#Before heading back to the Prairies | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

virginreprise · 8 months ago

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. ・. ゜. -: ✧ :- INDEBTED TO ✧ YOU

jackson!joel miller x reader ・゜゜・．

° : ⋆ₓ ₒ slight ddlg dynamics, smut, age gap, dirty talk, daddy kink, joel's perverted inner monologue, just pure filth whilst i try and get junky pride pt3 finished lmao

2.7k words ┊ ┊ ┊ ˚✧

˚ · • . ° . AO3 ˚ ·. • . ° .

Brief murmurs of Tommy’s chastising fumbled in the back of his mind, the harsh way he’d shook his head—told him you were far too young; that a man like Joel had no business talking to someone like you. Someone hardened and vulnerable, despairing and mutilated by life and every tribulation that had befallen you.

“She was a child when all this happened,” he’d informed, almost caring as they shared a beer in the empty bar: the usual intensity and hubbub of Jackson’s population had dwindled to the few who dared venture into the snow when the moon hung high and the lanterns flickered off. Footsteps covered by the ever-falling white—lost to the prairie. ��You had a child-“

Joel had cut him off with a stare, heat forming in his stomach that bubbled and raged—hard to keep down as he gripped the bottle, hand wet with condensation, and grabbed his jacket. Ready to take his leave. Tommy had known he’d gone too far and they’d never spoken of you again, Just Joel’s quiet, mumbled monologue and his little brother’s lingering disproval that seemed so irrational when you’d sunk on his lap and called him daddy.

Surely it was natural: when denied something, there’d be an overwhelming intensity to have it. That when he was told “No,” he’d ignore every obstacle that conjured in his space.

Maybe Joel was just stubborn. Or maybe you were just so sweet he couldn’t take his brother's advice and leave you alone.

But you’d ended up in his bed, writhing underneath him whilst he held your wrists above your head and stretched you wide open—cooing at your pretty little whimpers as he nestled between your thighs.

“There you go, baby.” He stroked the hair away from your forehead, eyes flickering down to gaze at the space between your legs—the way he disappeared inside of you as his balls pressed against your ass, slick dribbling down onto his bedsheets that he’d changed just hours before you’d come to him. He didn’t care, though. God, he’d be able to smell you all day, have the sweetness of you permeating throughout the room until the scent carried its way into his everyday life.

Patrolling the surrounding area, you’d be there—dancing along his nose. In his workshop, as he sanded away the rough wood, making something for you as a Christmas present, he’d be able to feel you around him, taste you on his lips and hear the remnants of those staccato moans as you came around his fingers.

“Daddy’s got you,” he mumbled as he breathed out a soft moan, the tightness of you around him causing him to pause—to contemplate his words that came so sinfully from his already tainted lips.

Jackson should’ve been a new start, a new beginning where he could leave the horrors and the terror behind. But you: pretty little thing that barely spoke, who responded to every question with a quiet nod or a shake of your head and hoped that someone else would verbalise every feeling for you, had ruined those hopes for him—had shattered the image he’d created whilst hammering a nail into the wall, ready to hang his paintings on.

You were sweet. So damn sweet.

With a harshness in your eyes that hinted at similar pasts, at losses that neither of you could overcome. Why Tommy didn’t think you were fucking perfect for each other, Joel would never know.

“Daddy’s here, darlin’, all for you.”

They were incoherent blabbers, things that Joel would never say if he wasn’t so drunk off pussy and the look on your pretty little face as he began slowly moving his hips.

“D-daddy?”

God, you sounded so fucking pretty. All glassy-eyes and fucked out with a little bit of drool pooling at the corner of your mouth. He lapped it up with a solid kiss, an arm wrapped around your waist as he tugged you close to him—wanting to feel every part of you, every soft piece of flesh, pressed against him.

“Shhh, it’s okay.” Another kiss to your forehead, grinding his pubic bone into your clit—wanting to stay wrapped up like this forever; hoping that you’d stay with and warm his bed after all was said and done. Keep moaning that name of his, that filthy little name that would give Tommy an aneurysm if he heard it, until you came and cried all over his cock.

“Hurts,” you managed to get out. “S’too big.”

The pride that seized him was unlike any other, the light chuckle he let out unable to be prevented as he pressed another kiss to your forehead, one to both cheeks, your nose and then lips.

“I know, honey.” His fingers found their way between your thighs, stroking circles into your clit—attempting to appease the ache as he rolled his hips into you. “Deep breaths.”

Kisses fell from your lips to your jaw, trailing to your neck where he sucked, smiling as you keened and bucked your hips.

You took it so well. Took everything he gave with no complaints, writhing around in his bed, messing his covers and calling his name.

Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.

It fell from your lips so perversely, but so pretty that he didn’t have it in him to tell you no.

He’d be your daddy if that’s what you wanted. He was the right fucking age, silver in his hair—in his goddamn pubes too. His bones ached, knees cracking as he stood from the couch, back completely giving up on him after that one time a year ago when he’d held too much firewood in his arms and he’d gone tumbling down with the logs, crashing to the floor and having to crawl back inside his house. He hadn’t gone on patrol for a good few weeks after and he’d been careful with the damn fragile thing ever since.

He was fragile. Fragile and old with a pudge to his tummy that never seemed to go away no matter how much he tried, wrinkles spidering near the corners of his eyes, and a pretty young thing in his bed that clenched around his dick whilst the adrenaline pumped around his body in seismic waves and made him forget all about the backache as he hovered over you.

“You feel good?’ he asked softly, fingers still rubbing at your clit as you wrapped your legs around his hips.

You nodded, nonverbal, unable to bring your thoughts to fruition as you mumbled incoherent things into the space between your lips.

“C’mon baby, tell daddy how you feel.”

You whined, gripping his shoulders and digging your nails into the taut muscle.

“S-s-s-so good, daddy.

God, he felt so fucking filthy, so depraved, so perverted. But, amongst all of that, he felt good. He felt undeniably euphoric with you wrapped around him, name echoing in the darkest corners of his mind and slipping from his throat so naturally it was like he was born to do this for you. To take care of you. Your sole vocation was to be his pretty baby for the rest of his life—not lift a goddamn finger as he did everything you asked him to.

Get home after a long day patrolling to you in the kitchen, waiting for him eagerly and throwing yourself into his arms to give him a kiss. Tell him how much you missed him. That you’d been needing him all day.

Joel just wanted someone to look after. And if that meant being labelled as a pervert by his brother and possibly by the entirety of Jackson, so what?

“Yeah, I’ll make you feel good,” he murmured to himself, the words soft and delicate as he closed his eyes for a brief second, savouring the feeling of your heat around him and pulling you as tight to him as he possibly could. Breasts pressed against his chest, the softness of them against the wiry hairs: a contrast so delightful and thrilling.

He brought his lips down to yours, tongue pressing into you—wanting to consume. To taste every single part of you.

Hips began their movement, your mouth hanging open as he continued to lick at you; he pressed down on your stomach with intention, hand moving from your clit to the soft space above it and felt himself inside you, moving softly, scraping against every spot that had you shaking and twitching.

You gripped him tighter, whimpers and moans gracing the air, nuzzling into his touch when he stroked a hand down your cheek to admire the unmistakable and overwhelming beauty of you: all drunk off his cock and losing yourself to the feeling of him sinking deep inside you.

“You like Daddy’s cock in you, huh?” His voice was strained with lust, dick jerking inside you when you clamped down on him—his words the biggest effect. He loved it: the way you’d start squirming and gaze at your shoes every time he spoke out of turn, every time something filthy fell from his lips. You loved hearing him talk, whisper dirty words that he daredn’t bring outside the four walls of his room.

The left side of the bed that had been empty for so long, just waiting for you to warm it, to have your scent sink into the mattress and stay there for eternity.

Understandably, you struggled to answer his question, just nodding slightly, almost imperceptible: the tiny little head jerk.

“C’mon, baby, use your words.”

You whined, digging your heels into his back, gripping tighter onto his shoulders; he was sure you’d leave marks, big long scratches down the expanse of already scarred skin. Decorating him with an ardent display of passion and desire—marking him as yours.

He would be yours.

Every breath, every cry, every laugh: yours alone.

In turn, he would get to keep you, locked away in his house, safe from every danger that crept outside the walls.

“Love Daddy’s cock,” you mumbled, face heating in embarrassment at the crudeness, pressing your face as best you could into the pillows. Joel refused. He would not deny himself the pleasure of staring down at you as you took him, lips parted, eyes screwed up in pleasure with tears dripping to your temple.

Fingers found your jaw, turning you to face him, enamoured by the way you clung and bucked—wishing for all of him.

“Daddy,” you moaned, lips turned into a pout, a cry escaping you as his hips sped up—thrusts coming quicker. The arm around your waist tightened, tugging you upwards so he could reach deeper. Balls fucking deep.

“There you go,” he encouraged, kissing softly at your collarbone, nipping slightly as he moved to your shoulder. “That feels good, don’t it, sweetheart?”

This time, he didn’t mind when you didn’t reply, too focused on you gushing around him. Practically drooling from that tight little pussy as he snapped his hips upward and felt his head go funny—mind clouded by the heat of you. He was fucking burning up, everything on his mind spewing from his lips as he leant over you; ignoring the ache in his hips that served as a gentle reminder that he was old. That this was still wrong and that if anyone ever found out about what he did to you and what he let you call him, they’d exile him from Jackson and look back on the days of the pervert next door: Joel Miller.

“Tommy says I’m too old for you,” he grunted, hand grabbing at your wrists when they fell from his back—too cock-drunk to keep them on him. “Says that I’ll ruin you.” The monologuing had been unintentional, the sentences that formed something that he was desperate to keep to himself. Too late now. All restraint had been lost as soon as you’d coaxed his fingers into your panties and shown him just how much you wanted him. “You like it, though, don’t you? You’d do whatever—fuck—whatever I tell you like a good little girl. Wouldn’t you, baby?”

You nodded enthusiastically.

“Whatever you want, daddy.”

He chuckled, eyes full of mirth as he kissed you softly, slipping his hands into yours and pushing them down into the pillows. He couldn’t bear the thought of you leaving, some part of him still thinking that this was all just a sick joke, that you didn’t actually want an old man like him and were going to run away the first chance you got. But, you called his name again, that fateful moniker that had his dick twitching in his pants, all doubts were lost.

“Can feel you squeezin’ me, darlin’,” he said, pressing his pelvis purposefully against you, grinding down on your clit and watching your mouth hang open in ecstasy—eyes squeezed shut as you mumbled a high-pitched, whiny “Daddy.” The best one yet, as far as Joel was concerned. “You almost there, baby? You gonna cum all over Daddy’s cock? Gonna let all of them hear how much you want me? Huh?”

You nodded vigorously, sharp gasps falling from your lips, body writhing underneath his as it built itself tall inside your stomach. Growing and growing until you were clamping down on him so tight he thought his dick would fall off.

“C’mon, babydoll, let it out,” Joel coaxed, kissing all over your face, all down your chest and took a nipple in his mouth, sucked and grazed harshly until he felt you gushing—breath held as you soaked it in, and then a sharp cry falling from your lips as it washed over you. “There you go,” he murmured against your skin, hips slowing to guide you through, throat hoarse as he felt his own impending orgasm.

Your head fell back onto the pillows, mouth dropped open as you tried to breathe through the sharp stabs of pleasure, Joel’s licentiousness overpowering his restraint as he pummeled into you as fast as his old bones would let him. He pushed his way through your stomach, almost coming apart right there when he looked down and saw the bulge.

A choked groan forced its way out his throat, stomach tensing as his ears began ringing, not registering your soft whimpers and small sobs—the small daddy’s that you struggled to project above the beginning of Joel’s release.

He outright moaned when he finally spilt inside you, cock twitching, arms shaking as he tried with all his might to keep himself balanced on his palms.

“Daddy?” you were coming back into focus now, his bleary eyes regaining their vision and his chest heaving as he managed to breathe again—now able to fully take in the sight of you. Sweat on your brow, tears streaming from your eyes and lips full: evidence of his bruising kisses.

“I’m here, baby,” he breathed out, indulging in your soft moan as he pulled out of you and collapsed onto the mattress beside you. He brought you with him, tugging at your waist and manoeuvring you so you lay close—warm body tucked under his arm.

A soft kiss to your forehead, a repeated slew of “I’m here,” and “Daddy’s not goin’ anywhere,” leaving his lips as he held you as close as possible.

Fuck Tommy, fuck Maria, fuck anyone who dared share their opinions of his choice in relations. You were his now, cum seeping from your legs—marking you. Claiming you.

All he wanted was to take care of you, feed you, clothe you, bathe you, keep you happy, safe and warm and pray to God that you would never come to your senses one day and run far away. That you’d realise what you two had was…different. Not wrong, just different.

He wouldn’t let you go.

No, he’d keep you.

Tucked into his side, a mumbled “G’night, daddy,” on your pretty lips, and the feel of you against him as your body grew heavy with sleep.

He would stay up for hours after you’d finally fallen into slumber, watching the soft rise and fall of your chest, listening to the snores that he found overwhelmingly endearing. Kiss you a couple more times and breathe in your scent. Make sure that you wouldn’t escape in the middle of the night and go tell everyone what a disgusting, sleazy old man Joel Miller really was.

Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.

That word rested heavily on his shoulders, all night lying awake and waiting to hear it again.

God, he was in fucking deep; he wouldn’t be letting you go for as long as you were still wet and willing.

thanks for reading ! i wrote this whilst thinking of that one guy who was perfect for me. i hope you can feel my longing and desire projected through joel's thoughts. if anyone's wondering about junky pride, i hope to get it out soon. i really really just love jackson joel more than anything and want him in me so bad.

#virginreprise™#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #tlou #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us 2 #joel tlou

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lexiputellas · 4 months ago

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"The Space Between Us," from the Broken Vows series.

The scent of vanilla lingers on your skin as you smooth lotion over your arms, the coolness a stark contrast to the warmth of your bedroom.

The clock on the nightstand reads 9:36 PM. Alexia’s still not home.

You know where she is—her calendar said she had a photoshoot today. She didn’t mention it, didn’t text to say it might run late. You only know because you check, because you still care.

A sound from the front door catches your attention.

You know the rhythm of her arrival by heart.

The shuffle of shoes being kicked off—never in the right place, yet somehow always appearing neatly in the closet by morning. The familiar jingle of keys landing in the bowl. The soft rustle of fabric as she shrugs off her coat, placing it over the arm of the sofa instead of hanging it up. You’ve asked her a hundred times to bring it to the bedroom instead, but some habits never change.

She used to laugh when you nagged her about it. Used to press a kiss to your forehead and say, "Lo siento, amor," before distracting you with her hands on your waist, her lips on your neck.

Now, there’s only silence.

You set your lotion aside and make your way to the bathroom, falling into your nighttime routine. Cleanser, toner, serum, eye cream, moisturizer, retinol.

Alexia used to tease you about it. Once, she asked why you spent so much on skincare. Is La Prairie expensive? Yes. But so is trying to look younger, prettier, wanted.

She appears in the doorway as you are lost in thoughts, already undressing, moving around you without a word.

No, hey, I was looking for you, baby.

No playful touch, no kiss on your shoulder as she passes. Just a small, absentminded peck on your forehead.

"Hi," she says, before turning toward the shower.

You swallow, setting down your moisturizer. Fine.

"Hi. How was your day? Your photoshoot?" You ask because you still care, even if she doesn’t ask about yours.

Alexia pauses, brows pulling together slightly. "What photoshoot?"

Your stomach twists. "The one on your calendar."

For a second, something flashes across her face—Guilt? Annoyance?

"Oh, right. I forgot. Good. It was for Nike," she says, turning the water on. "I don’t know if the campaign’s coming out anytime soon, though."

"Why not?"

"Something about the shirts being released later, I think."

"Oh."

You nod, pressing your lips together as you watch her. Her toned stomach, strong legs, the way she looks the same as when you met. Maybe you should start going to the gym again. You used to love it. You used to love going together.

