds back, keeping the juniors behind him. He pauses, for the barest moment, to say, "Flare."

That snaps Sizhui to action, and as Wei Ying resumes singing, voice louder and louder, he draws a flare out of his robes and sets it off, the sparkling blue of the fireworks temporarily catching the creature's attention, making Wei Ying snap forward and cup the corpse's face, physically drawing his attention back towards him.

It is intimate, the way he angles his body and draws the creature in. Something burns in him. He has never touched anyone but his Lan Zhan like this, with so much tenderness.

The creature that mimics his husband's voice seems to mimic his affection too. Wei Ying cringes as cold fingers trace his cheek, trailing dangerously close to his neck. One slip, and Wei Ying could potentially lose his life.

"Wei Ying," The corpse whispers in his husband's voice, and something dark stirs within him. His lips twitch into an alluring smile and Wei Ying has his hand slowly reaching up and caressing its cold skin. He thinks the eyes shimmer an amber shade, for they are nowhere near the molten gold of his husband’s. He's all too aware of this cheap imitation's intent and responds in kind.

Wei Ying ignores the yells of his nephew, the sound of another flare going up into the night sky; his hand is coated in resentful energy as it reaches the back of the corpse's neck, and he maintains eye contact with it, his voice softer to only reach the corpse.

It is completely enamoured, that is why when Wei Ying makes a hand sign to the juniors to tell them to leave, the creature doesn't react. It is like a careful, possessive lover, but, unlike his husband, there is no real care behind its actions as it closes in on him. The resentful energy on Wei Ying's hands increases, solidifies, a black, hateful knife.

When he drives it directly into the corpse-creature's neck, spearing it up into its skull, the creature makes a weak, pained groan in that facsimile of his husband's voice, and Wei Ying shouldn't feel the way he does—it is but a creature who had taken up the face of his beloved—but to hear the wounded noises it makes, trying to garner his sympathy, Wei Ying cannot help but feel that sympathy. Wei Ying should know that the hands around his neck are the ones that wouldn't hesitate to kill him, so very cold, lacking his husband's warmth.

He raises his voice, and sings a sharp tune, and the corpse whines once more before it’s rendered mute, opening its mouth wide with a final hissed, “Wei Ying!”

Wei Ying's eyes widen because, for a second, before he tightens his hands, he catches a glimpse of his husband, pain and grief on his face that he hasn't seen in years. The corpse falls, its weakness stabbed through, unable to move again and Wei Ying shudders, feeling so incredibly off-kilter.

He needs to see Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan is fine, he's sure, but the look on the creature's face, the timbre of its voice--it's almost enough to overwhelm.

The juniors, still near enough to catch the sudden silence, creep back through the trees, worried looks on their faces as they take in the look on their teacher's face, the still form of the corpse-creature on the ground.

"Xian-gege?" Sizhui starts, clearly shaken if he's reverted to that form of address. He continues forward as if to grasp Wei Ying's shoulder, but Wei Ying needs a moment. Maybe it is the leftover effects of the corpse, maybe it is his own fears and concerns.

But he takes in a sharp breath and pulls his mouth into a smile, "Now then, shouldn't we return? I assume none of you are hurt?" He looks them over, ignoring the sneaked glances from the dazed juniors as they stand up on their shaking legs, "Come along now—" he places his hand on top of Sizhui's, which shakes almost unnoticeably.

Sizhui wants to reassure him, but he knows already that Wei-qianbei wouldn't feel comforted until he lays his eyes on Hanguang-jun. Sizhui has seen enough of their love to know this is one of the few things that can rattle his indomitable Xian-gege. If anything happens to Hanguang-jun, Wei-qianbei would—

Sizhui draws his mind away from grim thoughts and watches as Wei-qianbei steps forward to the body, pulling out his qiankun pouch. Suddenly, there's a twitch of movement from nearby. As if called by Wei Ying and Lan Sizhui's thoughts, the austere white of Lan Zhan's robes appears, and he comes to a graceful halt near the corpse-creature.

"Lan Zhan," Wei Ying can't help but exhale in relief, "We're fine."

Hanguang-jun casts a look at the corpse-creature, then back at Wei Ying. He looks over Wei Ying completely before turning his gaze towards the juniors while moving towards Wei Ying, almost a split second of a glance but enough to know they're fine; it wouldn't have been noticed if Sizhui hadn't been looking for it. Then, he reaches up to caress Wei Ying’s face and Wei Ying melts into it, feeling the warmth seep into his skin.

