#Fibers Spews | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sundrlands · 1 month ago

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‘below the mouth’ j. sunderland x fem reader

minors dni

cw: in the dark, shoe riding/humping, light oral fixation/spit play, slightly messy, james is depicted as a pervert, sub leaning james with him being dominant at times, obsessive(j.), mutual masturbation(?), squirting, breeding, james is in his mid to late thirties. reader uses she/her pronouns.

summary: james… your coworker. the man who seems so hardworking, headstrong and devoted to his work… is nothing but a pervert enticed with the very being that you are… he can’t help but to see you as art— a canvas to paint on… as if his hands were paint… and his fingertips as the bristles, sketching out his greed with his lips and his words.

a/n: more porn than plot, forgive me. not too fond of this one and kept eyeing it over and over over and ended up truly hating this… nonetheless i hope you find some enjoyment in this one. i did not proofread…

oh james… what ever shall he do?

poor thing, constantly wrapped up in his own mind… unable to tame the growing thoughts that mutated within him. being lonely does things to a person… the years of suppression only made his longing for intimacy fester in the darkness of his greed.

in the beginning… it had been alright— good with his composure, carrying a kind of elegance through his actions and words. he wore ‘respect’ like an honorable man— button down shirts, tucked nicely in his well ironed pants. every day he’d come in dapper, not one thing out of place. it would be impressive to notice his true desires when he hadn’t worn them out on his sleeves.

though now… it was a different story. there’s only so much he could take… seeing you in your work outfits every single day or hearing your voice… the song you sung that never failed to make him treasure your being and feel every vowel that spewed from your lips filter and sprawl all throughout his veins. james tried to keep his need low, always being so gentleman like— kind, thoughtful and charming, but his thickening puddle of lust seeped through in the growing void that rests in the center of his eyes… being far dirtier than what meets the eye, disgusting even.

it was cute once you picked up on it… or at least the extent of it— his shyness and ability to lose all self, unable to maintain professional eye contact or a flowing sentence without randomly clearing his throat. a man well into his thirties— one that was valued by your shared boss, exceeding work ethic, always saying ‘yes ma’am’ and ‘yes sir’, not blinking an eye to the rule’s code— felt the need to act so foolishly enticed when it came to you.

for him, the absence of touch— one that he never felt come from your hand — drove james into a constant state of lustrous want… it ate within his being like a hungered cannibal digging its fingers through every fiber of his flesh. it prodded and ripped in the center of his chest like a wolf's canines as he sat at his work desk, drained… lifeless… thinking about everything he wanted to do to you… or whatever you’d do to him.

the inside of his body grew hot at the thought of you— dry throat, racing heart, fumbling words… his eyes, lingering all over your body longer than they had the day before, trying to see how much he could get away with… letting every second store itself in his photographic memory.

infested with carnality, day and night. james’ mind couldnt escape his perverted thoughts; as if it was the horrid and angry deep sea, crashing against the softness of the hot sand, in need of something to fix prurience, and the heightening want to be underneath your skin.

it started off with a hello, you being new and him well within the company’s community by a decade or two. a sweet exchange of a firm gripped hand shake and small talk before you went on your way. upon his sight, he was already fond of the beauty you blossomed. he wasn’t able to stop himself from looking… and as time continued, each day you met with him, it caused him to be in his head.

whenever you agreed to go out with your coworkers to local bars and restaurants, he’d ask around, passively, wanting to know if you’d be there to join. any chance he’d get, he’d sit next to you or across from you, thinking that the lack of lighting would hide the fact that he sat there to study you— his gentle hazel eyes, staring with eagerness… tattooing you into the grooves of his brain. each time you all went out, it was as if he tried harder… or lost the ability to care if you noticed or not. catching his eyes… for the first few seconds he didn’t even realize your attention on him until you’d call out his name a few times or lean towards him, breasts spilling from your top.

he’d go home, all eager. undoing his tie and his belt, slamming his door shut and making his way towards his bed, muttering: “just this once…” to himself, staring down at his hardened dick after thinking about the way your breasts sat prettily in the top you wore.

with his eyes squeezed shut, his wrist rippled in fast motion with whitening knuckles. he’d call out your name. each whinier than the last… feeling the weight of your name kiss the head of his cock— irregular breathing, toes curling into the thick of his comforter— whines that turned into a chants. over and over again he moaned your name, not even lasting three minutes until he let himself go… ribbons of his hot cum falling down onto his chest.

shame filtered his body almost instantaneously, not understanding how he was able to let himself go just from a simple top you wore… he swore to himself that that would be the first and only time he’d ever do something like that— to rush into his house just to relieve the growing hard on that you, without much acknowledgment, gave him.

and for a few days, he hadn’t. it didn’t stop the stares or the way his cock jumped upon hearing your voice… he’d just fall back into the same perverted state, clutching onto the arm of his work chair while you talked to him about something he couldn’t even pay much attention to. he saw the outline of your body against your work outfit thinking about how you’d look if he ripped it off.

his breathing quickened as he tried to direct his gaze on something else, his computer… maybe his paperwork? it didn’t help because he could still hear you fucking speak.

a sharp gulp and a shaky sigh— it was the most obvious he’s ever been, sensing the way he was unable to sit still. “james?” you called out, amusement lingering in the tone of your voice.

“uhm.” he huffed, a faint smirk curling at the side of his lips, trying to keep his composure as much as he could. “sorry… im not feeling too well.” turning his head to you, seeing a warm, devious yet alluring smile rest on your lips. almost immediately, he reacted. swallowing hard and clearing his throat.

walking towards where the man sat, you placed your hand at his shoulder, feeling the softness of his suit glide against your palm, finding his averting eyes, “do you need me to… get you anything?”

he shook his head, flinching upon touch, dropping his attention into his lap where his hands bunched to cover the obvious dent. “it… it’s fine. i just have to use the restroom… excuse me.” his voice quick and slurred, body immediately jumping up from his chair as he made his way to the men’s bathroom.

the beat of his heart ran heavily in his ribcage, causing his body to burn and wither as he laid himself limply against the bathroom’s door. each inhale was harder to stabilize— the air feeling heavy and clunky as it lumped and fell down his throat. with the soft jingle of his belt, he pulled his pants and underwear down to his knees, “god…” he sighed, wrapping his hand around his cock— hot and tortured, “why do you… why do you turn me on so much?”

soft chokes and mutters fell in the echoing bathroom’s walls, covering his mouth creating muffled whimpers to exude and swell. his body churned and trembled, hearing the loose hinges of the door combat with his movement. “fuck… fuck…” he whined, his eyes traveling up to see the mirror across the way.

the sight of himself… it almost looked like his own reflection was a stranger. no person has ever made him have the need to run for a quick release… at least not from their voice alone. it was just how eager he was— how eager you made him— the look of his knees buckling, the pace of his pumps, the skin of his face shake and the way he desperately tried to keep himself quiet… he looked so pathetic to himself, never seeing that side or noticing how much you made him that way just from the sight of you.

in a way… it turned him on, getting a better picture of what you’d see if you were to stand in this very bathroom. thoughts grappled through his visionary mind, his vision shooting towards different places in the bathroom, looking at the sink: how pretty you’d look, pants down your legs with him fucking up into you, your own eyes in the mirror, watching yourself getting fucked by him. or in the stall: your fingers clutching harshly at the stall’s door with his fingers deeply plunging itself inside of your cavern.

a million and one things infiltrated his desires until he couldn’t find himself to stop even after the first time he came onto the bathroom’s floor. his wrist burned with the consistent motion, after his cock hadn’t let up its hardness, moaning as quietly as he could to have himself go limp.

thirty minutes he spent in there… and for him to be known to cum quick… it only meant that he rung himself dry. he couldn’t even walk straight— you knowingly understanding the weight of power you had over him after you timed his absence and him finally waddling back into his chair.