But Alexia’s already stepping into the shower, and the conversation ends there.

You finish your routine in silence and slip into bed, the sheets cool against your skin. Alexia follows a few minutes later, her hair damp, the scent of her body wash lingering in the air.

She slides under the covers beside you, her back turned, scrolling through her phone.

You shift closer, letting your hand trace along the curve of her stomach.

She doesn’t react.

Your fingers skim higher, your touch soft, searching. You press a kiss behind her ear, your lips lingering.

She used to love this. Used to shiver under your touch, turn to you with a lazy smile and pull you closer.

Now, she just exhales sharply. "Not tonight."

Your hand stills.

Something tightens in your chest.

"Lately, it's never tonight," you say, trying to sound lighthearted, but the words betray you.

Alexia sighs. "I'm tired, amor. It’s been a long day."

You force a small nod. "Yeah… me too."

She lets out a quiet scoff, shaking her head as she turns onto her side. "Yeah?" she says, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Long day of what? Ordering more skincare? Taking Nora to school?"

It’s said like a joke, but it isn’t funny.

You let out a quiet breath, looking at her—really looking at her.

The woman who used to bring you coffee in bed just because she wanted to see you smile. The woman who used to call you on her way home just to ask how your day was. The woman who used to pull you into her lap, nuzzle into your neck, tell you she couldn't imagine falling asleep without you in her arms.

Where did she go?

When did she stop seeing you?

Your throat tightens, but you force yourself to nod, to smile as if it doesn’t hurt.

"Yeah," you whisper. "Something like that."

Alexia hums, already turning away, her back facing you as she pulls the blanket over her shoulder. Just like that, the conversation is over.

You stare at the ceiling, listening to the sound of her breathing slow.

Once, she couldn't sleep unless she was holding you.

Now, she barely even touches you.

Your fingers curl into the sheets, your chest hollowing out, aching.

You turn onto your side, facing away from her, blinking hard against the sting behind your eyes.

You won’t cry.

Not over this.

Not when you’re not even sure she’d notice.

#barcelona x reader #x reader #woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader

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hyacinth-in-a-haze · 10 days ago

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Yandere Sheriff!x fem reader

Yandere sheriff! Who has favours going down by the saloons and gambling dens. When he walks in, the place quietens down, taking his seat on a stained barstool. Whiskey free of charge so long as he turns the other way of the whoring and gambling in the back room.

Yandere sheriff! Who smiles almost fatherly when the madam brings him into her parlour to meet a new fresh faced trembling girl. Still covered in dust from crossing the prairies. looking like a little doe in the lion's den as the madam makes an offer to him, he can have her new recruit permanently as his girl. So long as his protection now extends to the entire building. It doesn't take him long to shake on it.

Yandere sheriff! Who helps you up the stairs into your new bedroom as you tremble with every step. When he locks the door behind him he cannot help but find you more pretty the more fearful your face is. He cannot help but sit you down, cooing deeply in that southern drawl of his, asking your name and age, and goodness him he is old enough to be your father. Finally he asks the important question

“Come now Darlin’ I just wanna know, how did a sweet young gal like yourself get here in this position? why you're practically fresh off the boat” the gentleness in his words and hands is what cause you to cry your own sob story to his chest

How your relatives died out on the trail out west one by one and now you don't know what to do, that no one is willing to give you any proper job. When the madam found you practically collapsed in the street with Hunger she took you and fed you before handing you off to the sheriff. And all he can think about now as you cry your woes is the stiffness in his trousers and just how pretty you are while crying.

Yandere sheriff! Who promises to be gentle as he pins you down to the bed, pulling your dress off over your head not caring for the tears as he strips you to your shift and stockings. Pressing his lips against yours and tasting the salt from your face as you sob. Cupping your breasts gently as he pulls back with a sigh

“If I was a better man Darlin’ then I'd not be doing this, but unfortunately, I'm a selfish man, little bird.”

He puts a knee between your legs pressing them open with little resistance from you, all your energy spent on tears as he begins to unbuckle his trousers.

Yandere sheriff! Who is trying his hardest to be gentle, holding your head against his chest as you cry out from him pushing himself inside. Who mumbles lovingly that you're doing so well, and he is so proud of you. that he loves you.

Yandere sheriff! Who thrusts slowly and powerfully, ensuring you come undone a few times before him. Who holds you close once he is finished and you've stopped your tears.

Yandere sheriff! Who swears that he will be your only customer, that he will look out for you every time he comes round the brothel. Who is too selfish to release his bird from the cage she found herself in.

#yandere imagines #male yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere #older man younger girl #fem reader #Yandere sheriff #yandere cowboy

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cyberlsk · 1 month ago

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₊ ⊹݁ ˖ guilty as sin? ₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

leon kennedy/f!reader

synopsis: Leon swears he’s a good guy. He nicked Dylan Blake at Alcatraz a mere week prior, saved the president’s daughter a decade before that, has led countless teams and emerged heroic–and he’s fucking a girl twenty years his junior.

You hate him. You love him more, though.

cw: dom!leon, exhibition(ish), post!death island leon x 20s!reader

౨ৎ

You hated him.

Hated the way he talked. Hated that self-assured strut he called confidence, hated the way the other agents practically worshipped him.

(Hated how he fucked you until you sob into his shoulders.)

“Morning, rookie.” A knock at your office door is accompanied by his unpleasant presence.

You offer him a terse nod. “Morning.”

Leon sidles up in front of you, sitting on the edge of the desk by your chair. His cologne is addictive, hints of sandalwood and leather slinking up your nostrils. Perfectly proper. Very sensual.

“What’s the matter? I’m not that bad.” As if he couldn’t get any worse, he slots an auburn Oxford shoe–perfectly shined, as expected–between your legs, inching the leather up your legs until his foot bumps against your center.

Classy.

“Well?” Leon crosses his arms, leaning back against the cubicle dividers while the tip of his shoe kneads your cunt roughly. “You’re quiet today.”

“I’m working,” you snark, lightly smacking his leg with your hand.

“Show me.”

“What?”

Leon swings his legs onto the floor, crouching between yours. Tilts his head up at you, big eyes all pretty and the babiest blue, stubble nuzzling the skin where your pencil skirt ends. “I said, show me what you’re working on.”

You should’ve kicked him out then and there. You should’ve chewed him out for making you do a full-day patrol on your last mission while the others did the real work. God, you should’ve brought up that last mission.

You say the one thing you knew would get him out of your hair.

“You can’t even fuck right.”

“Yeah?” he breathes. “What’s this, then?” Your eyes flit towards the still-ajar door. He grins wickedly. Asshole. Before you can protest about someone seeing you two, he slides his head under the linen material of your skirt and nuzzles his nose against your pussy.

Leon grins wickedly. You don’t like that. You’re humiliatingly wet and he’s not even trying.

“Rookie…” he groans. “All for me?” He bats his lashes up at you. The spitting image of innocence even as his head’s between your thighs.

One time Claire had caught him with his hand on your waist in the break room. Called him a cradlerobber, among other things (hit on someone your own age, creep!). Imagine how she’d feel if she saw this.

Yeah, Leon’s weird. Swears he’s the noble man everyone here makes him out to be, but you make his morals vanish. He nicked Dylan Blake at Alcatraz a mere week prior, saved the president’s daughter a decade before that, has led countless teams and emerged heroic–and he’s fucking a girl twenty years his junior.

Get a load of that. Or, get a load of him. He knows he shouldn’t do it, but you’re so cute when you beg him, inside, cum inside, that he does it every time. Blows his load so hard that his eyes roll back into his head and he practically mewls in your ear. You grin so smugly after that he has to fuck you till your mind goes blank and his hips cramp.

Leon got himself a single-family home last year, even though said family is just him, his bottles, and lately–you. He figured that he was too old to be bouncing around apartments, and he’d saved up enough from his job to get something real nice. It’s a cozy place. Prairie style interior and a Frank Lloyd Wright inspired lamp you’d helped him pick out. You might hate him, but you had good taste.

Every non-mission workday, you swear up and down that you hate him. Every night you end up getting fucked silly on the living room couch, the windows facing rolling green hills. A part of him is glad that he doesn’t have close neighbors. A sinister part wishes that he did so they could see all the nasty fucking he was doing, how he could fold you flat. You moan about how there’s not enough space for both of you on the couch, chests heaving against each other, but you never make it to the bed before he’s all over you.

Leon loves to tease. It’s his own taste of revenge, seeing you squirm instead of talking back to him. Your skirt is now bunched up around your thighs and he’s pressing hot kisses to your clothed cunt. In between messy sucking, he manages to convey that your coworkers are out and it’s just you and him for a little while. He wants to keep you on edge until you’re humping the seat.

“Leon?” you say in the littlest, whiniest voice. His eyes flit up to see yours shining with tears.

“Baby, don’t cry,” he coos, kissing the backs of your hands with surprising tenderness. “I just want to make you feel good, yeah?” You nod, head empty and all caution thrown to the wind. For employment’s sake, he shuts the door and locks it behind you. He’ll figure out an excuse once your coworkers come knocking, and they’ll believe it. Because he’s Leon fucking Kennedy.

You love Leon, but you hate him. Leon pulls your tits out of a frilly pastel babydoll dress and mashes them together while he fucks you. Leon looks down your blouse the next day at work. You ask him to, of course. He’s not a total creep. You just hate the way he swipes his tongue over his lips after. And you hate how it makes you squeeze your thighs together.

When he was twenty-two, someone gave him a zombie plushie to celebrate the fact that he had finished his first mission with the DSO. He hated that thing. Chucked it in the back of his drawer for years. Honestly, he’d forgotten he had it until you came along, and you sewed a bonnet and a coat for it, made it all cute.

(He fucks you while you hold onto it for dear life. You try to stifle your whines with the plush, but that, along with the wet plap plap plap as he fucks in and out of you don’t do much for noise control. If he’s honest, he’s thought about getting you a cute pacifier to suck onto instead of his hands or the head of that plushie. He’s just too embarrassed to bring it up.)

He takes your hands into his with surprising tenderness, giving each a kiss before placing them back on your thighs. “Princess–” and you stop breathing. “What’s gotten into you? Just now you were trying to kick me out, and now, you’re humping my hand.”

At the tiniest nod of approval, he sinks a single finger inside. You’re so wet that you’re already squirming for more.

“When’d my rookie get so naughty? Six months ago you would hardly look my way, and now, you’re showing up to work without panties on. Did you plan this?” When you respond with a whine and a shift of your hips, he stops.

“Words, baby.” Baby. The word makes your head spin for reasons you can’t–or rather refuse to–pinpoint. You hate him, yes. But it sounds so good when he says it.

“Please?” you whisper. Impatiently rutting yourself on his one finger. Leon plants his hands on your hips, stilling your movements.

“Pretty pussy begging for me to fuck her,” he snarls. “So wet you’re dripping onto the seat.”

You practically squeal as he latches his lips onto your clit, sucking, flicking his tongue in motions he knows you like. He hovers right above your entrance, meeting your eyes as he slowly, slowly, glides his tongue along it, then nuzzles his nose into your clit. You shut your eyes as you immediately lean into his touch, digging your fingers through his hair, fighting his grip with your legs.

When Leon finally fucks you, you cum so hard that he has to wipe it off the floor. He curls his fingers in your pussy after and gathers your fluids. “Clean it up,” he says sternly, offering his cum-soaked hands for you to suck on. You swirl your tongue around each finger, down to the palm, until he’s satisfied. He slides into you after while you sob into his shoulder about how it hurts, how you can’t take any more. If you wanted him to stop, you’d say your safe word, but you don’t.

Nasty fucking rookie. Loves the pain.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he groans. “Where should I cum?” You scramble on the floor for something, and his stomach flexes when he realizes what it is. Your panties. When you place the gusset over his tip, he explodes right there and then, staining your pretty lace thong with loads and loads of cum. By the time he finishes cumming, they’re practically soaked. And then you put them back on, patting his cum into your cunt. Beaming.

The sight is so nasty that it makes him wish he was young enough to fuck you again. He doesn’t have that kind of stamina anymore. Doesn’t stop him from flipping you over onto your stomach and eating you out one last time before your coworkers come back.

Yeah, you hate each other. Yeah, he takes you out to nice meals because he can’t fuck a girl without buying her dinner first. Your favorite bras and slips and babydoll dresses are in his dresser, and he picks out which one he wants to see you in each night. His favorite shirts become your sleep shirts, and he memorizes your coffee order so you don’t pass out in the morning. He takes extra long on his reduced paperwork load (perks of being senior) and watches you do yours. You run your hands down his suit lapels before work, and he notices you stare all day. You buy him that fancy Redken shampoo because you hate pulling on knotted hair, but you lather the suds into his hair for ages.

On Friday nights, you binge TV together while he fucks you spooning. On Saturday mornings, you drag him to the farmers market to pick out flowers for his vases, and you always end up splitting a warm pretzel. He always gives you the bigger half and you pick indigo flowers because they remind you of his eyes.

But yeah, you hate each other. He’s an insufferable poster boy for the US government, and you’re the overconfident, sometimes reckless rookie. Terrible working together.

When he leaves the office, he swears he sees a hint of a smile on your face.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader smut #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x reader smut #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy x you smut #leon kennedy x y/n #resident evil smut #leon kennedy smut fanfic

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kykyonthemoon · 9 months ago

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Dream Of The Grassland

In the grassland full of breezes, you by chance become Sylus's bride-to-be. Yet you no longer remember anything that ever happened between the two of you and find yourself falling for him all over again.

── .✦ Sylus x Female Reader|MC

♡︎. Tags: R16, MDNI, suggestive themes, fake engagement, memory loss, light angst with a happy ending, a little hurt/comfort, fluff, pet name - kitten.

♡︎. Word count: 4k5

── .✦ Masterlist ♡ Request a fic - currently closed.

── .✦ Ky Ky’s notes: This story is based on his Grassland Romance card.

This is also my entry to Love and Deepspace - Wander In Wonder Fan Art Contest. I really appreciate all your support on my X <3

When you opened your eyes, you found yourself standing in the middle of a vast prairie. The green welcomed you, into the wind’s embrace. But the voice that just called your name from behind was not at all pleasant like the nature here.

You turned around. A completely unfamiliar face said to you:

"Let's go. Don't stand there anymore. It's late!”

You did not like her at all.

Giving her a glance, you turned and spurred your horse forward, where the yurt roofs of the neighboring tribe created a brilliant red line on the horizon.

That was where your group of people were headed. That was where your betrothed was waiting.

Except that it was not truly your betrothed.

Tribes on this grassland often intermarry to strengthen harmony. And as the daughter of the chief of a small tribe, you were expected to marry the most powerful warrior in the neighboring region. The official wedding would be held in Tala, where every tribe on the grassland was gathering to attend the festival.

The problem was, you were not the chief's daughter at all.

You did not remember who you were anymore. All previous memories were like a white mist engulfing you. You only remembered your name, since before being swallowed by the grassland, you had heard someone calling it so earnestly. You did not know where you came from. Narat, the girl who had just urged you to go faster, found you and brought you back to her tribe. As for you taking the place of the chief's daughter, that was another story.

The chief of the clan only had one daughter, and she already had a lover. Because he loved his daughter so much, he begged you to take her place. You had no history, no memories, no attachments. For you, life would be the same regardless of wherever you went. When you witnessed the young woman cry till she nearly collapsed because she wanted to be with her beloved, somehow you felt her pain as well.

But you did not want to marry someone you had never met. You only agreed with them since you had your own escape plan.

When your group arrived at the Kael tribe, the sky was a vibrant crimson. After a brief greeting ritual, you were escorted to a yurt and instructed to wait there alone. But you had no intention to follow their order. You hastily grabbed your luggage and sneaked away. Everyone was hurrying to another place to greet guests, so no one paid attention to you. You spotted your horse drinking from the trough and was able to take him away without causing any alarm.