"Wei Ying," Wei Ying can't describe how relieved he feels when the familiar scent of sandalwood envelopes him. It takes but a glance for Lan Zhan to see past his welcoming smile and glimpse the truly shaken core of him.

"Go forth, Sizhui, we'll join you soon." Lan Zhan commands and Wei Ying almost protests. He doesn't want the children away from him. Lan Zhan just shakes his head and pulls him close, "Breathe, center yourself."

Wei Ying presses his forehead to Lan Zhan's shoulder and sighs. Lan Zhan is here. Lan Zhan is safe, solid, and strong. That's all he cares about, and he feels his arms encircling him so he completely rests his weight upon his husband, his head on Lan Zhan's chest, hearing his heartbeat go thump thump thump.

He feels the earlier fight leaving his body as he relaxes against him, matching their breaths together. Wei Ying wants to stay there with him, the forest trees and the silence that was eerie and offsetting earlier feels serene and calming. But they can’t, because they have to get back, everyone in need of rest, the kids in need of checking to see if they're all actually okay.

Then there's the issue of the corpse-creature; research will need to be done when they are back in Cloud Recesses, to figure out what it is and if there might be more. Wei Ying breathes in the sandalwood scent of his husband, then steps away, qiankun pouch in hand. The corpse is where it had fallen, and he kneels next to it, Lan Zhan a comforting presence next to him.

"Aiya," He says, "They tried but couldn't get close to your perfection, Lan Zhan."

His husband huffs but keeps a steady, warm hand on his back. It is a reassuring presence that makes it easier to examine the body. Wei Ying runs his eyes along the tall body, mind stirring, "Who could be behind this?" How and why did they mimic Lan Zhan of all people? Wei Ying can't help but feel concerned. Lan Zhan hums in response but offers no commentary; he's probably still in a protective, vigilant state. Wei Ying smiles fondly and kisses him on his cheek, "let's return then,” he says, and gets up after putting it away.

Lan Zhan pulls him closer to himself; maybe he knows what worried Wei Ying as he keeps a comforting presence by his side. They walk to the Juniors standing ahead, who stop their whispers as soon as they get close. Wei Ying looks them over once again. They look at him with a slightly dazed look, but are steady on their feet. Wei Ying frowns, maybe it's the effects of leftover energy?

Jin Ling starts to say something about heading back to Jinlintai. As if Wei Ying would let him! It's almost midnight, and the night hunt has taken them to the far reaches of Gusu-Lan territory, a long trip of a couple days to Lanling-Jin territory. "None of that," Wei Ying chides, feeling like himself again. "Back to the village for all of us; Hanguang-jun needs to make sure there are no lingering effects."

Jin Ling half-scowls, but doesn't deny or try to argue back, and there's a blur as Sizhui all but pulls Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji into a hug. Jin Ling sees Sizhui’s shoulders shake slightly and he looks away. Terrifying situation or not, that illusion had felt all too real. It was as if it were Hanguang-jun standing before them, the mannerism, the voice, how he...he—

Before he can think more he feels a pull at his wrist and he feels the warmth of another person around him. He hears Jingyi make a startled noise as the other two are also pulled into a clustered little group hug. Jin Ling’s face flushes red and he opens his mouth to protest but doesn't push them away.

“You're safe,” Wei Ying says, as the teens start to pull away after a few moments. If a few of them have reddened eyes, or barely-there tear tracks down their cheeks, neither he nor Lan Zhan mention it.

"Aiya," he gives Sizhui an extra pat on the head, a smile finally pulling at his face as he takes in the juniors' despondent looks. "What is all this? I would think someone died if I came upon you all like this! Come now, back to the village.”

"Wei Ying!" Lan Zhan calls suddenly and Wei Ying doesn't understand why. He looks up at his husband, only to see his eyes shining with concern, perhaps even some panic.

"What? Lan Zha—"

An abrupt wave of dizziness overcomes him and he falters, feeling something dripping down his nose. He touches his upper lip shakily, his limbs starting to feel heavy. His vision swims and Lan Zhan catches him immediately as he sways forward. Something cold is settling within him. "Lan Zhan," he croaks. His vision is turning black from the corner of his eyes, and Lan Zhan is saying something but he can't hear it, it’s muffled and sounds so far away.

Wei Ying hates the feeling that floods him, the wave of cold dread that he hasn't felt in a long time. His hair stands up as he feels ghosts of the touches. They linger on the back of his neck, his face, his arms where the corpse had touched him, among the distant noises, he hears a clear, sharp "Wei Ying," but it sounds so odd, so unfamiliar despite it being his husband’s voice and that's when he crumples, losing all control of his limbs.