“you alright?” you laugh sweetly, being as oblivious as you could possibly be within his perspective, trying not to stare at the small wet spot that circled at his crotch.

“yeah…” his voice trembling, still in a daze from his multiple orgasms, “must’ve ate something funny…”

after that day… jerking off in the office’s bathroom, there was no turning back— as if that was the only reason that would’ve been true. there was no way he’d be able to contain the continuous passion that resonated all throughout his body— as if you talked to him through your idle.

days would pass and he’d show himself more and more obvious, losing the care to show off his usual persona. he’d take one of your handkerchiefs you left on your desk when you hadn’t been around, tucking them in his pockets only to inhale the left over scent that interwoven itself into its soft cloth, using it almost every night until all he could smell was his own scent. he’d hold onto your wrist when trying to grab your attention, clutching it until he felt the gentle pulse, syncing with the growing hard on he’d feel build and tighten at the crotch of his pants.

on random days, he’d listen when you spoke to other’s about the dates you’ve been on, hearing how they werent satisfying you— filling his brain with possible ways he’d make you feel good. taking you out to eat with good food and wine with an even better conversation only to have him balls deep inside of you just for you to remember nothing from anyone in your past and only form yourself at the outline of his cock.

on a sunny afternoon, you had a held a party for your birthday— all the coworkers you found as friends, including james— in your house for drinks, food and good music. you kept your eye on him as much as you could without making it obvious that the only reason for the party was to see how he’d react now being so close to you.

he showed nothing but nervousness, almost never leaving the cushions from your couch, not even drinking or eating for that matter. he looked uncomfortable… or maybe he was just deep in thought. it only took one look away for him to disappear, his lack of person and the indent of where he sat on the couch to be shown.

james decided he needed more… that handkerchief wasn’t enough since your scent was gone and his imaginations made his want physically hurt considering he wasn’t able to touch you like he wished he could.

finding his way to your room, he rummaged through your dirty laundry, finding a pair of black panties, keeping it to himself. in a cold sweat, he knew that he had time to spare, whipping his head back and forth from the cloth towards your bedroom door before he sat on your bed, rolling his thumb at the crotch of your underwear.

deep and staggered breaths, he rose it up to his nose, smelling the soiled cloth, noticing how these pair must’ve been worn during your arousal, his cock reacting like wildfire— choking at the lack of air he gave himself from the constant huffing he did. each inhale was like heaven. god… your pussy smelt so good… better than he could imagine. the muscle of his tongue sliding at the left over cream marks left, his moans staggering, almost in need of crying at how good this action made him feel.

placing the underwear in his mouth, he grabbed what was closest to him— your pillow— angling his body to get himself off. luckily with how loud the music had been outside, no one would be able to hear the brash creeks of your bed as he humped himself to oblivion. hips snapping, fingers curling into your bed’s unmade sheets with his face planted deep within them as he sniffed whatever your body’s scent leftover.

this is what he wanted… this is what he feened for. only orgasming once, he fixed your bed trying to replicate as if he had never been on it, tucking the panties… and one more in his pants pocket and walking out of your bedroom.

met with him, you smiled, noticing the lust that fumed off of his person, not making it seem as if you knew, “what’re you doing in there? the parties out there silly.” you laughed.

“yeah! i was just looking for the bathroom.” he gulped.

nodding, you ran your tongue over the bottom of your lip, eyeing how his hair wasn’t as neat as it had been before and his shirt wasn’t tucked in as it usually was. “it’s just down there.”

“thank you.” scattering down the hall.

upon entering your room, all you could smell was the foreign aroma of his arousal, smiling at how you didn’t even had to do anything to him physically let alone verbally and he got so worked up. riddled with temptation, you knew you had this man wrapped around your finger, obliging with his action and giving him more with your seductive nature.

it was more noticeable now— how you both operated whenever with each other. anyone could just sense it, feel it, cut it in the thickening air of their razor nails. the body languages, the way you both spoke, the way your eyes spoke with extreme intent.

the tingling sensation rose within your body, almost electrifying you whenever you heard your name being called by him— his natural rasp that croaked from his throat, huddling over your eardrums with bliss. you could only guess what he did that day when he bolted off into the bathroom. it was obvious. feeling your attraction grow by his attentiveness and the willingness of him trying so desperately to be beside you… just thinking about him got you so worked up.

it was fun witnessing his obvious need to separate himself just to get off… but the poor boy needed solace you thought to yourself.

he was being such a good boy, trying so hard not to put himself onto you, being respectful enough, kind and excusing himself but you decided to take charge— have him finally able to get what he wanted and what you were curious about.

one night, you took that advantage as everyone else had dispersed from the office, it had only been you two, him hunched in his chair, face glowing from his computer screen and you packing all of your work to go home. he usually stayed overtime, having his own set of keys the boss left because of his repetitive stay.

now you stood within his space, the office dark, a low hum coming from james not even noticing your silhouette that stood just at his cubicle. “you going home?” you spoke out, your voice lulling out.

startled, he turned at his chair, swallowing down the large lump that rested at his throat. “oh!” he chirped, looking back and forth at the shadow that made up of you and his computer screen. “uh not yet… there’s some things i have to finish.”

“could it wait? just for a little?”

furrowing his eyebrows, he sat confused, noticing the tone of your voice, feeling his palms dampen, rubbing them roughly at his pant legs.

oh how cute he was acting.

“sorry i..” he chuckled nervously, “im confused.”

sucking at your tongue, you stepped forward, the screen’s light falling at your outline, exposing the lust that mixed in with the devious expression that wore on your face. “don’t give me that look,” you cooed, closing the distance between you both until your feet planted themselves just before him. “tell me, what has you still in this office this late at night?”

“uhm yeah…” he chuckled again, his words slow as he spoke about the finishing touches of a project that had been due in a few days. quite honestly, you hadn’t cared much to know, you just enjoyed the random inhales of breath in between his words as he tried to keep his composure at bay.

“such a good man you are. i take it your work ethic is better than all of us combined?”

he cleared his throat, tilting his head in nervousness at the choice of words that trickled down, aiming at his spine with him tensing in his chair. “th… thank you.”

“but you should take a break, you seem all pent up. that isn’t healthy, don’t you think?”

“what do you purpose?” he asked with you humming in response.

the silence between that fell in the air was loud, burning against your eardrums until you heard his breathing coming in shallow wheezes, his chest tightening as his heart hammered at his ribcage. he couldn’t even look at you… his head couldn’t lift itself from his hands, fingers tangling with themselves.

“can you look at me?” you soothed.

no response was given, just the raise of his body at every heavy inhale.