But as you were ready to climb into the saddle, you heard multiple sets of distant horse hooves approaching. Afraid of being caught red-handed, you had to leave the horse there and hide behind the piles of straw. The men of the Kael tribe just led their horses into the stable, laughing and praising one of their warriors.

You had faintly heard the name Sylus. You were impressed by this name since you had heard Narat's group mention him, your betrothed. Aside from that, you felt an unusual feeling, as if you had some connection to that name. In any case, you had no plan to run into him, especially in the middle of a runaway.

You crept out from behind the mound of straw to investigate. The group of men began to depart. The last person leaving was the tallest, and he appeared to have heard you foot on a dry branch of wood nearby. He paused, his head turned to your hiding place.

You curled up, as if holding your breath. His slow, powerful footsteps grew closer and closer. That enormous dark shadow fell on you, and you gradually lifted your head.

Eyes as brilliant as two rubies stare at you. A look of astonishment crossed that person's face, but it was swiftly replaced by a joyous smile.

"Were you here all this time, kitten?"

He spoke up. You became a little bewildered and immediately stood up. In comparison to him, you suddenly felt quite small. You took a step back, and before you could say anything, he grabbed your wrist hard.

“Since I found you now, let us go home.”

You attempted to get away from him, shouting: “Let me go! Do I even know you? I am... the bride of Kael's mightiest warrior - Sylus! If you dare to offend me…”

He released his grasp somewhat, but then drew you even closer to him. You lost equilibrium and leaned into his arms. He grinned and replied:

"Oh? Really? How convenient. I am Sylus.”

Having said that, he lifted you onto his shoulder and carried you back to his yurt like a bag of rice.

In the yurt, you confronted Sylus, the Kael warrior and your betrothed. You used your fist to start the conversation, but you immediately understood why that man was honored as Kael's strongest warrior. The only thing you could do was give him a few scratches on his face and body. He refused to fight back, instead constantly evading attacks until taking advantage of your weakness to pin you down on the bed with both hands bound and placed over your head.

"It's only been two weeks since we've last seen each other and you're already so aggressive?" Sylus said. His muscular body covered yours, obscuring the light in the yurt.

"I don't know you!" You yelled furiously. Danger was all you felt from this man, the one who compelled you to stay. “Let me go! I don't want to be here! I don't want to be with you!”

Disappointment was clearly visible on Sylus's face. He looked at you for a long time, as if his expectations were all in vain. When you felt his hand loosen somewhat, you took the opportunity to break away from him. Sylus grasped your waist fiercely and threw you back into the bed. But this time, you were able to seize the dagger he held at his side.

Red.

Drop by drop, each scarlet and burning drop seeped from Sylus's chest, where the tip of the dagger had just penetrated. Blood ran down your quivering palm and dripped across your pale face. Sylus's flaming pupils gazed down upon you. Pain. Disappointment. His lips opened slightly but no words came out. Instead, you stammered and said:

“I… I…”

Sylus removed your shaking hand from the hilt of the dagger. The corner of his mouth twisted slightly. A bitter smile.

“I didn't expect you to do that, again…”

He gripped the dagger tightly and pulled it out. Blood splashed on your torso and the dagger was thrown to the ground.

Sylus had been looking for you for a long time.

He and you were not originally from this meadow. Both are from somewhere else. Another planet. And he was still seeking for you.

You sat on the bed, mindlessly dressed in spotless fresh apparel. You witnessed Sylus wipe blood from his exposed upper torso beneath the light. Your face turned crimson. You attempted to turn away, but your gaze remained fixed on the wound that was closing on his chest. Like a miracle.

"I won't die that easily." Sylus said. The towel in his hand was drenched with fresh blood. "I won't die without you remembering who I am."

Since encountering that gemstone, or the protocore fragment, you had lost all of your memories and been transported to the grassland. Sylus was also drawn here, with you. The person calling your name was him. The person searching for you everywhere was him. But the person who wounded him was you.

You felt a little guilty. Because Sylus's reaction when he met you again made you believe he had dreadful intentions for you. That made you fear and loathe him so much. Meanwhile, he had no idea that you had forgotten everything. He was quite miserable when he realized that you no longer remembered who he was.

"Sorry…" You murmured.

Sylus inhaled deeply. The wound you caused him was not life-threatening, but it was fairly torturous. He asked:

"Now that you've heard my part of the story, what do you want to do next?"

You remained silent. There was a tint of confusion on your face.

“Living a simple, free life in this grassland is not a bad idea.” Sylus said. “If you want, you can go anywhere. You can even leave the Kael tribe. But I'm determined to follow you no matter what. After all, you are my betrothed.”

"You do realize that I'm not your true betrothed, right?” You frowned. “Besides, don't you want to return to your real world?”

“Do you want to?”

A moment of silence passed between the two of you. You did not remember anything in that world to feel a single tint of nostalgia, but would choosing to stay here forever be the right thing?

“You don't have to answer right away.” Sylus saw your struggle. “I have a hunch that the gemstone in Tala is what we need to find. Perhaps if I manage to get it, your memories will return, and we'll be able to go back. Thus, you now have a better option than to traverse the grassland by yourself—which is to help me get the gem.”

You looked up at Sylus for a moment but still did not say a word. Everything he had told you was both strange and familiar at the same time.

“There are still a few weeks left before the festival takes place. Perfect time for you to consider what you want to do next. Now, sleep."

Sylus said nothing more. He quietly spread a blanket on the ground, next to the bed where you were sitting, then lay down.

In your temporary role as Sylus's betrothed, you reside in the Kael tribe. Before their formal marriage ceremony, two engaged individuals might share a home freely. However, Sylus appeared more aloof following the evening of your initial encounter, during which you stabbed him in the chest. It appeared as though he was allowing you more time to truly recall your previous connection before traveling to the grassland.

Every day, Sylus would practice fighting with other men in the tribe. You went to herd sheep and embroider with Tarna, a new acquaintance you made in the tribe. She showed you how to sew a little pouch for the person you loved. In the grassland, every time a woman set her eyes on a man, they would give him a pouch as a token of her love.

"A lot of girls have wanted to give their pouches to Sylus since he came here!" Tarna said. She had just demonstrated to you a sample of the pouch she intended to present to her lover in another tribe.

"Is that so?" You made a random comment.

“But they dare not do so, because Sylus already has a betrothed—you! Actually, the strongest warrior in the Kael tribe was someone else. Sylus had taken that position from the moment he arrived. Upon hearing of your marriage, he became enraged and declared that he already had a lover. He intended to call off the wedding. But after you appeared, Sylus didn't mention it anymore."

Tarna's yurt's curtain billowed in the wind. Before your eyes, the black and crimson threads mingled together. You took them off while your heart was so confused still. Who else would be the girl Sylus was always looking for; the girl he claimed to be his lover? Even though he never mentioned it, was it conceivable that before coming here, the memory you had lost was the love story with him?

In the afternoon, you found Sylus at the stables. You said you wanted to ride with him, but the fact was that you wanted to get away from here for a while. While riding on horseback, you seemed to remember something.

On a deserted highway, Sylus and you, on his motorbike. The wind remained as severe as it was here.

The two of you stopped by the stream to rest for a while. Drops of cold water slid down Sylus's face, neck, and chest. He wiped his face, noticed you were gazing at him, then grinned.

"Your hair is all messed up," he remarked. "Let me fix it."

You were silent and simply sat with your back to Sylus. He meticulously unraveled and brushed your wind-tangled hair. His rough hands were clumsy and at times hurt your scalp. You caught two reflections in the water. His eyes were always compassionate towards you. These past days, he was never far away for you. Even if you were unable to recall what had happened before, in the little time you had been together, you had most likely learnt to trust him, and even developed some complicated feelings for him.

“Sylus…” You spoke up, then hesitated again.

“What's wrong, kitten?”

You exhaled. You had intended to ask him some questions earlier but were unsure of where to begin. So you redirected it to something else.

"I wonder, how many girls have their hair braided by you?"

Sylus snorted. His facial expression became more relaxed. He replied:

“Do I look like someone who braids women's hair very well? But I can practice every day, if you allow me.”

Your cheeks heated. You hastily covered it with both hands, although in Sylus's position, he wouldn't have seen your blushing face. You added:

“Tarna said that many girls in the tribe wanted to give you their pouches.”

“They should know that I already have a betrothed. I will only accept her pouch.”

Sylus stared at your reflections in the water. You did the same, and suddenly, your gazes met. You hesitantly looked aside, yet lips unable to conceal a smile. Your hand wandered to find the pouch you had just finished embroidering, which was hanging by your side. You had no intention of giving it to Sylus so soon, though.

In the following days, Sylus frequently departed early and returned after the sun had completely set. He competed and practiced hard for the forthcoming festival. You were also used to living here. If you could not retrieve your memories, staying here as a girl of the grassland would not be a terrible choice. Especially when you had Sylus.

Evenings on the grassland were often the time when tribe members gathered together around a large campfire. You found Sylus sitting alone in a far corner, watching young men and women dancing to the music. You came closer and sat down next to him.

“How is life in the grassland? Do you like it?” He asked.

You raised your head to look at the stars. “It feels free.”

Sylus grinned quietly beside you. The two of you did not say anything for a long time. Then, you broke the silence:

“What was my life like before?”

“Let's see… You're a very busy Hunter. You don't have time to sit and look at the stars or hang out with the sheep like in here. You always go headfirst into danger, working until you're weary every day. You always try to do your duties well... But sometimes, you would be like any other normal girl, craving a walk in the park full of red leaves, or delicious roasted chestnuts."

Hearing it, you could immediately see the cozy scenario. You inquired again:

“So what about you, Sylus? Were you... also by my side like this?”

Sylus gazed at you for a minute. The smile on his face was melancholy.

“I was afraid this place would separate you and me. But now, it brings you closer to me than ever. I can see you every day. I can share a yurt with you. There's more. I can call you my betrothed.”

Sylus remarked the words “my betrothed" in the language of the Kael tribe, halting briefly to examine your expression. Your face went crimson in the light of the fire. You turned fast away.

“If you ask me, at this moment, I will tell you that I don't want to return to that world anymore," said Sylus.

Because in that place, you and Sylus fought against each other. In that place, Sylus and you could not have such simple moments like these.

“But I…” You responded reluctantly. “I want to go back… I want to reclaim my lost memories… It's not fair that you're the only one who remembers everything that happened between us…”

You slowly turned towards Sylus. When you looked into his deep eyes, you knew just what to do.

“I want to remember Sylus and how special he is to me. I want to reciprocate what you have done for me with full memories of us, not with just patched stories.”

You believed that throughout your time in this grassland, a bond that was hard to put into words had formed between Sylus and you. You wanted to get to know him in a formal way; the Sylus in the grassland, the Sylus in N109 Zone, each and every of Sylus's identities.

It seemed that he was also considering the possibilities that could happen between the two of you.

“Understood.” He replied briefly. “I shall win that gem. For you.”

You grinned and grabbed Sylus's hand to join the couples dancing blissfully together. Under the moon and stars, beside the fire and in the laughter of everyone, Sylus and you were like a genuine couple.

Sylus had become accustomed to sleeping on the floor since you arrived. As it was extremely cold at night, you might sometimes find him curled up in a corner. At this rate, he would undoubtedly become ill before reaching Tala. So you suggested:

“Sylus. Come here.”

He widened his eyes as he watched you retreat deeper into the corner of the bed, leaving an empty spot for him.

"Unless you prefer to lie on the ground, of course." You shrugged, pretending to act like you did not care too much.

Sylus's massive body quickly sank into the bed. He twisted his lips and responded, "And there I thought you would never ask."

You cracked a smile and cuddled yourself into the covers. That was your first time lying so close to Sylus. The warmth emanating from him offered you comfort and safety. He carried the aroma of grass, wind, and sunshine. You unintentionally drew closer to him. Your fingertips brushed his chest, where you had once stabbed him. That place was completely healed without a scar.

“I remember you said… ‘one more time’… Have I done the same thing before?” You lifted your eyes to gaze at Sylus. “Have I hurt you before?”

Sylus's half-closed eyes gradually opened wide. He looked at you. His breath warmed your cheeks.

“You shot me. In the same spot.”

The fingers placed on Sylus's chest curled up. He grabbed them before you could withdraw your hand. He continued:

“If we go back there, there's a good chance you'll do the same thing and point your weapon against me. Do you truly want that to happen?”

"I…"

For a moment, the only sound was the wind flowing around the yurt. Sylus said:

“I really like the people in this grassland. They are always honest with each other. Love. Hatred. It would be great if we could be as straightforward as them.”

You closed your eyes tightly, then slowly opened them. You replied:

“Well then, from now on, let's be honest with each other.”

“Huh? Do you have something to tell me?”

Sylus's eyes met yours, and that half-smile of his felt so much like a tease. You hesitated for a moment then decided to follow your heart:

“I… like having you by my side. Like these days. Even if we are no longer here and must face each other in the real world, I will still be me. You are still Sylus. The time spent here will not vanish, right? I guess I would still like to be close to you. Like this moment…”

You paused and gazed up at him for a long time. You could not recall the past, and the future was unknown. But you knew in that very moment, what you wanted was Sylus. That was all.

You slowly turned around and leaned against his dominant chest. You could hear your heart, Sylus's heart. They were beating at the same rhythm.

You started kissing him. And Sylus responded by dragging your entire body on top of him. Your kisses landed on his face, neck, and chest, particularly where you once injured him. Sylus's physique was sensitive to your every touch, yet he calmly observed what you desired to do to him, wearing his so distinctive alluring half-smile.

The endless night in the grassland suddenly became cold no longer.

All of the tribes came to Tala for the celebration, which was filled with excitement. After several skirmishes amongst the warriors, Sylus emerged victorious, as predicted. Amid the cheers of congratulations from the tribes, you rushed to his side and were lifted into his arms.

“Are you running to me so quickly in fear that another girl will give me her pouch?” Sylus taunted you by making your cheeks sparkle in the sunset.

“What are you dreaming about? I'm just glad that… we won the gem!”

Sylus carried you with one arm, the other hand at some point reached into your garment and took out the pouch embroidered with the image of a crow that you had made for him. He held it up high where everyone could see it and said to you:

“So this pouch isn't yours?”

“How did you?… Give it back to me!” You tried to reach for the pouch, only to lose your balance and leaned entirely on Sylus.

“Why do you want it back? To give it to someone else?”

You blushed. The pouch was originally made for Sylus. Only him. But it was your intention to give it to him later, when you were certain of how you should name the feelings you had for him. Yet he found the pouch so quickly. He held it tightly in his palm and said:

“Whoever takes it, keeps it. It's mine now. Don't even dream of giving it to anyone else."

Sylus carried you in his arm to receive the prize. Your cheeks became scarlet, and you failed to say anything more the entire time. Following that, the largest festival on the grasslands took place. Sylus brought you to a secluded spot, holding the prize in his palm.

The sparkling ruby radiated charm as if calling your name, and you knew it was time for you to return. Yet you were still attached to this place. Somewhere inside you, you were trying to cling to every blade of grass, every wind here. Were you ready to leave this free life, leave Sylus?

Sylus's soft fingers delicately brushed your cheek. He gently caressed your face.

“Are you ready, kitten?”

You met his eyes.

“I still have one more thing to do before we go back…”

“What is it?”

You stood on tiptoe, one hand tugging Sylus's neck down close. You sealed his lips with a kiss. So deep. Time seemed to stop. The stars halted revolving. You just broke away from him to catch your breath before erasing the silver thread that existed between the two of you with another kiss that was a little more eager.

Your other hand rested on the ruby he was holding. Your fingers and Sylus's were interlaced with the gem in the center. You started to resonate with it. The gem heated up and gleamed. Soon, Sylus's warmth slowly left you.

When you opened your eyes, you found yourself standing in Sylus's armory in N109 Zone.

A tear rolled down your cheek. The memories that the protocore fragment had stolen from you were all restored. You searched around.

“Sylus?”