The cheer and safety of mere moments before has fled, and Wei Ying can't stamp out the panic that grips him as his breath hitches. He's vaguely aware, as if he is not truly in possession of his own body anymore, that his sweet husband, his Lan Zhan, has pulled his body up into his arms.

That awareness lessens even more as Lan Zhan's distant, warped voice sends out some sharp commands, and then he feels the slap of wind on his face and something isn't right. His senses are fading but he has practiced dual cultivation with Lan Zhan for several years now. He's intimately familiar with his husband's core. Something isn't right because—

—they're running. The wind is against his face. He remembers the trapped look of despair. His husband commands the children but something isn't right. He's leaving something behind. The arms carrying him are familiar but recognition slips him and he becomes increasingly aware as a sharp pain increases from his arm and he gasps, because it feels as if fire is under his skin, it moves from his arm and reaches up to his neck and it increases. Wei Ying has always had a large tolerance to pain, but he is in little control and he cannot stop himself as he lets out a pained scream, the wind feels faster as Lan Zhan—

—not right, not right, not right—

—he wakes up to the dark wood and white paint of the Cloud Recesses. He does not move, cataloging his body, the sensations, what he remembers. There was an oppressive feeling of pain, of wrongness, that is now mostly gone. Did they fly back? How long has it been?

He feels like he's forgetting something, forgetting; he thinks it over, the body, the pain, and reaches up his arm and sure enough, there are bright red marks, beginning from his arm, spreading out like spilled ink on paper, they resemble a spiders web as they crawl upwards, up along until they disappear into his clothes and he had no doubt they reach till his neck. What about his face? He reaches up to try and touch but before he can, the door slides open as Lan Zhan steps through.

Wei Ying's entire focus shifts towards the Second Jade. Lan Zhan looks pristine as always, calm like nothing can disturb him. His movements are steady, unhurried. He sets his things aside and walks into the Jingshi casually. There's no trace of urgency or worry in him. Wei Ying feels his heart grow cold. His Lan Zhan wouldn't have been as calm, nor would his Lan Zhan look at him the way it did, unmoving and—the same way that thing had.

"Lan Zhan" comes and sits by his bed, eyes lock over him, dark and amber. "Wei Ying," he—it—reaches up a hand, and cradles his cheek, the same way his husband did. Except, its thumb inches towards lips and it is colder than ice. Wei Ying acts unbothered, showing a soft smile as he puts his hand over the one on his face.

"I'm fine, Lan Zhan!" he says softly. The suspicion grows when he remembers the red veining on his body, when he realizes that the touch isn't as tangible as it should be.

Touching the creature's hand feels like holding a dust mote, and he abruptly realizes that he isn't sure if this even is the Jingshi. It is the same pristine colors, of course, but their possessions seem blurred, as if only half-existing. There is no familiar, comforting scent of sandalwood. Is it an illusion? A dream? Is this creature a figment of his imagination? Or is it something else? He tries to access his core and can't grasp anything. He tries to summon resentful energy but it slips through his fingers like water. His only choice is to get information.

"What happened?" he asks in a soft tone he reserves for his husband. He angles his body to be welcoming, like he would with Lan Zhan. None of his actions give any indication of his suspicions. "Are the children safe?"

Lan Zhan nods, "They're safe. Lan Xichen is looking after them and a healer is examining them. You are the only one to be harmed. We do not know the nature of your injuries—" Verbose. Too verbose. Lan Xichen, not xiongzhang or Xichen. Even his imagination wouldn't conjure an illusion so inaccurate. This isn't just a simple case of his mind making things up.

The last thing he remembers is Lan Zhan, his Lan Zhan sending waves of spiritual energy and holding him close, so he can rest assured his body is safe. The hand slips from his cheek, as the "Lan Zhan"—no, the corpse, raises his chin making him look directly at it.

"What is Wei Ying thinking of?" it croons and Wei Ying looks away from it, and bites his lip as way of disguising his eyes roaming over the interior of the Jingshi, now that he looks carefully, the arrangement of the bed, the dresser, everything is out of order—the hand on his chin tightens, "Wei Ying, I'm right here."

The meaning is subtle, and Wei Ying turns to it, his expression as if hesitant, "I..I'm worried about the kids.." he takes on a concerned expression, not entirely faked, "Can you take me to see them?"