“look at me james…” your voice now coming out as a whisper, using your hand to curl at his jaw, feeling the roughness of the stubble that ran alongside it. at a gentle lift, his face rose, his eyes staggering to follow until you saw the gentle, puppy-eyed man lock himself onto you. “that’s it..”

at the tilt of his head, his body hiccuped in a trickling gasp. every memory of him being by himself, jerking his hardening cock, the sounds of his own pleasuring cries echoed in his brain. it burned at his cheeks with a peach strain— embarrassed but enamored by the sway of your lulling voice and kind eyes. the cold that emitted from your hand felt like static, almost foreign, unable to comprehend that you where here, actually touching him and it wasn’t just his perverted mind conjuring up a scene of you having your way with him.

just by your simple touch, it felt raw and ravenous—body stiffening like tainted brittle bones… his spine slowly contorting in a fidgeting arch, like christ himself pressed his jellied pierced palms across the flesh of an aching wound. “fuck…” he breathed, giving up on his lose of current reality, placing his own hand on top of yours, sliding it more onto his own face. he buried himself in it, eyes closing, falling into a blissful state, feeling the warmth that blossomed and coddled at his skin.

his mind and his body was starved… in need of you as if the only sin he knew was nothing but greed— believing the palms of your hands was magic, a bandage to a scab, an antidote to a sickness. you did nothing but stand there, watching him revel in pleasure just from your hand now stroking his face slowly and delicately, admiring the sweet yet sorrowful pout drawn at his lips.

“follow my words.” you spoke, interrupting the silence between you both, “can you do that for me james?”

his eyes dilated, feeling his stomach drop hearing his name being called. it drove him mad and it only was because of your voice— so gentle and sweet, thick as if he could gnaw on it. “yes…” he finally answered.

standing behind him, you let the pressure of your hands massage his back, feeling the tension reside in his shoulders. you could feel his irregular breathing at every push your fingers gave, knuckles whitening at the clutch of his pant legs. “oh wow you’re so tense… why is that?”

“just… all the work is getting to me.”

“yeah?” your voice obvious in sensuality, hearing his grunt when you let the pressure fall a little rougher. a quiet exchange of noises bounced back and forth with comforting and pent up sighs, spending a good few minutes, trailing your hands down the sides of his arms, “you’re pretty built underneath this suit.” you teased.

clenching his eyes tight, he screamed at himself internally, trying to speak to his cock to not harden but it failed, looking down at his lap and seeing what the computer’s light was able to show, letting out a quiet laughing hum. you had him now…

“stand… and kiss me.”

and so he stood, his arms awkwardly at his sides, broadcasting his awful posture as he waited for your next move. from a simple swift movement, your hand met with the back of his neck, pulling him in, pressing your lips against his. the sync of your lips were soft and slow but quickly it changed by the lead of his tongue that cascaded along the bottom of yours, inhaling the hitching breath as his fingers played with the bottom of his suit jacket.

gentle grunts hummed against your flesh, opening your lips to oblige by his speed, noting the way he drank your existence in the exchange of your mouths. his tongue fluttered against yours, rolling the tip of his muscle against the ridges of your teeth, spit spilling down one another’s chins as your bodies fell closer into one another feeling the pattern of your breathing fall as one.

your leg pressed in the middle of his, feeling his bulge rub against you with a higher pitched moan being a gift of your sudden embrace.

the air was hot and heavy despite the chill from the office that hugged you both, "ride it.." you moaned in between the kiss, moving your leg in slow grinds, feeling the heat that emitted from his clothed cock weave through your work pants.

“okay…” he answered back, removing himself from the kiss as his hips started to buck forward in motion with your leg’s movement.

his body couldn’t keep up with the burning passion that continued to spread through his body, starting with the aching sensation that rested at his cock.

no words had been exchanged, only moans as if it that was the only language you both understood— the lack of light only being laminated by the moon that fell through the windows and the computer screen. your hand strengthened its grip, foreheads pressed against one another, feeling his leg fall in between your leg in the midst of his grinds.

both of you fell in lust with the eager grinds you shared, hearing the rut of clothes being rubbed against one another, his unknowing hands, placing its purpose at your hips, gripping incredibly tight, pulling you closer at every hungered thrust, your eyes gulping the color of his.

he moved his body, you whining quietly at the empty feeling of his knee. he dropped down, leveling his face at your legs, pressing kisses starting at your ankle and to your knee, moving his lips as his tongue peaked through, letting spit form and absorb in the cloth of your pants until he reached your waist.

"may i...?” he whimpered, a smile curling at your lips, nodding with his fingers making its way to your shirt, yanking it upwards which made you gasp at the sudden movement. he continued his kiss, the cold inhale of his breath washing against your skin as he pressed his lips at the lining of your peaking underwear, running his tongue alongside it.

with a deep press of his lips, he left wet marks, pressing his face into your stomach, his head dragging all the way up your torso, inhaling the sweet smell of your detergent as well as the soap that coated your skin, until he stood once again, finding your neck, taking a bite without much warning— feeling the flesh sink between the spaces in his teeth. 'so soft', he thought, letting his lips latch and suck roughly, as he used his unoccupied hand to pull your body closer to him.

his tongue rippled and rolled against the aching bitten part of your neck, popping himself off before he pressed a kiss at the hem of your ear, "is this real?" he whispered, pressing more kisses at the side of your face. it felt prosperous, feeling his lips scatter the smooth surface of your face, neck and ear— fingers prodding the side of your waist.

"can you say it… please?” releasing a sharp gasped whisper, his nose dragging along your cheek, sighing out a moan. "say…my name... i need to hear your voice.”

"james..." you exhaled, enjoying the way he wanted nothing but your time and your attention. he made you feel sexy.. desirable, like his own drug that he was unable to let go or take control of. every touch felt purposeful, hungry… soft with a strain of roughness.

"no... louder. say it... please say it louder." his words breathless, cracking each time his voice dipped in register, letting open mouthed kisses to gently press onto your skin.

"james!" your voice rose, saying it over and over at every press of his lips you felt, his moans talking back to each time he heard his name flutter from your throat. your voice felt like it was running down his spine and settling itself right at his cock. you adored how cute he was without even knowing that you wanted to devour him— the sharp want to have him crumble in your embrace.

“fuck..” he cried sweetly, his voice breaking down in harmony. you placed your hands at his shoulders pushing him down as he obeyed your forceful action, him now on his knees.

without a thought, you pressed the bottom of your shoe at his obvious bulge, pressing your weight on it, his body shuddering with his lips ajar. “tell me…” your diction sounding breathless, feeling the outline of him through the sole of your shoe, “do you think of me… while you touch yourself.” his eyes growing, surprised and slightly worried— not as if it wasn’t telling he came at the thought of you.

he couldn’t answer, only giving a harsh swallow and swiveling hips, humping into the sole of your shoe.

“come on pretty boy… answer… i know you do it.”

“yes…” he gulped, “i do… i do. all the fucking time.” he admitted, his words flowing fast with his hips coming at the same speed.

placing your foot down on the floor, he immediately straddled, hands grabbing onto your calf for support as his hips rippled and rutted deeply into you like a horned dog. whimpers roared through the office’s enclosure. he felt dizzy, drunk within the lust that spewed between you both. it was pitiful but cute— losing all forms of self just to hump on your shoe.

grasping his jaw, he looked up at you, eyebrows knitted in pleasure as his hair bounced in movement, leaning down the gather spit, letting it fall into his opened mouth. he drank it instantaneously, nodding at the new action he had never done before. your spit tasted sweet, filling his mouth with an extended tongue in need of more.

and so you did, this time more forceful, some falling at the side of his lip, falling down his jaw and chin.

something about how he acted, the way he presented himself and the way his nervousness wore him so brightly. you could hear it his voice, in his moans, see in his eyes, face and body— nothing he had in display for you showed you otherwise. cupping the side of his face as your thumb gently stroked the warmth of his cheek, making his cock jump more than it already had.