He was not there. Where had he gone? Did he let go of your hand? Was he still in the grassland, living a free life with no attachment? Without you? That thought clenched your heart. Yet you felt the protocore fragment was very close. You followed its energy source to the exit.

Standing by the entrance was Sylus. The red gem was in his palm. Almost immediately, you ran to his side. Without waiting for any words to be spoken, you flung yourself into Sylus, arms tightly wrapped around his neck and legs around his waist. He was taken aback, but then began spinning around with you in his arms. The cold armory suddenly became so cozy.

You did not dare to believe that that dream of the grassland was a real thing, until you buried your face in Sylus's neck and inhaled the scent of grass, wind and sunshine. He whispered into your ear:

“Good to see you again, kitten.”

“It's good to see you again, Sylus…” You whispered, before squeezing him again.

After that, Sylus put you down. His palm opened and the ruby was revealed:

“Here you go. Spare me the trouble and don’t casually resonate with it anymore.”

You held it tightly in your hand. The vast grassland and the days with Sylus were just like a dream. Time in this world remained constant. Yet your heart had changed.

You looked up at him and said:

“Sylus… What would happen after we leave the grassland?…”

“Perhaps people of the tribes would spread the story about the Kael warrior and his betrothed. They would say that the couple used the ruby to travel to another place, and lived happily ever after.”

You were amazed that Sylus could come up with such an answer. Nevertheless, it brought you contentment. You prompted another question:

“Say… What if we don't meet up because of my missions, or because we need something from each other? Basically, we can meet up just because…”

“We want to see each other?”

Surprise after surprise, you stared at him for a moment. Then you nodded. Sylus grinned. He took out a pouch with a crow embroidered clumsily on it.

“Since I have your most prized possession, I should return the favor, right?” Sylus replied. “We did agree to be honest with each other back in the grassland. It's my turn now.”

His massive hand reached out in front of you. He said:

“Red autumn leaves and roasted chestnuts. I can already imagine a walk in the park on a beautiful day like this. What do you think, kitten?"

You smiled and sheepishly held his hand. At that moment, a bright crimson glow surrounded your and his wrists. Sylus scowled as he noticed the Evol Linkage between the two of you again at this point.

“Hmmm. Should we postpone our outing?”

You shook your head. Your fingers were intertwined with his even tighter.

“Actually I know a place that offers a buy-one-get-one free deal!”

Sylus smiled. “Let's go then.”

Without waiting for him to ask for more, you drew him forward. You were once worried about your connection with him being exposed, and you never dared to admit how much you desired to be with him. Yet, at that moment, you were ready to tell the world the story of you and Sylus.

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anantaru · 2 years ago

Text

DAY 13 — BITING/MARKING

kinktober 2023. — masterlist | ao3

𖧡 — including — kaveh, kazuha, cyno, venti

𖧡 — warnings — fem! reader, biting/marking, neck bites & marking you with his cum, tit play/tit sucking (cyno uses his vision on you but only a little), fingering, oral (fem! receiving), lots of cum & kind of messy (venti's part)

𖧡 — KAVEH

kaveh will leave his eyes closed before he slopes his head into your neck, and oh, who would've thought? you can feel his blonde hair lightly prod your cheeks before you breathe in the cloying fragrance he wore— such candid scent was one wefted within sumeru roses, a prairie of perfume that had wended its way through his body pressed on top of yours.

"having trouble, hm?" a low, teasing voice rattles kindly into the shell of your ears before you cling onto him, the arch of your back more defined as you sneakily grind your sensitive cunt against his exposed erection, choking out a breathy sob as kaveh kisses the stinging splotches on your neck.

it's almost too slow to your own liking, amost punishing and it drives you mad— how kaveh doesn't give your little cunt some much needed attention, but instead wholly focuses on branding his white canines on your neck and collarbones instead, because the thought of someone seeing them was absolutely intoxicating, besides, it was way easier to spot that you're taken when your neck was littered all over with hickeys.

"mhm… no trouble." the gentle, candid noises you'd make whenever he tips you into a dreamy haze, it pushes kaveh towards the edge of cumming without even being touched by you yet. and he begins to rut the mattress underneath him in a feral tempo, immediately ghosting his hands over your shaky figure before settling two digits on top of your puffy clit— his wet lips, never leaving your neck and suckling strong on the soused places before rubbing your cunt, battering his rough finger pads against the thudding nerves and awaiting your moans turning the humid air all the more sweeter.

fuck— you’re barely able to express how good he made you feel and how impossibly deep his fingers reached inside, pummeling a hot bristle on your cheeks as your hips meet his sensual touch half way, the metrical movements slurred and passionate— perfect traces setting your skin aflame.

truthfully, it’s quite the win-win situation whenever kaveh marks you up and pleasures you at the same time— for one, it’s never hidden whenever curious eyes trail along your beautiful figure. whilst, okay, maybe you will end up trying to cover it up with a large scarf or a turtleneck, but your handsome boyfriend will scoff at you, overly dramatic, a sad roll of his eyes touching up his precious face when you tell him it's very inappropriate if someone spots those hickeys on you.

𖧡 — KAZUHA

you blink down between your parted thighs, in a daze, and whine out in the most heavenly tune imaginable, in utter approval when kazuha drags the flat of his tongue inside the flesh of your folds— the wet lick on you was certainly claiming and presses the air from your aching lungs, the pink muscle expertly gyrating through your slickness as he begins to suddenly mouth away from your approaching sensation.

you sob at the loss— heaving out little why, why, why’s before becoming irritated, tilting your head in confusion as your eyes follow how kazuha laps his tongue all the way to your thighs, precisely the spot that served as a bridge to your legs and your cunt. ah, you smell so nice, quite the sweet fragrance and kazuha truly wonders what that might be, locking his soused lips around a spot before greedily suckling at the skin, the squelching noises of his mouth echoing into your thudding flesh— earning a whispery gasp from you when his palm, that was previously placed on top of your stomach, suddenly touches your clit to rub his thumb right on top.

kazuha can notice the reactions he coaxed out of you a little more precise now, how delicious and perfect you tasted and ugh, the feeling on how you tense entirely when his lips nibble and gnaw around your skin ever so slightly while his finger grow greedy in their movements, eagerly massaging two digits on your folds before prodding at your slit.

he teases, your arousal gushing out of your hole that it makes his mouth water at the sight— truly unsure what he preferred right now.

irrespective of wether it was guzzling on copious amounts of places on your thighs and mark them with bristling hickeys— so kazuha can look at them whilst fucking into you, or even afterwards when he pats the quivering skin and prances his warm palm on top.

his mind spins dizzily now— the very reason for that being when he abruptly notices how you're pushing your hips upwards into his fingers when he kindly inserts the first, long digit into your gaping hole, parting your cunt effortlessly and stuffing your arousal right back into you.

the atmosphere inside the room too, grew in hotness before coming crushing down on your fondling bodies pleasing each other, sweat forming around your forehead and right under your breasts.

ugh, how cruel, it's so hard to choose— and kazuha believes he'd never be able to pick a favorite between pleasuring your cunt or marking you up for that matter. yet of course— and such goes without saying, as long as you're wholly enjoying yourself whenever he has his hands on you— there was no reason for him to stop doing it.

𖧡 — CYNO

cyno's grip around your wrists was powerful— so dominant and compelling that it's almost bruising your tender skin, in addition was it extremely pestering how he locked your hand above your head, rendering you moveless, so he could get a pretty good look on your cute nipples perked up all nicely and ready to receive his warm mouth gushing around them.

occasionally, he decides to pinch them, eagerly listening at how you're yelping out through a rigid jaw whenever he'd add a considerable amount of electric sparks through your flesh, then bring you back to his unwavering attention on your cunt as he keeps thrusting his hips hard.

"you do like that, yeah?" he mutters and makes sure he wasn't doing anything you weren't comfortable with, and hearing him say it through a luscious, cloudy tone made you clench around his dripping shaft even harder— but the very moment he slants his head down to mouth a couple wet spots on your breasts, you're done for.

"let me do that again.." he whispers, massaging one tit before gathering some of the flesh from the other, hollowing his cheeks, sucking down, repeating himself over and over. you whine, then moan his name, your lashes sticking together due to copious amounts of globules expelling from the corners of your eyes as you wiggle your hips for more, arching your back so you could push your tit into his mouth before he stains your skin with warm, tingling spots.

you swear he wasn't done yet, cyno was a sucker for drawing your orgasm out as long as possible, the little hairs on the back of your neck standing tall when he grazes his sharp teeth over a nipple, the trace of his canines stinging yet drawing you into his touch, luring your deepest, most desperate attempts to somehow make him reconsider, and give you what you truly desired.

𖧡 — VENTI

your fingers strongly web into venti's hair as he greedily stuffs your cunt with his cock, so desperate and rough that your sore hole clenches around his entire shaft to keep him inside, the sudden constriction on your tightness throwing him out of his smooth thrusts, becoming sloppier and erratic.

although— he loves the way you pull at his hair while he fucks you silly, even lets out a breathy chuckle against your parted mouth as you pull at the roots to press his lips against yours, so you could show him what he was doing to you, and how insane it made you feel. "mhm.. venti.." you sob, whine and pitch your hips up so he could continue to greedily devour your pussy, plummet his entire shaft inside and massage the spongy insides of your cunt— like he's never touched you before and has been starved of you for what felt like a gruesome eternity.

and venti can't wait any longer, your moans absolutely wrecked his sense of self control as he pulls away from your mouth before rutting himself deeper, hiding his face in your neck to suckle at the skin and sense your upped pulse vibrate over his precious lips.

his long lashes conceal the brilliant, unique shade of his lusting eyes as he fucks you like he hates you, however, venti was utterly obsessed with everything regarding you, strongly nestled between your thighs, leaving an aftertaste of his long, pink length on your walls before he pulls himself out instantly, fisting his cock into the small tunnel of his palms feverishly— it's such a lewd sight to behold and your mouth waters right then and there, panting out sweet, little winces when he pumps two fingers back into your core.

the capture of your orgasm hits you deep inside your constricted stomach, the strong aftershocks becoming excessively noticable due to the reappearing twitches in your hips as tears began to pearl at your lashes when you cum around his digits the second he empties himself out.

on the spot, venti moves himself on top of you the way he always yearned for, the way it just had to be, his breathing low and through gritted teeth as he shoots his warm whites over your bare torso, reaching all the way to your collarbones.

you flinch at the warm feeling, your toes curling inwards as you're giving him a few more seconds to empty himself out— messy hair strands sticking on his damped forehead as he groans deeply into his chest, then huffing out an exhausted laugh right afterwards. fuck, how he immediately sets his eyes on you to watch you relish whilst being soiled and marked up by him, being fully aware that venti cannot help himself but imprint himself on you, wether it was inside or outside, the visual perception of it alone sending a new twitch straight into his groin, his lips coated of saliva as his brain feels heavy with an obsessive amount of both bliss and lust.

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shojizbae · 1 year ago

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Rave Baby

Spencer Reid x Reader

After a long case, some of the team pitstops at your apartment, and Morgan takes the liberty of searching through some memories. He comes across some scandalous photos that light a fire in Reid.

This last case was challenging. To make it worse, the power had gone out in DC due to a blackout. With a chirp, I told the team that I always had a generator and that we could cool with some coronas in my fridge. Hotch had declined, stating the necessity of returning to his wife and son. I had thrown open all the windows and cranked the AC, attempting to push out all the hot air. With my permission, Derek had distributed beers from my fridge and found a bag of chips.

A battery-powered radio was located, and my CDs were run through to find something to unwind with. With a sigh, Emily sank onto my couch and sipped her beer.

"Uhh, I can't tell you how nice your apartment is."

"Yeah," JJ groaned from the corner, holding her hair up and sticking her face in the AC vent. Derek was still looking through my belongings when he came across a Scooter CD.

"Well, well, well, where did a girl like you find this type of music?" I looked at the album cover.

"Oh, that's from my college days." I tried to dismiss it. This isn't the sort of stuff I would share with my coworkers.

"Really? Let's go ahead and pop this in."

"No don't!" I tried to launch it at him before he could open it, but it was too late. A few photos I took the night I bought that CD slipped into his lap.

"Woah ho ho!" Spencer, who had been content to sift through my shitty romance novels, peaked his head up like a prairie dog at the sound of Derek's chuckle. "What do we have here?" He held up one photo, and I hid behind my beer bottle.

"That was years ago," I whined

"What is this?" Spencer came to the group, attention fully peaked

"It's (Y/n). At a rave." Spencer snatched the photo out of Morgans's hand like a cat but Emily nearly yelled

"Shut up, let me see." she slammed her glass bottle on the table and grabbed one of the photos from him

"No way," JJ stated, following Spencer into the circle to look at the evidence. "I could never imagine you at a rave. I've seen you get upset that you left your clothes in the washing machine."

"They'll get moldy," I whined

"Holy shit. Where was this?" Emily inspects a photo of me in a bikini, fluffy leg warmers, and a matching bucket hat. "Look at your butt where were you hiding this." She makes an attempt to check me out, but I sink further into my couch

"I don't know, I was never sober in the 72 hours around a rave."

"Oh yeah? What did you take?" Morgan begged

"All sorts of crap, mostly hallucinogens. My rave mentor told me music is better when you're high."

"So why'd you stop going?" Emily asked

"I grew up."

"You grew up?" JJ asked, putting the photo on the table

"Yeah," I rubbed my hands up and down my thigh and sighed. I wasn't entirely ready to trauma-dump the team, but here I was. "My uncle, who basically raised me, passed on Thanksgiving in the sophomore year of my bachelor's. Hallucinogens made it easy not to grieve, and loud music blocked my ability to think. I would dance around and tell everyone that 'tonight was the night,' and I was 'finally free,' but I would just see him after a while. He would ask me, 'Why are you doing this, my dove?'. I couldn't ignore him anymore, so I just stopped. Put all my teeny bikinis in a box and put it past me." I cleared my throat, realizing that I had put a damper on the mood

"We could play the CD. I think I'll still remember the rhythm." I switched in the discs and let the synth radiate through my living room. Immediately, I felt the groove, letting it carry my limbs airily around me. I felt myself disconnect as the beat continued to pump. Before I could drift away wholly, Emilie's voice brought me down to earth.

"You packed all this away? That means you still have it?"

"Yeah, in a box in the back of my closet." before I could discover my mistake, she darted to the back of my apartment, and JJ took off with her.

"Oh hell, I gotta see this." Derek got up and dropped the last of the photos. Reid dutifully packed them up and sifted through the photos, stopping on one.

"What did you find, Spence?" I crawled toward him slowly. I gasped at the photo. My Rave mom, Zoe, who was only 4 months older than me, and I were posing together. He sifted through the images with it and stacked them. I gasped at the image. The photo on the top was of Zoe throwing up a peace sign, showing the neon pink paint on her palms, and a green hand was playfully on my throat. Both of our bodies had been splattered with neon ain't, but noticeably, I had two big hands brink on the triangle bikini we wore. One pink, one green.

The picture below was of Zoe and I very dramatically kissing. Zoe had made smudged hand prints on my ass. I had a leg up on her hip, and you could see drool and lipstick around each other mouths.

"I hardly even remember that night, and I thought it was trendy to act gay." I pulled the pictures from his hand and returned them to the case. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"Why are you apologizing? Y-you had fun."

"Yeah, but you're my colleague. This is embarrassing and you probably are ashamed of me."

"Actually, I'm jealous. In college, I had no friends and didn't go to parties. I was, I am, a loser. You had fun."

"Did you not hear my spiel about using drugs not to think?"

"Yeah, but you were hot." That shocked you. He was only two beers deep, and Reid was spilling his secrets.

You laughed in shock.

"Spencer, you can't say things like that." I slapped at his chest playfully.

"WELL!" I could hear Derek's strained voice. "This!" he put the giant plastic tub on the floor next to us. "This is one heavy bucket of slutty clothes."