A pulse of Lan Zhan's--his Lan Zhan's spiritual energy abruptly floods him, and then is gone. It is a miracle he is able to keep his expression level and unbothered by it, but he's beginning to put the pieces together. He needs to keep the creature distracted, talking.

"Wei Ying," the creature wearing Lan Zhan's body says, almost chiding, "they need their rest, and you need your own rest. I am here with you; do not worry about them for the time being.”

Wei Ying knows it isn't the right time to push. He decides on a different approach, "You know how I get when there's a mystery to solve, Lan Zhan!" he protests with a playful smile, "You can't expect me to rest without any explanation? What happened? How did I get hurt? What did the healers say?" Simple questions, things he would've asked Lan Zhan in any case.

There's a lingering heat of Lan Zhan's qi swirling around within him, too weak to actually heal him or bring him out of this state, but enough to sharpen his perception and remove his pain. He knows his husband is trying to save him and there's no person more capable than his Lan Zhan. Something in him settles at that. Let Lan Zhan work from the outside to resolve the situation. Wei Ying will work from the inside to get more information.

The expression that crosses the corpse's face, of being caught off-guard, seems so foreign on Lan Zhan's face, but it composes itself and lets go of his chin, and seems to contemplate before deciding on an expression of utmost gentleness and care. "This," it says, as it reaches to touch the back of his neck, where one of the webbings must be, "is a mark of possession." A hint of darkness, desire, flashes in its eyes, "It means Wei Ying's qi has been flooded with another’s—" Wei Ying tenses, but the corpse has no suspicion in its eyes, meaning it was referring to that moment in the forest—"and Wei Ying is one of the few who have been able to reject it, so these," it reaches down to his arm, tracing over the red, "remain as a reminder." It looks enthralled, pleased even.

And Wei Ying feels his lips press flat. "I don't like them at all!" He pretends to whine, shows how he absolutely abhors the idea of it, feeling satisfied when it frowns in displeasure. "I don't like any marks other than the ones Lan Zhan makes,” he adds, looking at the corpse through his lashes.

Its facade almost slips, with the anger appearing on its face, and Wei Ying fights back a smug smile when another rush of his husband's warm spiritual energy wraps around him. The corpse-creature's face blurs for a moment, with that rush of qi, but then resettles. It looks distinctly displeased, though it tries to mask the expression with one of fondness that looks laughably fake. Wei Ying does not laugh.

"If my Lan Zhan wanted to make some marks," Wei Ying says coyly, trailing off in a suggestive manner. The creature seems to freeze and flicker, as if it is wholly unsure of what to do with that. And Wei Ying pulls back just as the corpse makes a hesitant hand gesture and says, softly, "Of course I'm joking Lan Zhan, you know your Wei Ying, I can't relax until I see the kids, and—" he adds seeing it fume "—you too, I know you're worried about them but they're strong! So they'll be fine!"

Wei Ying finishes his 'assurance' and Lan Zhan succeeds. There's a towering surge of qi coursing through him, ready to pull him back, his to command. By now, he is so familiar with his husband's qi that he can use it as his own. He sees how it makes the creature's eyes widen and falter. He smiles coyly, tapping his chin as the binds holding him to this place snap one by one.

"Now, who are you, my dear friend?" he asks as Lan Zhan's power unseals his own. The core he has cultivated so diligently pulses with power and the remaining binds disintegrate. Before the illusionary world around him can disappear, he reaches forward and slams a palm against the creature's chest, a smile of triumph curling at his lips.

"There you are," he whispers and drags them both to the real world that awaits them. His eyes flicker towards the real Lan Zhan, who looks pale and strikingly furious, and smirks coyly, "Lan Zhan! Someone had the audacity to steal your Wei Ying from you!"

The fury in his husband's eyes brightens into an inferno ready to destroy the most powerful of foes, and Wei Ying can't help but quiver in delight, in satisfaction. No words are needed between them, their souls and actions in perfect harmony. The creature that had taken him, and now is beholden to him, collapses and rebuilds itself, now not in Lan Zhan's form but again the form of the corpse he and the juniors had first encountered. It tries to fight against his power, but it stands no chance.

Lan Zhan steps forward, Bichen already unsheathed and ready to cut the corpse down, but Wei Ying shakes his head. He turns to the corpse, "Now, my friend, let's figure out what you are."

Wei Ying slams a talisman on the creature's chest and watches in satisfaction as it binds the creature completely. It squirms and tries to break the binds but to no avail. Seeing that the prisoner is secure, the juniors, healthy and hale, rush forward, gathering around him in concern.