“you like that don’t you baby?”

“uh huh…” he breathed, frantically nodding, letting his eyes drape towards your lips, seeing his tongue peak through, pressing your thumb at his plush lips, dragging them loosely, until his lips would tug, allowing his teeth to peak through before leaning in closer to his until being inches apart— irregular breathing brush against your mouth, as his nose nudges gently the side of yours, kissing you roughly… wet and raw. more spit escaping, coating all over.

“can i…” he spoke in between, “can i taste you?”

and with an accepting moan, his body rose, grabbing you until you sat on his desk, the light of his computer now black and the moon being the only source of light.

opening your legs, he leaned in, his middle finger ran between your clothed, wet slit. raising his head, he looked down at you, “holy fuck… how’re you so wet? i can feel it through your pants,” he taunted, gaining a small glint of confidence.

he lifted your shirt once more, just enough to show your full stomach as he held onto your waist, pressing his lips right beneath your breast, leaving slow, teasing kisses down your body with his eyes staring right up at you. his face met up in between, spreading your thighs apart more as he let his face set right in center, pressing his nose right in the indention where his finger once was, inhaling your sweet smell before rolling his tongue over her clothed pussy. “your pussy smells so sweet.” he breathed, his fingers curling at your pants and yanking them down until you were only left with them puddled at your feet and panties hugging your waist.

his mouth latched onto your clit, slowly sucking you right over your panties, feeling your throbbing bud feather against his tongue.

sliding your panties to the side, he saw the wetness connect from your pussy lips, to your clit, running all down your slit, immediately spreading your lips apart, seeing your whole view.

“so… pretty... god i wanna fuck it with my tongue. have my tongue so deep inside you, i can feel you clench yourself. can i… can i do that?” his eyes not leaving your face, seeing the limited and minimal expression the moon’s light allowed him to see, letting his tongue run up your slit as his mouth latches on.

nothing felt more pleasurable than to see the other pleased. his fingers trembled and ached to take you all in one go, but he believed you deserved more than that, you deserved to feel it run through every inch of your body. he wanted to prove that there’s levels you could reach that’ll make you feel like ecstasy.

his body burned as if he was on fire, feeling himself twitch at every small sound that exuded from your throat. “your voice, it turns me on so fucking much...” gripping onto your thighs, his nose nudging at your clit, mouth hovering over your cunt, drawing ribbons at the entrance of your pussy. he shook his head from side to side, your sweet scent filling his airway as he felt your slick coat the sides of his lips and the tip of his nose.

his tongue plunging itself into you, feeling your cunt pulsate alongside the bud of your clit. as his tongue worked along your slit and hole, repeatedly lapping at each entrance with the flat of their tongue. your scent and flavor enveloping his entire face, like a drug, and erotic perfume that he’d gladly wear if possible. his eyes drooping into a squint, his body loosening— expect the core of his tightening abdomen from holding his breath and their increasingly hard cock. thrusting his face as he began to fuck you with his tongue, hollowing his cheeks, continuing to pay close attention to your clit. pulling back, he licked his lips, gathering spit as he spat right on your cunt, followed by a little slap, rubbing with the palm of his hand against the new tingling sensation, “was that… was that too much?” he slurred, not thinking of the impact of what he had just done with the pleasured yelp you let out.

“you’re such a dirty boy…” you laughed, your hips breaking down as it planted itself more into his desk. “keep going… show me what a horny little thing like you thinks about while you touch yourself.”

drunk of you— the taste, the smell, he could feel a pit of sensation fuel right at the bottom of his abdomen. “hump my face baby, please…use me.”

with his tongue, he lifted your clitoral hood, centering his tongue right at your clit as he fluttered it as fast as his tongue allowed him too, feeling your expose bud jolt. using his other hand, he slid one finger in, curling it slightly as he slowly let it slide in and out, feeling your walls close. the sounds you let out couldn’t be controlled, admiring how he used your body like an art piece, finding his way to use every fragment of your being, getting off to your pleasure. each knuckle falling deeper, as he started to bring up his pace. so wet, you could hear it at each pump, and god did that turn him on. “listen to your pussy baby. my god you’re so wet..”

loving the feeling of your fingers that now laced in his hair, tugging at it whenever you felt so, feeling the tingle wash from down his scalp and spine, making him groan deeply against your, feeling it almost itch his own throat. his other hand pressing firmly against your stomach, rolling it up your body as he dragged the pads of his fingers down your torso, then thigh, letting them create small indentions in your smooth skin.

he watched as you squirmed as you watched how pathetically invested he looked hooked in pleasure— him yearning for this type of attention, as if he cried for it. his eyes begged and begged, his actions looking less and less sense and out of touch of reality. your hips, not having a rhythmic move to them, just rolling and humping as his face kept up with your sloppy hips.

he slide one more finger inside, curling that one as well as his others as he turned his wrist in a circular motion, almost drilling your cunt, pushing it in and out, trying to find your sweet spot. he lifted his head, letting a string of spit and slick connect from his lips and your pussy. “keep looking at me… please don’t stop.” the sting burning at his forearm— veins now prominent running from his fingers and down wrist. your pussy making the most loudest and obnoxious noise, syncing with the pacing of his hand and mouth.

his face traveled up, his face now hovering yours, paying close attention to your expression and the way you moaned for him, furrowing his eyebrows, “yeah? does it feel good right there?” he cooed, singing with your moans which filled the space that surrounded you both. he gathered spit in his mouth once more, letting it go straight into your mouth— your hand out of his hair and to his face, holding his jaw and feeling the grooves of his teeth by how hard you held it.

“god you’re so good for me.” you grunted, eyes almost rolling at the feeling of his fingers plunging at your cunt.

gritting through his teeth, “and you drive me insane…” pressing his mouth against yours once more as he started to sloppily kiss you— your slick already coating his mouth and tip of his nose, now swallowing your moans. his breathing was erratic and his demeanor changed, feeling a sense of lustful malice grow in his body.

hurriedly, you undid his pants, slipping your hand in his underwear, taking out his hot heavy cock, his body immediately reacting with his hand holding the desk beside you for support. without hesitation, you jerked his cock, finding the same speed of his plunging fingers.

shared and eager moans radiated from you both, whiny and pathetic, desperate and conjoined— the sweet sounds of your wet slick and his skin being tugged at his cock.

“don’t stop.” he strained, already feeling himself in need to release, never being one to last longer than he wished to.

spit dripping from one another’s mouths, the tension continued to rise, the familiar sensation cradling at your core as well as his. clenching around his fingers, your thighs started to close themselves, him quickly opening them as he breathed in a choked gasp.

“are you gonna cum for me?” you teased, knowing you were right where he was, his body twitching as he nodded in response, “cum for me… do it james.”

a loud groan crept as he removed your hand, replacing it with his as he jerked his cock in a speed you had never seen from another man, directing his slit right at your clit. spurts of his cum fell right at your clit, the sight being too much for you to handle— the head from it, sliding down to his fingers as he continued his hungered pumps, an orgasm ringing around it. it creamed thickly, white cuddling at his knuckles.

both of your bodies fell weak, the speed now resting slow as you tried to gather your breaths, eyes connecting as one as you recollected all the passion that infiltrated.