"I want to try something on!" JJ greedily popped the snaps on the cover. With giggles, JJ and Emily started pulling out bikinis that looked like they were made out of spider webs.

"Woah ho ho!" Derek giggled, holding up a low-rise thong. "I hope you wore a jacket."

"Alright, that's enough!" I grabbed it from his reach

"Hey, could I borrow one of these?" JJ asked. "Will has been asking for something new."

"Yeah, but don't borrow it. I don't want it back." I made a face of disgust

"Yeah, I might want to just wear one around my apartment?" Emily held something balled up

"Take as many as you want. I won't wear them again. I should sell them. I could finally go on vacation."

"Woah woah woah, if you sell these, what will you wear on vacation?" Derek joked

"Clothes." I snatched another piece of hosiery from him. My knees cracked as I stood and got another beer from the kitchen. "Now, get out of my panties." I swatted him with the bottoms as I walked by

by some stroke of God, the lights flicked back on, and across the street, I could see the surrounding building come back to life.

"Well, I've got to get to my house before my ice cream spoils." Emily stood and collected a few pieces of fabric.

"Yeah, and completely unrelated. I have to call Will." JJ juts out her lip in an admission of guilt. They snuck out the door, giggling and tucking crazy fabric in their bags.

"I should get going too, wonder boy. You need a ride home?"

"No, I should be fine. There's a train in the next hour." Reid was still immersed in the photos.

"Well, don't bug her too badly." He left with a wink

"Why are you still looking at those? They're ancient."

"The date on the back says 1998, making you 20 years old. You're 28." Finally, he puts the photos down. "I'm having a hard time picturing you going to a rave. You only read sappy novels from the seventies. I saw three copies of Tuck Everlasting on your shelves." All the talk from my coworkers and the five beers in my system made me more than angry and bold.

Stupid ideas were my biggest export when I was inebriated.

"Well, I know the FBI has kept me in shape. I'm going to my bedroom and try these on." I gave a coy smile as I took a handful of sets and strutted off to the back of my place.

"W-what do you mean you're going to try them on."

"I've gotta see if they still fit."

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #raver girl

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trashmouth-richie · 1 year ago

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𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞’𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞 :: part 1

꧁ eddie x female reader :: part 2 here

a multi chapter mini series— based on thoroughfare by ethel cain

listen here (apple music) + here (spotify)

summary: jumping into his truck at seventeen, eddie takes a journey in hopes to find love. years pass with no such luck, along the way he stumbles across you, a timid drifter who reluctantly agrees to join him, heading west. you’ve never trusted men, but something in those kind, deep colored coffee eyes stirs up a feeling you’ve never felt before. strangers to lovers trope, one bed trope.

triggers: 18+ smut

author’s note: no upside down, eddie was raised by his mom and dad in florida and they were in love.

The wet shell of a sunflower seed stuck to the tip of your finger. Slicked with salted spit and the tart bite of cherry chapstick, you hung your hand out of the passenger window, waiting for the western wind to blow the husk from your finger.

His thumb rubs against the rough edges of the flint wheel of his zippo, the sweet tang of tobacco invading your nose as the flame sparks leaving a burning cherry on the white paper. A slight chap to his lips from too much sun yesterday at the motel pool in BullHead City, you had supposed. Still, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. The only time you could was when his eyes caught yours, daring you to look away.

The way he stared at you with a smirk twisted on his mouth took every bit of breath from your lungs. Holding your gaze in a cozy embrace with the deep warmth of his russet colored eyes until you finally forced yours to break away and look out the window instead. Bottom lip bit between your lips as a growing heat travels over the apples of your cheeks.

If you would have looked back at him you’d have noticed the way he licked his lips as he watched you sigh as if you hadn’t been breathing. Snapping another sunflower seed between your teeth before putting them on the crest of your lips to put them out of the window— he had your movements memorized. Each more tantalizing than the next.

Neither of you were able to deny the tension between you lately, letting it build and fester, aching for relief in the form of pleasure.

The last eight weeks had started to wear heavy on your chest, and you found yourself daydreaming about the beginning of this adventure, like a record on an endless spin to your favorite song.

Not a single radio station would come in wherever the hell it was in Texas he was right now. With every crank of the tuning dial, only the agonizing noise of static strained through the speakers to keep him company as he drove along this highway that never seemed to end.

He cursed himself for not buying a map at the gas station he filled the truck up at this morning. His gut instinct usually guided him on which roads to take, and today was no different. Only today felt like he was pulled by something else, something deeper within himself.

The sky was a mix of cyan and cotton clouds, already hot for May, he was just about to give up on the radio before he popped over a hill and an oldies station came in clear as could be. And something else came into view, plenty far away yet.

Hot wind whipped at your shirt, providing next to nothing for comfort as you trudged along the broken asphalt. You now understood why this place was called the Lone Star State, because you haven’t seen a damn soul in miles. For today, you didn’t mind the loneliness. Leaving home, years ago, you didn’t have a destination in mind, only the knowledge that you needed to get the hell out.

Whatever highway you were on looked to be deserted. As if the state built a multi-laned monstrosity elsewhere and gave up on this slow, lonely stretch, leaving it to the elements. Prairie grass poked through the splintered road, tumbleweeds swayed in the ditches, collecting and tangling as one like a tawny bundle of barbed wire.

Looking behind you, a vehicle showed in the distance like a wavy mirage in the desert. You had half a thought to stick your thumb out and catch a ride to the nearest bus station, but when the vehicle got closer your conscience took over, and anxiety thumped in your chest.

Please don’t stop, please please.

The engine hummed to a lower gear, and you automatically put a hand on the pistol at your waistband. Moving further over to the side of the road where whoever was driving could see that you weren’t interested in their good deed, you kept your head down and kept walking.

Tires slowed and you went into a small panic, wishing you had something sharp to hold between your fingers, but the barren highway offered no such vice.

You heard faint music as the vehicle got closer, crawling almost to a stop as you quickened your steps hoping they would just keep going and leave you be.

“Pretty hot out today… need a lift?”

The voice felt like velvet on your skin, a warmth you’d never known. Endearingly charming, no southern twang like someone from Texas would have. You ignored him, letting the crunch of gravel on your worn boots answer instead.

You had never been given the luxury to trust someone, and you’d be damned if you were gonna start today with some stranger on the side of the road. Heart rate kicking up, you all but bolted to avoid him.

“Baby don’t run, I’ll take you anywhere,” his drawl wrapped around you like a vice, soft and pillowy, and finally your curiosity got the better of you, as you came to a halt. You wanted to look this asshole in the eyes and flash him the pistol you kept, maybe fire a warning shot over the hood of his truck so he’d get the message. That no, in fact you did not need a ride, not from him.

Stopping so his passenger window lined up with you in the center you eyed the only other beating heart on the side of the road.

His hair was past his shoulders, brown and wavy, more than likely frizzy in high humidity. Eyes that were shaped like Bambi’s colored like a bottomless cup of coffee without creamer. His nose sat with a fading sunburn painting along his cheeks, each dwelling a poked dimple in the center. And you swore the key to Heaven was buried in his smile.

When he spoke it was clear that his intentions weren’t to cause you any harm. Minutes ticked by as he waited for your answer.

“Hey, do you wanna see the West with me?”

It was a simple question asked from the quirked mouth of a guy you’d never met before, you would have remembered those eyes in any setting. He leaned an elbow out his window as he threw the truck in park, twisting in his seat to face you a little more. A cigarette dangling from his large hand.

The butter colored sun shone against his caramel curls like a breakfast roll full of sticky sugar, the same light changing his eyes into a whiskey auburn.

He was a complete stranger, but what was even stranger was your one word answer that spread that million dollar grin further onto his face than you thought humanly possible.

You moved your hand from that handle of the gun in your tattered jeans, bearing more holes than actual threads of denim. It was meant for situations just like this, and you had nabbed it from your dad right before you walked out the front door for the very last time.

Instinct told you to run, but something in those dark eyes brought you a wave of calm, whispering out as if you’d known him for years. Your boots had already blistered your heels from walking this far, so what the hell?

Pressing a thumb into the release of the door handle, you swung yourself and your knitted bag into the moth-bitten navajo rug that covered the seat.

His smile didn’t fade, never so much as creased into a frown as he waited for you to get situated. Before he put his truck into drive he explained where he was going.

He was making the grand gesture of looking for love like the kind he grew up watching with his own mom and dad. Explaining that love like that was out there waiting for him, and he was determined to find it, no matter the distance.

Suspicion jumped to your brow, and you tried to stifle the scowl on your lip. “What?” he chirped, a little twist to his lips, “don’t believe in stuff like that?”

This bastard clearly didn’t know heartache the way you were practically related to it. You sigh lazily before looking over at him. Trying not to break his dreams before he even had the chance to realize what a waste of time it was, you simply murmur, “honey, love’s never meant much to me, but I’ll come with you if you’re sure that’s what you need.”

After years of living and growing without being loved, it had become almost useless, something heard in songs or read in books, surely it wasn’t real. But hell, you’d humor this man whose smile danced like a western sunset against a salty ocean breeze, what was the worst that could happen?

A large calloused hand reached across the cab of the truck, and you shook it with a small grin as his voice rubbed like silk across your soul, “I’m Eddie.”

And so it began, the journey to find a love daring to be something greater than anything he’d ever known, hell bent and determined it was out there, wherever that may be.

He had asked about your life. Never pushing when your answers were too short, or ended the conversation entirely. Letting you have your space, he built a trust between the two of you that you weren’t sure about at first.

The roads were desolate, and you couldn’t imagine walking along them alone. You thanked whoever cared that your thoroughfare crossed into his, almost as if destiny had placed you there. Knowing you needed a friend after leaving the only thing you’d ever known and not having a single soul to rely on.

But as time went by, you realized just how much you could rely on him.

That first day, he drove until the windshield bled to ink. Stars dotted across the sky once the sun went to rest, and he encouraged you to follow suit, pulling a hooded sweatshirt from behind his seat and tossing it towards you. Your hesitation told him all he needed to know, that the uncertainty of him was rooted deep. Too deep for you to let your guard down around him.

That pearl handle poked out from your hip and his kind eyes met the scared look in yours. He rubs his lips together before he speaks calmly, “you uhm,” he looks over at you to show how serious this was to him, even if you couldn’t see it in the dark, “you don’t have to worry about using that with me… I’m not that kind of guy.”

His innocence spoke through his eyes in words he hadn’t said, showing you that he wasn’t lying, that you could trust him. You took a deep breath, wondering if you were insane for feeling comfortable with a guy you just met, but it wasn’t long before you whisper, “okay.”

When you snuck a peek over at him, his face was lit by the dim lights of the dash, a smirk nestled on his lips, cheeks welled with the deepest dimples you’d ever seen, and your shoulders eased for the first time since hopping in.

Neither of you spoke for the rest of the night. Your head resting on the window, his sweatshirt rolled under your neck as you fell into a sleep so tender and warm you felt like a baby being lulled to bed as he sang along to the radio.

The heat from the window warmed your cheek when you woke, leaving a less than glamourous mark. Letting out an embarrassingly long yawn, you stretch your arms above your head, feeling your back crack into submission.

“Shit, ‘m sorry, how long did I sleep?” you ask, covering your mouth again from another yawn.

Eddie smiled tiredly, his hair was wrapped into a bun at the base of his neck, sunglasses topping his nose, pushing up from his cheeks as he grins, “don’t apologize for sleeping when you’re tired,” he said, shrugging, “besides, you probably would’ve woken up if I crashed.”

A chuckle hits your dry throat and you cough, “where are we?”

“Still in Texas believe it or not,” he groans, turning it into a long yawn, holding a hand to his mouth, swallowing a bit, “I hoped we could’ve made it to New Mexico before I pulled over but I’m starting to think that ain’t gonna happen.”

You figured he would have stopped to sleep at some point in the night, even if it was just for a few hours. Guilt throttled you at the thought of him staying up while you were asleep. “I can drive while you take a nap.”

“Nah,” he says with a lazy smile, looking over at you, “not that I care if you drive my truck or not, I just think we could both use some decent sleep, watch a little tv, eat, plus… I need a shower.”

Taking a whore’s bath in the gas station sinks had kept you clean, but you almost cried outright at the thought of water, cold or hot you couldn’t care less, running down the length of your body. But the lack of money burning in your pocket stopped that dream in its tracks.

You had a couple hundred bucks left after selling off your car before leaving home. The cost efficient option would be to drive while he slept. “It’s really not a big deal, I promise I’m a good driver.”

The charm you tried to emanate when pulling out your license to show him that you indeed weren’t lying, fell flat as Eddie waved you off, “deodorant only lasts so long before we’ll have to ride with our heads outta the window.”

He laughs in your place as you stare out of the windshield, mind racing over the trouble of being able to afford a motel room.

“C’mon,” he smirks, that same lazy smile stretched on his face, you wondered if he ever got mad. “We survived almost a whole day together, if I was gonna rob you I would’ve done it already.”

“It’s not that,” you say, picking at your nails, fighting the urge to bite them to shreds, “I wasn’t walking because I wanted too…”

Wheels turn in a tired mind as Eddie nearly chokes when he realizes what you meant.

“Don’t worry about it,” he confirms, brushing you off as if it wasn’t a big deal that you’d be bunking with him for free, and when your facial expressions didn’t change, he lowered his voice, and took off his sunglasses, “seriously sweets, you’re doing me a favor keeping me company, ‘m not gonna make you pay for a trip you didn’t plan, okay?”

You sighed, and shook your head yes.

The nearest motel was a hole in the wall type of place. Adhering to the kind of people that either paid by the hour or stayed for weeks at a time. The perk being it was next to a gas station where you refused to let Eddie pay for the armful of snacks he had carried to the counter. Including two hotdogs that you couldn’t be bothered wondering how long they’d been spinning in the warmer.

His boots clunked against the sidewalk as he jumped from the bed of the pickup hauling his duffle bag over his shoulder, the hotel keys wrapped around his forefinger. Outside of you both relieving yourselves on the empty shoulder of the highway last night, this was the first time you’d seen just how tall he was.

He squints in the sun and cocks his head, “bet you a dollar the carpet is orange.”

Room 8 consisted of two full sized beds, a lamp between the two, an arm chair and a small television. A stiff neon brochure for adult channels lay next to the remote, and you scrunched your nose as Eddie pushed it to the floor with the heel of his boot.

Laying out the snacks neatly on the table, you hand him the other hot dog, licking a drop of mustard from your palm. He thanked you, and took a bite consuming almost half of it before dropping onto the bed closest to the door, laying flat on his back.

Having four walls around you gave you a sense of peace you hadn’t been expecting. Slipping off your shoes you wiggled your bare toes and sat on the bed facing away from him, rolling your socks into one another.

“How’s the hotdog?” you asked over your shoulder, moving your bag between the side of your bed and the wall for the bathroom.

A muffled sound comes from the other side of the room as he shovels another bite in, “rubbery, but not too bad for having been made at midnight.”

You snort and swing your legs into the bed. Grabbing the hotdog from the comforter and peeling back the white paper around it, taking a small bite. It was warm, and tasted a hell of a lot better than the moldy ham sandwich you ate yesterday. A satisfied hum leaves your mouth and you giggle.

“Hotdogs for breakfast… don’t think I’ve ever had this before.” You laugh again before taking another bite of the squishy snack. Eddie looks up as he chews the remaining bite, realizing this was the first time he’d ever heard you laugh loud enough for him to hear, what a beautiful sound.

“Stick with me, we’ll have breakfast for dinner, too,” his tongue pokes out to lick a smear of ketchup from the corner of his lip, and he yawns loud and proud.

You cross your feet beneath your legs, a content little smile on your face. “Do I still owe you a dollar if the carpet is also brown and green?”

Your combined laughter echoes across the wood paneling and the pictures of dogs playing poker. The two of you joke about the severely dated room, agreeing that this was probably the place to stay in its prime. But the sheets were clean and that’s about all you could ask for at this point.