Wei Ying smiles and meets Lan Zhan's eyes over their heads. 'Ah,' He thinks with something like heat curling in him, 'still furious.'

Indeed, Lan Zhan is furious. His eyes are dark and tracking all of Wei Ying's movements. His smile takes on an edge and he tilts his head to the side, baring his neck just slightly. Lan Zhan's eyes narrow and lips thin.

"Aiya," he pats the children indulgently, "Let your senior go, your Hanguang-jun is getting impatient."

The juniors flush red, and mutter excuses to leave. Wei Ying looks at Lan Zhan and reaches forward to pull him, but that movement shifts his sleeve to show the red markings and he finds his arm in the other’s grasp as Lan Zhan pulls him closer, so Wei Ying’s weight is entirely on his body as if he's hugging him. He's startled.

"Ah, Lan Zhan what're you—" he cuts off mid-sentence as Lan Zhan curls one hand around his waist, holding him close, and the other raises his hair, letting air brush against his nape. The sensation tingles; Lan Zhan knows his weak spot and with the energy flow from earlier it's sensitive, and Wei Ying flushes figuring out—"Lan Zhan, wait, wait—Ah!!"

His back arches and he shivers as Lan Zhan’s lips infused with spiritual energy land on his neck and he continues with a sharp bite, one that lets Wei Ying know just how displeased his husband is, how worried he had been and how thankful he now is that they are safe. Wei Ying can't help the squeak that comes from him at the action, but he is not hurt. The bite is followed by a tender kiss, one that spreads his husband's spiritual energy through him, chasing away the redness of the spider-webbed marks on his arms, filling him with comfort and at the same time lighting a fire in him.

"Wei Ying is careless," Lan Zhan says, lips moving against Wei Ying's skin when he doesn't even pull away to speak, "I have been worried, Wei Ying was gone, alone."

He says the last part softly but Wei Ying hears it anyway with their bodies together, he can feel his warmth, their heartbeats and breaths mingling together, he can feel him and Wei Ying feels at ease, Lan Zhan’s words make his heart ache, 'Aish his beloved', "Lan-er-gege," he begins, his voice mellow and teasing, "Lan-er-gege, I felt you," he says, tracing Lan Zhan's back with his fingers as his breathing hitches. "I wasn't alone,” he finishes.

After waiting for a moment to soak in the comfort, Wei Ying leans back and looks at his husband, before leaning in to pull him into a kiss Lan Zhan leans into him, desperate and fierce. A strong arm curls around his back, holding onto him tightly. Wei Ying feels fond as he cups his husband's face, making soothing noises in the back of his throat even as the kiss grows heated. He pulls away with a gasp, chuckling when Lan Zhan doesn't let go, dipping his head to kiss along his jaw, "Aiya, husband, we're in public. Your uncle could arrive any moment now."

Lan Zhan doesn't let go and Wei Ying yelps when sharp teeth sink into his flesh once again, "How cruel to your poor Wei Ying!"

"It would seem you're well, Wuxian," An amused voice interrupts them and Wei Ying startles, looking beyond his beloved to see Lan Xichen watching them in amusement. Wei Ying pushes Lan Zhan away and, this time, his husband parts with him reluctantly to bow to their brother. There's not even an ounce of shame on his beloved's face and Wei Ying feels flushed. How unfair.

He turns to greet Lan Xichen. "Da baizi! Yes, I'm okay!" Lan Wangji's arm around him tightens and Wei Ying squirms slightly. Their robes are already in a complete state of disarray. "Lan Zhan!" he whispers though he's pretty sure it’s still loud, and, sure enough, he hears a chuckle as Lan Xichen shakes his head slightly.

"That's a relief," he smiles at them, which Wei Ying returns just as bright, "I will not hold you up further," he says gently, and adds a joyful and teasing, "I'll go let Uncle know."

To not disturb you is left unsaid as he turns to leave and Wei Ying hides his face in Lan Zhan's neck as he hums in agreement, completely unrepentant. "Lan Zhaaaan" but doesn't say anything else as the door closes. The smile remains on his face; everyone is home safe, Wei Ying is happy, and it all feels right once again.

#storytime with bunnies #mdzs fic #wangxian #mdzs juniors #wei wuxian #lan wangji #lan sizhui #lan jingyi #jin ling #post canon #wei wuxian and the juniors #justdoityoufucker #vrishchika

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