“my god…” you breathed, his fingers coating in your natural nectar and his cum, inhaling your womanly scent which sent waves of pleasure directly towards his cock that started to rise again. god… did he love the way your fucking pussy smelt. it didn’t compare to your handkerchief… your bed… even your used panties. his fingers slipping out as he placed them in his mouth, each finger being sucked clean. “you’re so fucking hot…”

the intensity that fueled you both was too much to comprehend. no words being able to be spoken— james blinded by the beauty and the smell of sex that fumed in the air. after all the days of him tugging his cock, the thoughts became real.

his face hovered yours, hands cupping your cheeks as he pressed gentle kisses across your lips, “can i...” he gasped in between each kiss, heavy air pushing through his nostrils as he tried desperately not to pass out from the adrenaline and the need to feel you, overwhelm you and just make you cum from his dick. “can i fuck you…? please… please… please please please please please…” his voice cracking in between.

the need that laced in your whine transmitted through the thick of his burning skin. it was hard to contain steady breathing. mine, he thought. you were all his for the night, and it signified that you were in this very moment.

lips feathering against your chin, each kiss longer than the last, with his nose nudging up into your cheek. just from the quiet sounds you let out, your consent, your ‘okay’ to put his dick inside of you made the way he felt more intense than it already had. his fingers wrapping around the start of his shaft as he started to pump himself.

“you can tell me if you want me to fuck you slow…” he continued, cupping his hand to his lips and spitting in it, making a small puddle to coat his dick. “or if you want me to fuck you fast… tell me… tell me to keep fucking you… tell me… just talk for me… please.”

his eyes jolted down as his cock angled itself right at your opening pushing himself inside. just half of what would be his tip, focused only on you. sucking in harshly at how big he was and how he wasn’t even all the way in. with his other hand cupping the side of your face and neck, his thumb rubbing gently.

“you okay baby…?” his attention still on you, analyzing each expression you gave to make sure that he wasn’t hurting you in any shape or form, pressing a long kiss at the side of your cheek beside your ear, “im going to keep going okay…? just breathe for me…”

they pushed more, his tip fully being in your cunt. his body shuttered… you were so warm, you were tight and held him so comfortably, if you wanted him to stop right there, it’d be enough for him to cum. anything for you was enough for him. bodies slowly enveloping on another as he tried to talk to your body in a way that gave you comfort and pleasure. “more?” he breathed, it hitching as he mindlessly held his breath, pushing more of himself into you— your hot walls holding around the start of his shaft, textured and wet, with a heartbeat that almost felt as if you were sucking him in without his go.

a pornographic moan being spewed from james’ lips. the way your cunt grasped onto him, it's textured walls massaging his cock into heaven. you felt full, his dick thick— leaning towards girth— your breathing picking up in pace. you molded his cock perfectly, his hips slowly pressing himself deeper until his hole cock was enveloped in you. "goo...good boy." you tried to praise, hiccuping as your hands fell onto his shoulders.

the thrust started off slow, hiccuping almost similar to his rut against your shoe. it took a few thrusts until he finally was able to find himself— barely. each inward thrust, the desk shook, your body sliding upwards against his paperwork that scattered and crumpled.

“is this… is this okay?” his voice broken, hearing the new diction in his tone.

“faster… don’t be shy…”

you didn’t have to tell him twice, his hips momentarily stopping as he planted his feet firmly on the ground— animalistic groans combating the way his hips started to snap. each thrust, your rear puckering hole was abused by james’ balls. again and again, the loud rhythmic sound of your skin slapping. "good boy, keep fucking me. make me cum."

the tip of his dick angling in a place you were unsure about. what was this? you thought. your body was excited and you didn't know why— you didn't know how to prepare yourself. your body unable to stay still or find a place where you felt the best in stabilization, screaming his name as he finally hit that spot, your good spot.

"don't stop! don't stop! don't stop! don't—" you chanted, him hitting your g spot over and over with your pussy sucking him in deeper and deeper at each outward thrust.

"i wish i fucked you sooner, why does this feel so good?!" already having the need to cum with no intention of holding it.

you as well. you needed to cum, but you felt something new as well. the similarly feeling of you needed to 'go'.

"waitwaitwaitwait!!!" you moaned out loud, his cock slipping out with an unexpected gift being brought to both of you. you squirted. it spilling from your cunt and drenching on the both of you— your face, his work clothes and your work clothes. you had no time to react, your legs violently shook, with james hurriedly slipping in again with the same need to release centering at the opening of your cunt.

"ineeedto... i... fuhhhcking" you slurred, eyes rolling each time james pulled out, your pussy let out small spurts of your squirting cum.

"that is so fucking hot... you're so hot." james cried, tears rimming in his eyes, feeling himself having the need to cum.

one leg wrapped his waist pushing him down, rolling your hips upward even though it was all too much, but your cunt wanted more, it felt like it could cum at least one more time. grabbing your face, your lips forming a squished 'o'.

"fuck...fucking good boy." your voice fucked out.

"it feels too good… i can’t take it." he continued to wail, tears started to stream down his face. "im gonna—" he announced with one finally thrust, james let his hot load rest deep inside you.

one could say his dream was now complete, but a new question shall be asked; how will this continue? from being ‘friends’, horny individuals to fuck at work. but for now, you both continued to calm down from your high, kissing each other sweetly.

“this won’t be the last time.” you smiled triumphantly, trying to catch your breath.

a/n: i never know how to end these… but maybe there will be another part…

#james sunderland smut #james sunderland x reader #james sunderland #james x reader #silent hill 2 #silent hill 2 smut #silent hill x reader #james sunderland silent hill #silent hill x reader smut #james sunderland x you #james x you #james sunderland x fem reader

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idanceuntilidie · 3 months ago

Note

i also like that you're rly friendly with requesters:DD

+ idrk how you are doing but remember to take care of your health and improve ur memory unlike me>:...

<33!

Hi thanks! I like my anons and generally everyone so yeah :D I also like being nice

I decided to add ur request to this response so there would be a bigger chance u see that I have finally done ur request! I am sorry it took so long and well enjoy!

this person agreed to make the reader gender neutral!

YAN CHEATER X GN READER

warning/s; yandere behaviours and acts, stalking, mentions of kidnapping and forcing one to be dependent on the other

requests are still open

You grimace looking at your phone. Seen. Of course it was seen, he wouldn't even try to reply. You are hurt. Naturally you try texting again and even calling. You are worried and hell you could be even mad at him but you can’t bring yourself to.

A small thought blossoms in your head.

No, he couldn’t have, right? Of course he couldn’t, he swore he wouldn’t cheat again. He stayed home as much as he could, he worked harder. He became sweet and when “those” times happened he became sweeter. You are stupid, maybe desperate but you can’t be mad forever no? That would be stupid.

You bit your thumb, that small little thought was growing roots. What would you do if he in fact did that again? You stopped, the question danced in front of you laughing in your face. Shit, what would you do? Forgive? A metallic taste fills your senses. Of course you would.

The music blasts loudly, it makes your head spin. You only came to the party since you thought he would come. He didn’t.

You were so deep in your thoughts you didn’t notice someone approaching you.

“Jesus you! What in the world are you doing?”

Someone grabbed your now bleeding hand. You are hurt, odd, you didn’t notice.

“Ginger?”

Ginger grimaced at the sight of blood. Personally you liked the color, but that is beside the point. They sighed, looked at you with disappointment and dragged you back to the loudest place on earth that currently exists; her house. That’s right, you were at a party before you decided to try and get Ciaran here.

You almost forgot.

„You can’t be so careless, what were you doing outside?”