Eddie’s eyes were nearly closed as he scrubs large hands down his face, his voice strained, “mind if I shower ‘fore I fall asleep?”

“Not at all,” you say, jumping from the bed and looking through the snacks to find the licorice, “take all the time you need.”

He tosses the remote to your bed and unzips his bag, pulling out a toothbrush and a clean pair of boxer briefs, a minute passes and he scratches his head before diving back into the bag, yanking out a folded pair of sweatpants.

Sighing as he peels off his boots, he walks to the bathroom door and before shutting it, he pokes his head back out, a curious little grin on his lips as he asks earnestly, “you’re not gonna run away, are you?”

You swallow the bite of licorice and smile back, “think you’re stuck with me, if that’s cool with you?”

His grin broadens to a cheshire smile and he says he won’t be long, promising to save some hot water.

Neither of you can quit the grin on your lips until the door unlocks, and Eddie mutters “cool,” to himself before leaving the steamed bathroom.

Diners with smudge stained windows and siding that was warped from the sun's rays, came few and far between on those lone, dust covered roads. Eddie had pulled into almost every one. “Never know when the next one will pop up, sweetheart,” he smirked, sending a wink your way that had your stomach fluttering.

Each menu, although stickier at some places than others, was relatively the same. Eggs, Bacon, Toast. Waffles at the fancier joints or maybe a bowl of fruit alongside a flapjack.

He watched you intently as your eyes scanned the menu, keeping his promise of having breakfast for supper a few week into your trip. His own stomach had been grumbling since you packed up from the last motel somewhere on the border of Oklahoma and New Mexico. A wrong turn near McCamey had taken you North to Amarillo, three hundred miles in the completely opposite direction.

Instead of screaming about the wasted fuel, Eddie had only shrugged. He was excited to cross into the panhandle, and to make a check along the list of states you’d scribbled onto a napkin a few days into the trip to cross off as you came through them.

That quiet, suspicious drifter he had picked up three weeks ago seemed to blossom with life the more he peeled back the bricks that you had surrounded yourself with. But Eddie was charismatic, easy to talk to, and you found yourself deep in the throes of explaining things to him you haven’t talked about in years.

When your cheeks would heat and embarrassment creeped up your neck, you apologized for talking too much. He only shook his head, a small smile on his lips as he said that he didn’t mind, he wanted to know more.

The waitress strolled back over with a cigarette hanging from her lip, a gray ash practically a mile thick on it as she grumbled about the specials and set glasses of water on the table—ice already melted besides a sliver of a stubborn cube.

“I’ll take a cup of coffee,” he charmed, folding the menu placing his hands on top of it, “two eggs hard fried, a couple of sausage patties and wheat toast, also one of those slices of lemon meringue pie I saw in the display window.”

Without so much as a grunt, the waitress lifted her eyes to look you over. Setting down the vinyl menu, you place your order and lick your lips at the thought of the homemade lard crust on the rhubarb pie.

Looking out the window to the dry landscape, you sigh with a breath of content. You had never been this far west before, never been anywhere really besides the small town you grew up in.

Two coffees sit in front of each of you and Eddie thanks the waitress, a dimpled grin on his cheeks as he opens a packet of sugar. Warm eyes look at you as he stirs the coffee into a swirl, “Nothing like home, huh?”

A smile presses to your lips and you sip the bitter liquid, chipped porcelain against your front teeth, “definitely not, the air is dry here.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, slipping the spoon into his mouth to clean the coffee up, taking a big gulp of the burnt— probably microwaved— concoction, “it is, but that’s the beauty in the journey, exploring different places, meeting new people.”

He tucks a curl behind his ear, a tiny silver hoop in his lobe, you hadn’t noticed before and you ask, “you keen on picking up strangers on the side of the road?”

A laugh bubbles from his throat, and he smiles big showing all of his teeth, “in all the years I’ve been on the road, I never have, not until you,” he takes a sip of his coffee, a pretty blush rides on his cheeks, “guess I haven’t run out of luck just yet.”

You hide your own smile, itching your nose, “how long has it been?”

Eddie thinks for a minute, “well, I left Florida when I was seventeen..,” he adds up the years on his fingers with this thumb moving to each one, “… shit,” he says with a smirk, “almost nine years now.”

He was older, not by much, but you had both left at a younger age. Calling the open road and warm air home for years. Living like a Steve Earle song sporting a two pack habit and a motel tan, it seemed like fate put you on the same road that he was traveling that day.

But you push that thought away, Eddie was looking for love, and you were just tagging along like a pet, a friend at best.

“Do you ever miss it?”

He stretches himself across the booth, arms on the back of the peeling seat, pearl snaps straining against the denim from the broadness of his chest, and you find it hard not to look, “Nah, I’ll go back someday, me and my girl.”

That flutter happens again in your stomach and you feel almost nauseous at how infectious his smile is.

You spend the rest of dinner that way, trying to shove down a grin with each bite of breakfast food as the sun fell behind the mountains. Letting the butterflies swarm, with each time he looked into your eyes.

Not knowing that Eddie was also slowly losing his own battles, leaving with something more in his stomach that was sweeter then the stiff meringue on that damn lemon pie.

🌵 taglist: @joejoequinnquinn @micheledawn1975 @dashingdeb16 @hereforshmut @welc0me-t0-hellfire @aropodcastfuck

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson drabble #eddie drabble #eddie blurb

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lxxiezz · 6 months ago

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Solace in the fields

Shadow the hedgehog x fem!mobian!reader Reader is a fem!mobian lynx! (My cute lil idea) Not proofread, sorry y'all

It was a quiet evening in your home, you peacefully lounged on your living room couch, having some soft background music playing as you read a novel you found randomly in your bookshelf earlier, your partner, Shadow was away on a mission that he didn't specify much about. You didn't bother to push for more information about it anyway, you trusted him. You hear a sudden 'whoosh!' from behind you, as your ears twitched at the sound and you whipped your head around to see Shadow, causally approaching you and placing a kiss on your forehead. "Back already?"

You ask, not expecting him to come back so soon. "Sounds like you didn't miss me." He teased, circling around the couch to sit next to you. "(Name), I would like to show you something I have found while I was away." He spoke, as you placed a bookmark into your book and quickly switching off the background music you had playing, then turning your head towards him to give him your full attention. "What, now? It's almost 11.30 pm, Shads."

You lightly protested "Trust me, my love. It will be worth it." He offered you the smallest smile, before standing up, pulling you up along with him. "Alright, alright."

Shadow held your hand as you trudged through an unfamiliar forest with him, it was pretty peaceful at this time of night, only hearing the rustling of leaves and the chirps from cricket around. "Are we nearly there yet?" You nag in a lighthearted manner. "Almost, love." He says, holding your hand as he lead you through the forest, suddenly coming to a stop. You walk forward to stand next to him, looking at the landscape in awe. The lush of the forest stopped blocking out your view, as you see a small patch of grass and pretty prairie flowers, with an outline of rock deviding the grassy patch and the edge of a cliff that Shadow brought you to. "It's beautiful.." You murmur, upon seeing the gorgeous scene. The night sky was almost cloudless and clear, the moonlight shining bright, the silvery rays of light gently illuminating the two of you. You turn to look at him with a small smile. "Not as beautiful as you." He said, voice barely above a whisper. You stifled a short laugh from the overused phrase you hear often, finding humor in how it's considered corny. "Sure, honey." You said, walking forward to sit down on the grass patch, admiring the scenery. "I mean it." You hear Shadow say, as you feel him sit beside you, you lean your head on his shoulder. "(Name).." He began, as you turn your head to look at his pretty crimson eyes. "I wanted to show you this view, because I wanted to share the beauty of it, but to also remind you how much you mean to me." He spoke, intertwining his hand with yours. Offering you the slightest ghost of a smile. "And i love you, (Name)." You offer him a sweet smile leaning in to share a kiss with him, his lips soft and tender, feels like home.. you'd think. "I love you more, Shads." You reply, as he pulled you in closer.. In these moments, you loved him for the way he made anything feel so safe and peaceful.

THERE WE GO FIC NUMBER TWO LETS GO LETS GO im also finding my writing style and the banner thing ;3

#shadow the hedgehog x reader #shadow x reader #shadow the hedgehog #sonic movie 3 #sonic #x reader #fanfic

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wh1msic4lwasab1 · 3 months ago

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⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ A Simple Life ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

synopsis: sfw headcannons w/husband!Alucard x reader living in a cottage in a prairie

tags: tooth rotting fluff

a/n: this was a request and i sobbed writing it wow i love alucard

wrd cnt: 1.3k

Cooking Together

With living this way, a lot of your food was homemade and even better for it.

One afternoon, you decide to bake a new buckwheat bread together after he found an entire field of it not too far south of your cottage.

It ends, like you thought, in chaos.

"You added salt instead of sugar!" You accuse him.

"Well…..they look the same?”

Flour ends up on the floor, on your clothes, and definitely on Alucard's nose, that last one wasn’t a mistake though.

"You've got something-" you start, but he flicks more flour onto your cheek.

"Oh, it's war now," you declare.

Flour flies through the air as the both of you duck behind counters, laughing and giggling, both covered in the powder. When it finally ends, you’re breathless and tangled on the floor, clutching each other.

"You're lucky I love you," you whisper.

"I live on that luck," he grins, brushing flour from your lips before kissing them lovingly.

Protectiveness

Though the two of you lived in peace, Alucard's protective instincts never left him, especially towards his darling.

When you walk through the forest, he always positions himself slightly between you and the trees. His eyes always scanning the shadows, though he tries to do it subtly as to not scare you.

"Are you expecting wolves?" you tease.

"Only if they're foolish enough to come near you," he replies smoothly with a smile.

In the kitchen, he always hands you the duller knife, not that he says it out loud.

He wraps scarves around your neck himself when it's cold. He double-checks the windows at night.

"Alucard," you sigh, "you don't have to guard me."

He turns to you, eyes gentle. "I know. But I want to. I know you can do it yourself, but let me do it for you.”

You rest your head against his chest, hands holding his. "Then just guard my heart."

He holds you a little closer than before. "Without question."

Love Notes

Alucard has a habit of leaving handwritten notes tucked into odd places, he doesn’t think it’s odd at all- not when every part of his being belongs to you.

You’d find them in your coat pocket: “Wear something warm. I want to take you star-gazing tonight”

For inside the sugar jar: “You're the only thing sweeter than this.”

Also in the books you read: “You are the chapter I never want to end.”

It’s cheesy, yes, but of course, you can’t stop yourself from writing back, leaving playful replies.

Sometimes, you catch him mid-note.

"Caught you," you grin, peeping into your bedroom when the door is ajar.

He smiles softly, swiftly putting the note behind him. "I like reminding you how much I love you."

"You don't have to write it down."

"I know," he says, pressing a kiss to your hand. "But I want you to find it even when I'm not near."

“What’s that one say?” You ask, referring to the one he’s hiding behind his back.

“You’ll find it soon.” He promises.

Tending to the Garden Together

Due to your lifestyle, it’s only understandable that you’d rather plant your own food than go to the villages and towns far away for your produce.

Your garden is small but lively.

You planted it together with care, each herb and flower chosen with intention.

Alucard tends to the lavender and rosemary with reverence, while you tackle the stubborn wildflowers that bloom freely around the edges.

"You've got dirt on your nose," he says, smirking.

You look up, swiping at it. "Better than being sensitive to sunlight." You get back at him.

He leans down to kiss your dusty forehead. "A small price for your love."

You both love to spend hours under the open sky, hands brushing over basil, tomatoes, and violets.

Sometimes he wraps his arms around ypu from behind, resting his chin on their shoulder.

"Think it'll grow?" you ask, looking at the lemongrass in front of you.

"It already has," he whispers, meaning more than just the plants.

At dusk, you both watch the fireflies blink over the garden. The lake reflects stars, and Alucard holds your hand like it's something sacred.

"Promise me we’ll have this forever," you say, more than ask.

He looks at you with ancient, unshakable devotion. "For as long I breathe, and long after that too.”

Reading Together by the Fireplace

Your location brings you all four seasons and each with its own unique needs, but your favorite is winter. The snow falls thick and quiet across the prairie and visits your home each year.

In the evenings, the two of you sit pressed up in a nest of quilts you knitted with some yarn he bought you from a traveling merchant. The fireplace is crackling and the snow hushed the world outside through the windows.

Alucard reads aloud, his voice low and melodic. Sometimes it's poetry, sometimes ancient texts, sometimes silly fairy tales.

“And the prince turned into a fox,” he reads, amused.

"Sounds familiar," you grin, poking his side.

He arches a brow. "Are you calling me a fox?"

"I'm calling you sneaky."

He chuckles and leans in close. "Well I'm calling you adorable, my princess."

Your soft laughter echoes off the cabin walls.

Later, the book forgotten, you curl up together and talk about everything or nothing at all.

"Do you ever miss the castle?" you ask him, a question that’s been on your mind for many seasons.

"Not when you're here," he murmurs. "This is home, our home."

Morning Routines

Arguably the best part of the day is the very early mornings at the prairie.

Every morning, Alucard wakes before the sun rises. Not out of necessity-just so he can admire the person he loves most before the world stirs.

Before the rays of sunlights seeping into your room wake you, he takes the time to brushe stray hair from their forehead, kisses you softly, and murmuring, "I could watch you for centuries and never tire." You, still wrapped in blankets, usually stir awake with a smile and giggles as he kisses your lips awake.

"You're staring again," you mumble, slowly opening their eyes.

"Always," he replies.

You spend quiet mornings brewing tea in your little kitchen, the same sunlight slanting through the windows as they follow you two throughout your routine, like ritual. Alucard always insists on serving you first, placing the warm mug into your hands with the kind of reverence saved for holy things.

“You act like l'm made of glass."

"No," he says, kissing your temple and placing your plate infront of you. "You're made of stars.”

Stargazing

Speaking of stars, most nights, you two sit out by the lake under a heavy wool blanket, backs against a smooth boulder, watching stars blink awake in the darkening sky.

"Tell me a story," you ask one evening, as you usually do. You know your husband is a walking museum of time, full of anecdotes. But he also loves to make up his own, for your entertainment of course.

Alucard tilts his head, thinking. "Once there was a lonely prince in a castle of shadows, until a light found him and taught him to laugh again, just what he needed and more."

"Was the light pretty?" You say, clearly catching on to his flirting.

"The prettiest. Blinding, really." He mentions, chuckling deeply.

You laugh and rest their head on his shoulder. "You're shameless." You say, poking his side. That bastard, daring to be so sweet it made you dizzy.

"I'm in love," he says simply.

Your fingers intertwine over the blanket.

Alucard's thumb brushes slow circles. The stillness like the lake reflects the same love between you, deep and gentle.

He looks at the stars and then at you. "I used to think quite often, I was too broken for this."

You squeeze his hand. "You were just waiting to be loved right."

He kisses your knuckles. "I was waiting for you. Every day."

whimsic4alwasab1 ™ - do not copy, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own.