You aren’t sure you want to answer, Ginger has a very short temper. She hates Ciaran with every fiber of her being, hell, she hated him ever since you introduced him to her. At first you didn’t understand why, then those accidents happened. That answered a lot but still you couldn’t get angry at your boyfriend, naturally you forgave him very easily. Ginger said you let him walk over you and maybe she was right.

„I thought Ciaran came since he didn’t reply”

Ginger frowned. You could feel your stomach knot, it felt sickening.

„You, listen, I know you love the guy but look how he is treating you.”

You shamefully looked at the ground as Ginger was dragging you through an overwhelming group of people that had fun. Your stop was at the bathroom where Ginger began to look through the cabinets for the first aid kit.

„I know but-„

„Oh stop it, I really had enough of that fucker. He is destroying you from the inside!”

She huffed as she tried reaching for the very thing she was looking for on the highest shelf. You helped.

„As much as I like you, I can’t just stay here and nod to whatever bullshit he is spewing. He is probably fucking some fucker right now. People who cheat once, do it again.”

She took care of your bleeding thumb. It was a little rough but you could tell she was so annoyed. Not at you of course, at Ciaran. That didn’t make you feel better.

Ginger was right, and that made you feel like shit.

You can’t sleep.

Your once cosy house felt unfamiliar, threatening. You felt like you didn’t know where you are.

Every creak, shadow and murmur made you question if you were truly alone. Were you? You hoped.

It’s been a month since you kicked Ciaran out. You dropped him, like he did you everytime he decided to sleep with some random asshole. He fucked around and found out, the irony.

You couldn’t say you have gotten rid of him completely. He was everywhere, seeing him made you physically unwell. Ginger had to take care of you.

He blew up your phone with messages, photos. He sent you gifts that were still probably rotting outside since you haven’t even tried to move them. Ginger said that they smelled like rotten meat. You didn’t want her to clean that. She has done too much for you already.

There was one time, you recall, few weeks ago when you considered murder. Would it really be that since you only wanted to protect yourself whe he was banging on the door? He was too focused on those to smash any windows luckily.

His screams fill your head now and then.

You swipe the sweat from your forehead. It’s hot.

„Come back!” he yelled, wailing. He sounded like an animal that was getting its stomach slashed. „I was so stupid, look, look! I changed! don’t you believe me?” You didn’t know what the change was, he blocked those people on his phone or told them to fuck off? Why does it matter if he would just come back to them?

You would wail, weak in the knees, your lips dried and sore. „Leave me alone, leave me alone, leave me alone.” Like a mantra, a prayer. You weren’t really religious but would some deity take him away? If that would be the case you would kneel and pray until you fell unconscious.

You feel like you are overreacting. It’s funny. Your eyes wander to the corner of your room. There was someone sitting on the chair next to your desk. They were sprawled out on your chair, you smiled.

„Ginger?” you rasp out. „Did you seriously fall asleep while you were supposed to watch over me?” You kind of regret taking that nap, even if you felt slightly better.

Ginger didn’t reply, you can’t hear her breathe.

Despite your body yelling at you to stay in bed you get up to turn on the light. That usually woke Ginger up but when you turned it on, the silence remained. Slowly you turned around and were met with the sight of blood. It blossomed on the carpet, Gingers t-shirt. Your eyes slowly followed the source, someone slashed her throat.

You felt sick, dizzy. The fever didn’t help, ir was so fucking hard to think.

You need to get out of here.

You want to turn around but someone graps you and hugs you very close. They stink of sweat and blood.

„Sorry honey, had to do something. Why Are you up? You are burning. Here I will help.”

A scream cought in your throat, painful. Who is that? Why did he kill Ginger?

You were turned around to face the killer. Ciaran. Fucking Ciaran. You wanted to scream, to cry or run. He only smiled as he swung at you, knocking your unconscious.

You wished you died that night.

#yandere blog #oc yandere #tw yandere #yandere #yandere oc #yandere x darling #oc tag #gn reader #oc #yandere male #gender neutral y/n #male yan x gn reader #yandere cheater oc #yandere cheater oc ciaran #oc yan #requests

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mercymaker · 5 months ago

Text

RUIN - Astarion x Tav fic

A little treat i wrote inspired by a prompt from this list.

Rating: E

Pairing: Astarion x female Tav

Word count: 2,6k

Content: smut, established relationship, post-game, drow tav, mutual masturbation, sex, blood drinking.

Summary: Astarion wants to see his lover touch herself for him as he does the same. It's no surprise, however, when one thing leads to another, and soon both of them are melting in each other's embrace.

Link to AO3.

They both sat at the opposite ends: Maleane’s back was pressed against the intricately-carved headboard, while Astarion lounged on a pile of burgundy-colored pillows at the foot of the bed. He had instructed the drow to undress just mere minutes ago, in response to her less-than-subtle attempt to drag him back into the bed. It wasn’t common for her to initiate things of such nature, and so, Astarion used this as an opportunity to try something that had been slithering in his mind for days. He wanted to watch her pleasure herself as he did the same, to be parted only by some magic mirror that was reflecting the depraved lust they felt for each other.

As soon as the loose blouse she’d wear to bed joined the set of underwear carelessly tossed on the floor, the vampire spawn motioned for her to begin.

“Go on, darling,” Astarion purred, lazily undoing the lacing of his breeches as he settled comfortably atop the sheets.

His lover followed the command, parting her legs as she smirked, eager to give him a show that he’d been so desperate to receive. In line with his own ever-teasing pace, Maleane moved with deliberate sluggishness, her fingers slowly gliding down her abdomen, as if time was a currency she had no trouble wasting. Yet, it was desire that was moving her hand down to where her thighs met, and as much as she enjoyed teasing Astarion, she wanted to relieve the hunger nestling at the bottom of her belly, feel the pressure on the parts that craved nothing but touch. Seeing her lover pull his cock out his pants was all the encouragement she needed to start touching herself.

“Mmm, that’s more like it.”

His voice felt like velvet around her already hazy mind, and it only deepened the craving to be touched, and felt, and tasted. Mal closed her eyes, focusing on that sensation, allowing her mind to wander freely in the maze of lustful longing. And as her fingers parted her lips, the sorcerer let out a shaky breath that made Astarion’s core tighten.

He watched her carefully, eyes shifting between the soft movements of Maleane’s hand and her face, yet soon a different source of disturbance caught his eye. The drow’s other hand shifted to her chest, soon sinking into the soft flesh of her breast as she fondled herself, tips of her fingers finding the sensitive nub at the top and squeezing gently. That sight was enough to move the vampire’s hips. Astarion didn’t hesitate to wrap his own digits around himself, slowly stroking the length in tandem with his lover’s gentle actions. And when she slipped two fingers inside, he bit his lip in response, fighting the temptation to pounce at her.

“Gods, you’re almost impossible to resist, you know that?” Astarion’s voice was soft, low, wrapped in a ribbon of a whisper. “Every fiber in my body screams to take you, taste you, ruin you.”

Those words rolling out of her lover’s mouth were like an aphrodisiac to Mal. She closed her eyes again and let her imagination guide her hands, conjuring up all those delicious memories from the times that he’d fucked her before.

“Don’t stop talking, please.” It was almost a whimper, how sudden and desperate the sentence sounded as it spilled out between her lips.

And all it did was made the spawn smirk. He knew just how much she loved hearing him spew absolute filth, pulling her into his most depraved fantasies with ease, and what sort of lover would Astarion be if he did not occasionally indulge her?

“My, my, you want me to confess all of my depravities just like that?”