#alucard #castlevania #castlevania community #castlevania fanfiction #castlevania nocturne #castlevania alucard #alucard imagines #alucard tepes #tepes #adrian tepes #adrian castlevania #adrien tepes #castlevania art #vampires #vampire #vampire fanfiction #sfw #headcannons #fluff

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m3ridiem · 7 months ago

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“trouble's always gonna find you, baby. and so will i.” — VI.

notes: criminal!vi, modern au, was gonna add some spicy stuff but i remember i have no skills to write that. made this after listening to that one song over and over again for two weeks;)

criminal!vi who always doing crimes for living, who took you across every state line with her old truck to the very west side of the country, breaking the ATMs when it comes past midnight then hitting the gas to get away from the place before police could arrive, who always sleeping naked next to you in the motel when it gets really hot outside, her hands gently caressing your bare back. the next morning you wake up find her absent from the room, not even five minutes later you find her fighting with another motel guest outside after hearing her shouted “fuck you, you old fuck!” you didn’t know why she was that mad, seeing how bad the bruises that old man got on his left eye. “he hurled slurs at me while I was sitting peacefully outside,” she explained later.

you absolutely knew what she was always doing, even when the first time you met her months ago. vi is a criminal, a well-known wanted person who somehow always managed her way to escape. yet you, brought up in a well-mannered family, found yourself deeply attached to her, head over heels, completely smitten, you even chose to leave your family, embracing the risk, even when your mother threatened to disown you if you dared to step out of that grand house. you swore you'd never leave vi alone, even if she lost what was left of her mind, driven by madness. trouble will always find her, and so will you.

criminal!vi who left you months after the motel incident, three weeks after you both settled in a dilapidated house amidst the prairie, in the middle of nowhere. waking up to find her absence in the bedroom, calling out her name for hours while searching for her throughout the place, only to find a small note tucked between the cushions of an old sofa. “i surrendered myself to the police. you shouldn't have fallen so hard for me because you deserve much better. like your mother said a long time ago, i am nothing but a criminal who would drag your life into an endless chaos. never search for me again.”

#vi arcane x reader #vi x reader #vi arcane #vi x you #arcane x reader #arcane league of legends #lesbian #lgbtq #arcane #vi x y/n

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multiheadcanons · 1 month ago

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A (CURRENTLY) SOBER TAKE ON A PREVIOUSLY DRUNK POST. MERCS AND ALCOHOL

scout: scout will not admit that alcohol is some of the nastiest shit in the world since actual excrement fresh out of the colon. what he will do instead is order a girly drink. he doesn’t care that a cape cod is just vodka and cranberry juice and a lime. he’ll drink five of those. beats a beer any day of the week. and he gets shitfaced. cut him off after three or he will throw up in your car, or on you. whenever that fourth drink hits.

soldier: soldier is exclusively a beer drinker. he will always pick a beer over any other liquor, wine, spirit, or cider out there. he wouldn’t say he has a favorite, particularly, he isn’t the one shopping so he doesn’t feel right specifying any kind of beer. he will drink whatever is bought for him. it all tastes the same. like marginally bad water. extremely high tolerance, he can go through a case of beer in two days.

pyro: pyro isn’t particularly a drinker. pyro doesn’t have many vices at all, when it comes to controlled substances! but if everyone else is drinking, then they’ll get themselves a little fruity drink with a crazy straw. they can appreciate a good glass of sangria! but mainly they’re not using alcohol to get a buzz going. they’re more likely to use it to get a good flame going! would be a big fan of frozen margaritas with a sugar rim, or precarious and pretentious cocktails with vibrant presentations.

demoman: alright, i’m half a cocktail in. let’s do this. the scrumpy demo drinks is based off of a cider, which makes me think that demo was, at some point in time, not a liquor drinker. now he’s an alcoholic, and he just genuinely doesn’t care what is put in his body as long as it has an alcoholic content. this is what leads to him drinking cleaning products and hydrogen peroxide. but he does prefer ciders. wine is not included on that list. he just doesn’t like the taste, and will only drink it if it’s the only thing in the base.

heavy: alright i’m a full cocktail and half of some other thing in, im at half a buzz, let’s really go. heavy is a liquor drinker, in all of its forms and variants. i know the man will appreciate a good gin and tonic. he’s really not a beer drinker, it’s not strong enough to be nearly as gross as it is. and that’s why he will opt for a shot and a chaser, or a simple cocktail. vodka cran (vodka and any juice, really), gin and tonic, rum and coke if there’s nothing else for him. he stays away from wine because his wine drunk is another level, and he never remembers what happened. he just gets amused stares and whispers about him in the hallway.

engineer: you wouldn’t think it looking at him, but he’s quite the enjoyer of mead. it’s nice and sweet, but strong as hell, and he likes that. he will get very fucked up very fast if nobody’s keeping track of his alcohol consumption. but truthfully, it’s that way for most alcohols and engineer. if nobody else is keeping track, he’s not either. he’s a social drunk. and i specify drunk and not just drinker because there is no getting a couple drinks unless one of you is keeping track. he is not a fan of ciders. it’s too much like soda, and that’s not his favorite thing either. will never take a chaser.

medic: the doctor will always reach for a beer before he reaches for any other alcoholic beverages. blame it on him being german if you want, it’s just what he goes to. he’s never looking to get drunk, he’s just looking for a good buzz. hates IPAs, loves a good sour beer. i know he would chug a watermelon girlfriend from prairie. to add to that, his counterpart would love the blueberry boyfriend. they’re so good… medic, much like engineer, suffers from the fact that if nobody else is keeping track of his alcohol consumption, he’s not either. he might keep a thought of it in the back of his head, but it is quickly forgotten when someone puts a glass in his hand and tells him to drink.

sniper: sniper will drink anything as long as it will get him fucked up, but he has to be in the mood to drink. newsflash, sniper is rarely, if ever, in the mood to drink. sniper does not recreationally drink unless there is no other substance available. he is definitely more of a smoker. he just thinks alcohol is nasty. and he hates the experience of getting and being drunk. at least if he smokes he can still do his job, but he cannot do his job and be drunk. he really doesn’t know how demo does it!

spy: spy is a wine connoisseur and that’s all he’ll ever tell anyone. he likes to keep his experience with liquors close to his chest. what that means is spy is an ultra mega lightweight. he can’t get more than two shots before he’s stumbling into people. so he sticks to just a couple of glasses of wine. he’s more open to push that if everyone else is drinking to get fucked up, but he takes a little trip around the room to see if this is an instance where he can do so.

#team fortress 2 #team fortress two #tf2 medic #tf2 heavy #tf2 pyro #tf2 sniper #tf2 engineer #tf2 scout #tf2 spy #tf2 soldier #tf2 demoman #tf2 demo #tf2 #sorry to everyone not in my time zone i def meant to put this in the queue but i fell asleep #i went to the pool yesterday and today is the ren faire #just a busy busy weekend!

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popp1n · 1 month ago

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GHOSTING THE GOVERNMENT

|masterpost| ao3

Chap 1: A Not-so-Ghostly Getaway

Pt 4

The faded green exit sign for the State Park loomed ahead, weathered decals indicating only a couple miles drive to a dusty salvation. Jazz, her hands slightly more relaxed and confident on the steering wheel, executed a smooth, almost imperceptible turn off the interstate. The car, though having seen better days, responded obediently, carrying its cargo of empty chip bags and discarded soda cans with hardly a rattle.

“About time,” Tucker grumbled from the passenger seat, stretching his arms over his head. “My eyes are starting to blur from all these interstate signs.”

In the back, Danny, who just hours before was a restless whirlwind of nervous anticipation, was slumped against the window, his usually vibrant blue-green eyes dull and darting nervously. His leg bounced a frantic, incessant rhythm against the floorboard. Sam, perched behind him, leaned forward, her usually calm demeanor tinged with a quiet excitement. “It’s perfect, though, isn’t it? Miles of open space. No one for miles. We can really… disappear. Or, well, we'll come one step closer."

Jazz spared a glance to the front passenger seat, catching Danny’s haunted, twitching reflection. “We need to make this car look like it’s been through a natural disaster. Something that screams ‘we just went off-roading for fun,’ not ‘we’re trying to lose a tail.’” She navigated the initial paved road, which quickly dissolved into a pockmarked gravel track, kicking up a thick plume of reddish dust. “The idea is to get it dirty enough to legitimately explain why the tracker might stop working after a car wash. We want to destroy the tracker, not the Corolla itself.”

“Operation: Dirtbag Corolla is a go,” Tucker announced, already eyeing the terrain. “I’m thinking a good deep rut to really cake the undercarriage, maybe some mud flung onto the windshield for that authentic ‘I was just driving through a prairie’ look. Something that says ‘adventurous teens on a detour, definitely not avoiding government surveillance.’”

Sam, however, was already in her element. As the car lumbered deeper into the park, the landscape shifted from forests to a majestic, eroded wonderland of sheer cliffs and splashing waterfalls. She leaned out the window, breathing deeply. “I can feel it, can’t you? The quiet. The sheer… ancientness of it all.” Her fingers trailed through the dust on the window frame. There was something about Sam; a natural empathy, a connection to the world around her that bordered on the mystical. Ever since Overgrowth hijacked her body several years ago now, she seemed to draw comfort from the raw, untamed earth.

They found a secluded campsite just a scant few hours before the sun began its dramatic ascent, painting the sky in lush pinks and purples to chase away the midnight blues. The Corolla, now a magnificent monument to vehicular abuse, was parked off to the side, caked in so much mud it looked like it had wrestled a badger. Tucker, with his meticulous eye for detail, had even managed to ensure that the dirt was strategically placed for maximum impact at the car wash, without risking any actual damage to the vehicle. He immediately set to work, pulling out a device to evaluate the tracker.

While Tucker was busy running diagnostics, and Sam was meticulously arranging rocks around their small campfire, Danny found himself drawn away from the familiar hum of their anxieties. He wandered a short distance from the flickering light, drawn by the deep indigo of the sky, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his shoulders hunched.

He lay flat on his back on a surprisingly soft patch of grass, the coolness seeping through his worn t-shirt. Above him, the velvet blackness of the night was slowly, gloriously, coming more into focus as he gazed upon it. First, faint pinpricks of light, then more, and more, until the entire dome of the sky was a glittering tapestry of stars, stretching from horizon to horizon. It wasn’t just stars; it was the Milky Way, a shimmering river of cosmic dust and light, starkly visible without the oppressive glow of city lights.

Danny had seen stars before, of course, but never like this. In Amity Park, they were a distant, filtered memory obfuscated by an increasing number of street lights. Here, they felt close enough to touch, an almost overwhelming presence. But even this couldn't entirely quell the frantic beat of his heart. The knot of fear in his stomach, tight and cold, loosened a smidge. The constant hum of suspicion, the whispers of “unidentified ecto-energy signatures” and “unexplained phenomena,” seemed to recede, dwarfed by the sheer immensity above, but the feeling of being watched, of being hunted, still prickled at the back of his neck.

He felt a soft thud beside him and turned his head to see Jazz settling down, mimicking his position. Her usually furrowed brow, a permanent fixture of her academic intensity, was smoother tonight, softened by the starlight.

“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” Jazz murmured, her voice a hushed whisper, as if afraid to disturb the profound silence.

Danny nodded, unable to articulate the depth of his feelings, still feeling a tremor deep inside. “It’s… huge. And we’re… not.” He paused, searching for the right words, his gaze flitting nervously from star to star. “These past couple months, I felt like… like I was shrinking. Like the world was closing in. And then we started driving, and it was still closing in, but now… now it feels like it’s opening up… but what if it’s a trap?”

Jazz reached out, her fingers gently brushing his. “That’s the beauty of it, Danny. The universe doesn’t care about our petty squabbles, our human anxieties. It just is. And seeing that, it puts things into perspective.” She shifted slightly, propping herself up on an elbow, looking at him. “You’ve been carrying so much, little brother. Too much. But out here, under all this… it’s a reminder that there’s something bigger than all of us. And that means there’s something bigger than them, too. They’re just people, Danny. Even with all their resources, they’re still just people.”

He let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “I thought… I thought we’d never feel free again. Not really free. It felt like they were closing in, like they were going to find me out, no matter what. Like it was only a matter of time.” He looked back up at the stars, a newfound clarity struggling to emerge in his gaze. “But looking at this… it’s like a promise. That we’re getting closer. Just like those stars are so far away, but you can still see them. And you know they’re real.”

Jazz’s eyes, usually so analytical, held a rare warmth. “We’re almost there, aren’t we, Danny?” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Almost free.”

A sense of profound comfort, though still tinged with a persistent hum of anxiety, settled over him, a feeling he hadn’t experienced since before his life had been turned upside down. The chill night air, the soft rustle of the long grass, the vast, comforting blanket of stars overhead – it all coalesced into a single, overwhelming sensation of fragile hope.

“Yeah, Jazz,” Danny said, a genuine smile finally touching his lips, though his leg still jiggled a nervous tremor. “We’re almost there.”

#ghosting the government #dcxdp #dc x dp #dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton #danny phantom #fanfic #i wasnt in the mood to research state parks along the theoretical route they're taking #take all nature scenery descriptions with a grain of salt #potential minfic of them lobbing mud at this poor car #i dont care who writes it

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sawdustandstardust · 16 days ago

Text

broadcast signals (mel king x frank langdon)

the kingdon hunger games au

Additional Tags: Drug Use and Abuse; Frank/Abby fail-marriage; Pre-Affair; mentor!Frank; tribute!Mel; “will ruin my life and credit to bring her home” etc.; cleaning out the WIP folder and consolidating old projects so UNFINISHED and UNEDITED FYI; first mention (?) of season 2 mystery boy james in fanfic (?) lmao

When memories of Frank’s games replay in his mind, they’re tinged in sepia.

Enormous mountains and canyon ranges that enclosed a death valley on each side. The arena design was one of the most innovative the games had ever seen; if viewed aerially, it would’ve compared to the wobbly rings of a cut tree trunk. Each ring a different horror, infinitely spinning around and around.

He remembers the moment of looking at the open stretch of cracked, dried land. At the terrifying, far-off dust storm that’s dangerously close to cross over the horizon line, barreling past a backdrop of far-off canyons—stratum rendered in reds, sandy browns, and purples that bloom like a bruise. The chaotic mix of prairie dirt and desert wind and heat tangles like a knotted ball of yarn and he think this is it. This is when I’m going to die.

Frank gets lucky when the massive threat loses momentum before it made its way to his makeshift camp, dissolving into the morning breeze as quickly as it materialized. He finds out later that night, while looking up at the cold night sky, that six tributes died in the storm. Doesn’t cry. Couldn’t risk dehydration. The arena had drought baked into its creation. Divine design. Frank’s determined to not be its next sacrifice.

This drive will garner him the Panem-wide reputation of being an uncaring asshole, because minuscule cameras are scattered throughout every area of the games. Hundreds of hours of unique footage, are logged and uploaded to the Capitol 24-hour game stream.

And every time a fellow competitor is killed, no one watching ever sees Frank Langdon weep. Even when his bare, sunburnt fists brutally beat into the final tribute's skull—James. District 1, sun-drenched, blonde, golden boy who carried around a fucking sponsored sword like an apocalyptic knight—and keeps going. Far after the canons blast, even after the pain shooting from his spine makes him vomit on the ground. Hit after hit after hit.

The valley makes him feral, his kill count in the teens. A product of his environment, where he only received one sponsored gift—a first-aid medical kit following a near-deadly bite from a genetically modified desert kingmaker—during the entire fifty-six days of his games. Head down, Robby wrote in the attached note. Keep going. Don’t stop.

District 6 doesn’t cheer at his homecoming. Applause is for heroes, not for scrappy, stray dogs that got lucky. Frank never willingly goes back.

(But, no matter how much he networks and drinks and fucks and marries his way into the Capitol, he becomes the District 6 stereotype anyway, spending his nights floating away on morphling, desperately trying to always outrun the hot, arid sun.)

So much had been written over the years about the parasocial connection between victors and the Capitol citizens who bankroll their futures. Articles profiling games-enthusiasts who spent thousands of coins on just one night with their favorite victor. Entire virtual communities dedicated to cataloging their every move, confirming the canon of their games. Shaky videos and shoddy transcriptions used to fuel speculation and fantasies, with victor themed AI chat-bots raking in millions of hits every year.

His wife, Abby, runs her hands through his hair.

“You were my favorite,” she’d whispered, “begged daddy to send you money for that med kit on day fifteen. Frank, you looked so bad.”

He places kisses along her temple, on her soft cheeks as his hips thrust inside her. Her family managed a government-backed jewelry conglomerate. When they met at the end of his victory tour, she giggled into her champagne flute, confessed to stalking him on the Capitol game feeds, compulsively watching highlights from each day over and over. All my friends wanted James to win, but I always liked brunettes better.

In the after, they will unconsciously untangle themselves from one another in their sleep. Return to their own bedsides and pillows, growing cold due to the cavernous space between their bodies.

Every year is the same.

Go to the reaping ceremony. Watch the light from two children's eyes completely extinguish. Haphazardly prepare them for the arena, do his best to charm sponsors. Never succeeds. District 1 still hates his guts and District 6 doesn’t have the public relations capital to pull interest. His tributes rarely make it into the top twelve and Frank spends the days after their murders locked in his expensive apartment, high out of his mind.

This round, he doesn’t bother to learn anything about his tributes, both weak-armed thirteen year olds who stare out the window the whole train ride to the Capitol. Nothing matters, because they’re not the one everyone is talking about.

“Did you see the blond girl from District 3? Sister would not stop screaming when her name was called,” Heather, from District 7, tells him. “It was so bad that they edited it out when they aired the nightly recap on the servers. Twins. Days away from their nineteenth birthday. So close to aging out from all this.”

“Does John have a plan?” Frank envied the District 3’s mentor, who seemingly never lets the stress of the games get to him.

“Same as always? Damned if they win, damned if they don’t. Nothing ever changes.”

On the third day of training, the scores are announced and Frank’s own ten rings in his ears like the death canon. His mentees score a three and a four; they probably won’t make it past the opening rush towards the cornucopia. Always tell them to run in the opposite direction but they never listen. The girl from District Three scores a seven.

Good. Middle of the pack, not a push-over, but not immediately a threat.

Mel mel mel! I’m sure everyone here is curious about all things YOU! What can you tell us that nobody else knows?

I’m…really excited to be here and want to win the games for my sister, Becca. It’s just us and our mother back in our district and I would like nothing else than to go back home to them.

Hordes of avant-garde clad bodies caudalise outside the tribute parade arena. Frank doesn’t really give a fuck about any of this. Wants nothing more than to rip the sheer shirt he’s currently wearing off his body; wash away the glitter highlighter that Princess and Perlah promised looked like the shimmering paint of the District 6 built trains of Panem. Wants to go back home and fade out—

—a body bumps into his: a human tornado of thin wires and reflective fabric and blinking lights that practically screams out District 3, blonde hair braided into two intricate twists, pinned in the back at the nape of her neck. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t…”

“It’s okay. There’s a lot going on. Mel, right?”

“Uh, yes. That’s me!” She flashes a small, nervous smile and Frank can’t help being charmed by her slight enthusiasm, the way she fiddles with her hands in front of her.

“Frank Langdon, District 6,” he holds out his hand, cocking his head to the side when she doesn’t take it. Smart.

“I know who you are. My sister and I watched your games. I’m sorry about your back.”

“All in the past now,” he plays off. Mel doesn’t need to know that’s how the morphling stuff began. Pain management that then transformed into Everything management. That's what her life would be like if she won: an unsteady, treacherous diet of unhealthy coping mechanisms. “You did a good job in your interview. People love the family angle…great for sponsorships. Public investment.”

God, he sounded just like those Capitol assholes that Robby and him always complained about, who cared more about optics and performance and algorithms than anything real.

“I told the truth,” Mel mumbles, confused.

“Truth’s dangerous in a place like this. Authenticity’s a vulnerability. Protect it.”

“Did you?”

“No. I sold it.” Frank doesn’t mean to fumble with his wedding band—golden and opulent—but it’s a fidgeting compulsion he can’t shake and Mel’s attention fixes on his hands. “Don’t make the same mistakes I did.”

“Well, I need to survive all this first. Won’t mean much if I bleed out from an arrow in the shoulder.”

“Trident,” he corrects and fuck, she wasn’t suppose to know that, but…if this one piece of information gets her a little bit closer to home, then his mistake will be worth it. “Hope you can swim and catch fish.”

Because two days ago, Abby’s father called, bragging about the official Hunger Games tie-in deal he secured with this year’s gamemakers. Necklaces, bracelets, anklets, all designed to look like delicate fish scales against the skin. They will be all the rage in the districts. Sea chic.

Frank leans in close now, voice low against the celebratory cacophony of a post-tribute parade festivities: “Don’t drink the water. I have no clue what the game makers did to it, but it’s bad. Slowly liquifying organs from the inside bad.”

Mel doesn’t immediately respond. Instead, she nods, the lights of her costume winking back at him. Reflective in the lenses of her glasses. Why didn’t her team fix her eyesight? What might happen when those glasses get knocked off and she can’t see?

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me now. Make it out of there and then come find me.”

One District 6 tribute steps off their platform before the timer finishes its countdown and the other drowns in the first ten minutes. Years later—when someone asks him who they were—Frank will struggle to remember their names.

Mel knows how to swim and is more than careful not to inhale any water into her mouth. Eight tributes die in the first twenty-four hours; she is not one of them.

“Whose your favorite, babe?” Abby asks, curled up on their long, velvet sofa as Gloria’s face beams from the TV screen, recalling all the highlights from the first game day. “Now that your little ones are out of contention.”

Dead, Abs. They are dead for nothing besides your continued entertainment.

“You know I don’t play favorites with the other districts. Bad for business.”

“I think you like the District 3 girl. Mel? Reminds me of you. A lot of gumption. Grit. A little naive. She’ll be popular if she wins.”

I know and Frank will do anything to make sure she’s not.

#kingdon #langdonmel #melfrank #the pitt #my fic #ship: kingdon #tv: the pitt #lost steam on this a while ago but reworked the first part from a wip from years past and i’m strangely proud of it

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jumbojazzcats93 · 1 year ago

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Should've been a Cowboy - Soap

Summary - Cowboy Johnny has a penchant for keeping a woman on her toes.

Tags/Warnings - Should've been a Cowboy by Toby Keith, MDNI 18+, smut, cussing, drinking, biting, anxiety, religious values, old fashioned mindsets, part 1 of ????

@glossysoap @lordlydragon @grizzersmamma @ivymarquis @gremlingottoosilly @quietlyignoringyou @violet-phantoms @ghastlybirdie Banners by @/saradika-graphics

A woman living alone in the prairie was a risk. Bandits or crude cowboys could come along whenever they wanted and wreak havoc on your little homestead. By the grace of God, it never happened, but the threat was always there.

Your livestock guardian dogs would alert if any uninvited guests appeared, but the nights were always relatively uneventful. Stray coyotes came to test the worth of your dogs, but you'd never been given instance to doubt their abilities. It's why you jumped sky high, 2 steps out onto your front porch when you went out for your morning chores on the farm. A large body laid limp in your rocking chair; boots still on and hat drawn down over his eyes. Your 2, apparently worthless, dogs were laying next to the man's feet, sheepishly wagging at the sight of you.

You snatched the towel from your belt and began whipping at him with it. "Johnny MacTavish! How dare you sleep on my porch!" Johnny flings himself from the chair, stumbling to the ground. Your towel finds him over and over, "Stop, Lass! Please, I'm sorry!" His hand finally grabs a hold of the towel, "I didn't wanna wake ya up last night!" You stare at him on the ground as you both held tightly onto the towel... before releasing it and letting him fall back. Hands on your hips, you looked down at him, "You scared me!" He slowly sat up with a sheepish smile and you sighed, fighting against your own smile with pursed lips. "Come on inside and get cleaned up, then." Snatching your towel back from him and turning to the door, you glanced back at him still sprawled on your porch as you headed back inside.

One bath later and you're cleaning up your kitchen while Johnny's sat at your dining table scarfing down the fresh breakfast you'd made him. You'd zoned out; staring out the window at the extra horse that now grazed in your pasture. "I missed you, dearie." Warm breath whispered against your neck, jolting you out of your daze. His strong arms slid around your waist in a soothing effort. "It's been so long... what were you doing?", you questioned. Johnny squeezes his arms and presses his face into the crook of your neck, "Well... I won't taint your lovely mind with such gritty tales." You hummed absently. "Dont fret, bonnie girl... You know I always come back."

That he did... but he would never stay long.

Coming into the parlour room at the end of the day felt odd. Seeing Johnny fast asleep in one of your arm chairs makes you wonder, again, what he had been doing all this time. Normally, he'd never be away longer than a month, but this time you'd been alone for almost 8 months. At first, you'd wait on the porch some nights. By the end of the second month, some nights became every night, and by the end of the fourth month you'd given up on the idea of him coming back. You're not really sure if the things he did were legal, if he had other women. He never went into detail about his exploits, but you always knew it was safer not knowing.

You sit on the arm chair opposite to him with a cup of strong cider. A new and nasty little habit you'd had to hide from the other ladies in your congregation when they came to visit. They'd been wanting so badly for you to marry and had no idea why you'd been so disinterested in all the suitors that had come from town. Your eyes focuse in on Johnny. Watching him sleep put you at ease for the time being. He never wanted anything from you, but that was half the problem. Other men saw something material to gain when they approached you. Your farm and all your property were a great asset after all. Johnny was straightforward. He wanted nothing, but your attention when he was here.

When was the key word. People in town would be scandalized to know of his irregular presence in your home.

Before you knew it your cup was dry. Sighing and briefly clenching the cup in your hands, you stood from your seat. "Johnny...", you called out gently to his sleeping mass. He made no move to wake as you slowly approached. The firelight lit his tan skin in such a complementary way that you let out an appreciative sigh. Shirt slightly unbuttoned, legs spread wide, his body slumped into the chair with his head lolled to the side. "Johnny.", you called louder. A lack of response made you come closer until you stood between his legs. Reaching out, you ran a hand up his chest to his neck where you brushed your thumb across his cheek. His head shifted to rest against your hand and he peeked one eye open. "Coming onto a man while he sleeps is rather uncouth now, dearie." An uncontrollable smile broke out on your face in response.

His hand grabbed yours and slid it to his lips for a kiss while his other hand grabbed the waistline of your skirt to pull you closer. Tired eyes held yours as another kiss was placed against your palm. Your knee rested on the cushion between his thighs; a deep inhale and his eyes fluttering shut were the only indication he had felt your knee pressing against the crotch of his pants. "Come to bed?", you whispered. After a pregnant pause, he dramatically slumps back into the seat, "Carry me." You scoff a laugh and pull yourself free from him. He grabs at you like a phantom. You're just barely out of his immediate reach.

"If you're not upstairs by the time I'm out of my day wear, you'll be locked out for the night." An empty threat that you know he knows, but he gives a dramatic start anyways. "You wouldn't dare.", he counters dramatically. You back up slowly as he rises, both of you wearing playful grins. By the time he's chasing you up the steps, the brightness of his smile has left your relentless worries in the shadows.

The boards of the second floor groan under your hurried and careless steps. Johnny has you cornered in the upstairs hallway within seconds. His eyes are alight with something wild and his canines glint in the candle light as he grins from ear to ear. Your heart is hammering in excitement within your chest. You reach out a hand to touch his chest as he draws nearer. Your fingers brush against his exposed skin as your back thumps against the wall. Eyes meet and he looks feral. You can only imagine what you look like to him with your skin flushed from drink, hair sitting loose after your playful chase. His eyes shift to your hair as he reaches for a loose lock and gently twirls it around his finger, murmuring, "You should know better than to play games with me when I've been away for so long, lass." Johnny slides his finger down your throat, following it with his gaze. You lick your lips and his eyes lock onto the movement.

"You've been rather cold to me all day." He muses and looks up to meet your eyes. "I did miss you.", he reaffirms.

It's almost jarring to be reminded of your unease and uncertainty in this state. The questions about where he'd been and who he'd been with. Were there other women like you? Did he really think of you when he was gone? Why had he been away so long this time?

A warm hand runs firmly from the top of your breast up to your neck until two hands are tilting your head up and your eyes are focusing back in on Johnny. "Don't think about it so much."

"I thought you'd gone home to Scotland... and I'd never see you again."

Your words are quiet. He sighs deep with his thumb brushing your cheek affectionatly as he leans in and kisses you. It's avoidant of him, but it's nothing new... so you let it go. Give in to him knowing it'll just drive him away if you don't.

You let him pick you up and carry you into your bedroom. As he lays you down on your bed, your skirt slides up your legs drawing his attention. Johnny falls to his knees in front of you; taking your leg and throwing it over his shoulder, he laves wet kisses along your inner thigh. Upon reaching the softest part, he bites down making you gasp out. The bite is hard enough to know that the mark left behind will bruise before the night is over. Johnny pulls your underwear down and your heart races. It's another thing the ladies of your congregation would be scandalized by; premarital sex. It was even worse that you had no defined relationship with Johnny. You'd been personally, religiously, and if anyone found out, socially ruined for any other man.

Your arm flew up to cover your face and Johnny chuckled at your embarrassment. His fingers graze your cunt before slowly pressing in. Your face pressing deeper into your arm. It wasn't like you'd never laid with Johnny before, but 8 months was a long time and you'd forgotten the intensity of it all. Suddenly, his fingers are pulling out of you and his tongue licks a fat stripe up your slit before sucking on your clit causing you to jolt forward a bit and squeal. "Eeeaasy, lass." Johnny shushes you as he stands up, undoing his jeans. You watch wide eyed as he pulls his cock out. He reaches out, dragging his fingers along your slit to collect your juices and uses it to wet his cock. "Take a deep breath for me, dearie." A smirk creeps onto his face, "I'm sure you've been waiting for me like a proper little lady."

The feeling when he slides his cock into you is electrifying and it has you letting out a soft, shakey moan. He starts with shallow, gentle thrusts. Taking your legs and wrapping them around his hips, he props one knee on the bed. His hands slide up your thighs until he's gripping your hips. When you look back up at his face, he's watching you. The way you look at him must spark something because he suddenly grabs your thighs and presses them right up to your chest. While it's something he's done before, it's been so long that the sensation is just too overwhelming. You moan loudly, struggling in his hold a bit as he starts to lose that gracious bit of gentleness he'd afforded you. His thrusts are an even pace, but their hard; striking your gspot everytime. In this position you know you won't last very long. You're clenching tightly on his cock, an absolute moaning mess as he fucks you.

Johnny lets go of your thighs and leans forward onto his hands. Still thrusting into you, he reaches one hand to your face, brushing his thumb over your lips. You moan and he slides his fingers into your mouth. The ones previously inside your cunt. You're holding his stare while you suck on his fingers. His mouth hangs open, panting and his shaggy Mohawk sticks to his forehead with sweat. In a defiant move you bite down. Not enough to hurt, but enough to elicit a reaction. His hips buck erratically when you do causing you to moan his name and let his fingers go. His hand is instantly on your jaw forcing you to look at him. "What a brave little lass you are, biting me." His chuckle and aggressive tone strike through your body and make your pussy clench. "Ahh... yeah, love, I knew you liked it a little rough." He reaches his free hand down as he speaks and slaps your clit. "Just took a little while for you to show it."

Your orgasm is building up the more he teases you, all you can do is nod and moan eagerly in agreement, praying he doesn't stop. You grab onto his forearms and look down to watch his cock as he fucks it into you. The way your body reacts must be so familiar to him at this point because he slows down and grinds into you, still playing with your clit as he feels you reach the start of your orgasm. Your pussy spasms wildly as you cum. Your head falls back and your stomach clenches while your loud moans fill the house. Johnny's groaning is drowned out by the blood rushing in your ears as you relax. He's fucking you through your orgasm to desperately reach his own and it doesn't take long. With a whispered, "Fuck." His thrusts become frantic, his panting gets louder until he quickly pulls out and grabs your hand; guiding you to jerk him off. His hand squeezes and guides yours until he's cumming all over your stomach and cunt with a loud moan. His hips buck involuntarily as he overstimulates himself.

Your gentle puffs mix with his heavy pants. You watch his body jolt as you let go of his cock and use your clean hand to reach out to his face. Your hand slides from his cheek to the back of his neck. He's leaning down before you even have to pull him. Leaning up and meeting him in the middle, you share a final heated kiss.

#call of duty #call of duty mwii #cod 141 #cod mw2 #141 x reader #cod x reader #soap cod #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #soap mw2 #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish #female reader

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