As much as Maleane enjoyed hearing the pale elf detail his many fantasies, Astarion loved teasing her just a little bit more. There was something almost intoxicating about taking the drow on a journey, watching how her body responded to his words, the vivid pictures that he’d been painting in thick brushstrokes dripping only sin.

“You want me to tell you all the things I’d do to you, hm?” Astarion was deliberate in the slow pace he was setting. He wished to build anticipation, to feed her morsel by morsel, until she was a shaking mess, ready to unravel in front of him.

Hearing his words, Maleane opened her eyes and, for a brief moment, she could only focus on his hand lazily working his erection. The sight alone made the walls around her fingers tighten momentarily as pleasure shot up her core, sending a breathy whine up her throat.

“Yes,” the sorcerer pleaded, her fingers digging into the delicate flesh of her breast with more hunger than before, “please...”

It was more than obvious that she was growing desperate for more stimulation, any sort of help that would take her just a notch closer to the ever-desired ledge of a climax. And yet, no matter how fast she moved her fingers between her folds, it just wasn’t enough to grow the budding tendrils of pleasure slowly creeping down her tummy.

“I do enjoy hearing that word coming out of your mouth, darling.”

As playful as the vampire spawn wanted to be, his teasing seemed to only hinder whatever journey he’d set his partner on by requesting her to undress and touch herself in the first place. And just like that, Maleane was getting frustrated, chasing a loose thread of pleasure that kept slipping out of her reach with every move. And soon, it was all the sorcerer could focus on.

“I can’t… I can’t fucking do this,” she spat out angrily, unsure whether her irritation was aimed at Astarion or herself.

All it took was a single stray thought, a jab at her pride, a notion that he would make her beg for something that he himself wanted to see, and all the buildup was melting away faster than the wax candles illuminating their room. Mal pulled her hands away from herself, instead leaning back into the headboard of the bed in a frustrated thud.

She was angry at herself, at how easily distracted she was in moments like this, at the ever-brewing chaos of her own thoughts that made disconnecting from all the anxiety and stress a gargantuan task. And above it all, it was her own inexperience, the inescapable maze that was her body and the fact that she struggled to find what truly gave her relief.

Witnessing his lover’s turmoil, Astarion quickly rose from his nest of pillows, closing the distance between them in what felt like a single heartbeat. She was such a fickle thing at times, but—in an odd way—the spawn enjoyed the challenge.

“Mal, darling, look at me,” he whispered as his hand cupped her cheek, lifting the drow’s face up in an attempt to bring back the connection that they’d shared just moments ago.

He could see that thread of arousal slipping outside the perimeter of their bed, but he’d be a rather poor rogue if he wasn’t able to catch it and pull the fabric back together before it was lost for the night. So, instead of wasting the precious seconds yapping about—no matter how seductive his voice sounded—the spawn leaned forward and kissed her with enough passion to ignite a pile of ash.

He pried her lips open with his tongue, slithering inside her mouth like a snake, tasting the sweetness and the warmth within. And when Maleane responded to his kiss with a soft moan, he knew that any doubts or frustrations that had previously threatened to undo all of their work, were—once again—replaced by desire.

“Let me do it,” Astarion finally uttered, parting their lips just enough to be able to speak, “let me ruin you, my love.”

Her mouth reached for his before the spawn even finished talking, desperate to reunite, to taste the lust and the hunger sitting at the tip of his tongue once more. And as they resumed the passionate kiss, Maleane’s hands reached for his body, one grasping his jaw with enough yearning to chafe the skin, while the other sunk into the soft tangle of his white curls, both pushing him closer to her.

“Yes... please,” she repeated those same words once again, her voice desperate and breathless. “Please...”

And just like that, as quickly as her arousal had slipped before, it returned, this time a thousandfold and more obvious than ever.

It was intoxicating—her warmth, her taste, the soft little sounds coming out of Mal’s throat in response to his touch—and soon Astarion felt his own head grow dizzy from the desire to lose himself in her. He touched Maleane, fingers hungrily digging into the soft flesh of her bottom, mapping every single inch of the drow’s skin as if he were a blind man desperately tracing the pages of a book.

As soon as the vampire’s fingers reached the delicate folds nestling between her legs, Mal shuddered, hot air slipping out of her open mouth, warming his own in turn.

“Please,” the sorcerer repeated the word, yet again, closing her eyes as the last remaining traces of stiffness and control melted away from her body.

It was no lie when he told her how much he loved the sound of her voice behind that word, yet Astarion did not expect it to drive him this crazy. Like a primal urge, he felt the need to pin her down and take her, bite into her, relieve that craving scratching at his insides and pooling between his thighs.

All those years of masking and restraint meant nothing when faced with something this raw, this real.

Maleane was warm and alive and entirely his. That thought was enough to completely enrapture him.

He followed the sinful craving, swiftly pushing his fingers into her warmth with ease, making Mal squirm under him as pleasure tingled through every part that he touched. And she was so deliciously wet, that for just a moment it was all the spawn could think of.

“Gods…” Astarion exhaled the word, his mind growing foggy from arousal.

Instead of fighting the surge of lust, the vampire leaned into it, leaving all those trained responses to compose himself and perform behind. He wished to taste her, feel her, replace his fingers with his cock and let her heat envelop him. He wanted to let go of all the thoughts just as much as his lover wished to abandon hers.

For just a mere second, Astarion pulled back—lips blushed and wet from all the hungry kisses—finding Mal’s face as she panted, desperately trying to catch her breath after smooching a man who had no use of breathing. The drow looked back at him, those pale purple eyes begging wordlessly. Maleane didn’t need to say anything, he knew exactly what words were hanging at the tip of her tongue.

Ruin me. Please.

And so the spawn did—pulling her hips towards him as he moved back—giving Maleane enough space to get as comfortable as the short space of time allowed, before he plunged himself inside her, making her gasp in response.

Astarion watched her—the way her fingers grasped at the sheets, the way her breasts moved atop her rib cage, the way her wet mouth opened to allow the most succulent moans to escape her throat—as he fucked her with increasing greed. And yet, no matter how satisfying just plowing into his lover was, it seemed like the frenzied rolling of his hips was only increasing the pale elf’s appetite.

The spawn pushed her sweat-lined thighs even further apart as he leaned forward and into her, one hand gripping Maleane’s jaw as he kissed her open lips, tongue slipping inside her mouth like a slimy eel. He licked and he sucked and he nibbled on Maleane’s flushed lips and she—utterly lost in the lustful maze of pleasure—responded in turn, lifting her head off the burgundy pillow to push her face into his.

As her warmth seeped into his own tepid skin, Astarion couldn’t resist the temptation to take more, swiftly shifting his attention—as well as his lips—to her neck, greedily tracing a line down her gray throat with his tongue. And his hands were just as ravenous, fingers soon gripping the tender flesh of her breasts as his whole body sank into hers, pressing the drow against the silky sheets underneath. It was suffocating in the best way possible, all the sensations pulling Maleane deeper and deeper into the engulfing sea of ecstasy.

She grasped her lover with the same amount of desperation, one hand digging into his back while the other found its place in the damp mess of his white curls. It wasn’t long before Mal felt his teeth softly pressing into her collarbone—one spot, then the other—in what could only be perceived as a silent, yet urgent request to taste more.

“Yes, yes,” the drow uttered with need, a hint of pleading not lost behind her tone.

Maleane craved the sharp pang of his fangs piercing her skin and wished to melt into the bliss she knew would follow. And when he bit into the firm muscle of her shoulder, Astarion felt her walls tighten around his length in a telltale sign of the incoming climax.

He drank—hungrily, greedily—tasting the rich blood on his tongue as if he was a man dying of thirst, letting the ruby liquid unfold inside him like a scroll hiding all of her secrets. Soon, the vampire felt all the pleasure coursing through Maleane’s body as it mixed with his own desire in the most delicious combination two bodies melting into one another could produce.

And she—in turn—could feel his own approaching peak that only enhanced the wave of her pleasure and within seconds, Mal was shaking under him like an aspen leaf.

“Oh, gods, oh, Ast- Astarion.” Maleane’s voice was half a cry and half a moan: whispery, desperate, and almost broken.

He held her close as she unraveled underneath him, as her lifeblood gushed into his mouth, as her nails dug into his back. And in that moment, it was as if they became one—with her essence coursing through his veins, igniting every inch of his undead body.

All it took was a single heartbeat, a deep thrust into her dripping cunt, and the vampire spawn came undone, burying his face in the crook of Maleane’s neck as he filled her with his seed.

They lay there for a moment—hands glued to each other’s skin—allowing their bodies to recover from the height of the intensity that they’d pushed each other to.

Astarion savored the traces of Mal’s blood still sitting on his tongue, the heat radiating off her body, the soothing rise of her chest as she inhaled, again and again. And the drow found comfort in the weight of her lover’s body atop hers, the still-lingering tingle slowly pulsing through her core, the soft numbness in her muscles.

It was euphoric, in a diluted, warm, and comforting way.

“Well,” Astarion spoke after a minute, “that is certainly something I would consider a proper ruination.”

When Maleane opened her eyes she saw the vampire looking back at her, with a half-lidded stare and a smug grin stretched across his pale lips. At times she couldn’t decide if she loved or hated the way he would switch from sincere, genuine moments to something cocky and nonchalant. This time, it seemed like a fair exchange, however, especially as it made her chuckle at his words.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” Mal responded, trying her best not feed his ego any more than it needed.

Her fingers combed through the mop of Astarion’s curls, lingering on the back of his head for just a moment, before Maleane gently pushed him to the side.

“Now, if you’d excuse me, I’d like to clean up the ‘ruin’ between my legs,” she added, trying to hold back her laughter.

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darkwood-sleddog · 2 years ago

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you cannot fight against Animal Rights Activist bullshit for only certain circumstances and spew ARA rhetoric when a situation pulls at your heartstrings.

Agricultural animals can be kept and produce eggs, dairy, fiber, etc. ethically given they are provided proper housing, water, food, vet care and enrichment.

Given proper housing, water, food, vet care, and enrichment dogs can live fulfilling lives outside of the interior of the home. Extreme weather is NOT dangerous for specific breeds of dogs (this goes both ways for hot and cold temperatures).

Given proper housing, water, food, vet care, and enrichment wild animals can live full lives out of the wild and in the care of conservation focused zoos.

Anyways.

#dogblr #animal welfare #the 'keep your dogs inside!' is ARA propaganda make no mistake #ARAs have worked hard across many states of the US here and in other countries #to set restrictions on outside dogs #which will only benefit people like them #and come at great cost to people who work their dogs for a living #or have a hearty outdoors inclined breed #or many be in a situation where a tie-out is the BEST containment for their situation #so often makes poor people at a disadvantage as well #it is a line of thought created by PETA and like activists and i will not fucking have it in the house

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leqonsluv3r · 10 months ago

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pretty girls don’t cry

— you love leon but as you reflect on your past with him, maybe it’s best it’s over, a blurb

masterlist taglist

an: i’m sorry this is so sad, and not a oneshot. i have two that are almost finished. inspiration struck at 3am, yall know how it is.

you don’t even know where it all went wrong. where the love turned to hate and everything twisted around and mulled like an ugly beast waiting to strike.

it made you sad, not able to pinpoint the exact cause of everything that shattered around you. you’d loved leon for as long as you’d remembered and that was all you’d known.

and in the deep dark part of you that wanted to hate him, thought that maybe he’d planned this out all along. made you some weak little girl without any fight left on purpose. you knew that wasn’t true, you were both broken but…

you didn’t know if it was something you said, something you did and the feeling in the pit of your gut never really went away. memories of that night echoed in your skull like an angry ocean, crashing against the shore.

“you can’t keep doing this to yourself. you’ll die.” you said, thinking you sounded brave in the words you said. that maybe this would give him some strength to change. foolish, you think now.

to think you could change a man, a man you loved no less. a man you put your heart and soul into for years, a man that was such a part of you, that it physically pained you when he walked away.

“you’re not my fucking mother! fucks sake! stop being so damn controlling.” you heard him reply back, yelling and shaking every bone in your body. a side you’d never seen before. a side you despised. you hated it, you wanted to hit him and smack some sense into his gorgeous face.

and the venom that spewed from your mouth wasn’t any better, “don’t be such a child! i’m just trying to help you! you should be thankful i’m still around!”

and you saw the frozen air still around the both of you, cracking and breaking like shards to glass. you should have just kept your mouth shut, not said anything. but were you wrong? no, you weren’t.

but that still didn’t stop the ache in your bones and your chest, your eyes were red and heavy with tears. so damn tired of crying, but can’t bring yourself to stop. you hated him for making you like this, so weepy and sad.

“pretty girls don’t cry.” he had mumbled to you into your skull one day, caressing your hair. this was before everything had gone south, when he actually cared enough to console you.

fuck you, i am crying and it’s all your fault. you think now, cursing him as if he were actually around and not just a ghost haunting your bones and memory.

but you couldn’t help it, he’d left, taking a part of your heart with him. he ended things, you needed him too and you hated admitting that maybe he wasn’t right for you. he changed.

you fought hard, you tried to change him, to hold onto that man you fell in love with so many years before. it was hard to just learn to live without him, to breathe air. but you managed in a way, breathing on your own and just surviving without a life raft.

you needed him shamelessly, even when he walked away and cut things off, when he was the one to leave you in pieces. to make you hate him with every fiber in your body, but you couldn’t hate him fully. he taught you how to love so many years ago.

and you couldn’t unlearn something so visceral and such a deep part of your soul. you just couldn’t bring yourself to, not knowing that he was out there. that he was breathing and living and trying as hard as you to forget.

it was painful, it was a sharp reminder that love wasn’t easy and that pain comes with it. even when you would eventually see him again, maybe find your way back to him. that the pain would still reside, along with the love.

glass shattering, broken promises, lies. they all piled up in your way like a blockade as you unraveled leon from your body. in every aspect of your life, he was tangled within you, a part of every part of who you were.

it was scary, to see someone change right in front of you and not be able to do a singular thing about it. all you could do was watch, try and help. and even in your case, that wasn’t enough.

he still left and you still hoped deep down he would come back to you. that he would apologize and that maybe, maybe he would care about you again.

but even if that did happen, you didn’t know if you could let yourself.

and that was even scarier.

an: if you guys want to request blurbs now, you absolutely can now. as well as headcanons, pls repost <33 i hope u guys enjoyed. i love u all so much. kisses xx

#leon kennedy #leon x reader #resident evil vendetta #vendetta leon #leon kennedy au #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy fic #leon kennedy drabble #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fanfic #angst #leon kennedy angst #resident evil x reader #re2 leon #re4 remake

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frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe · 3 months ago

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@steddieangstyaugust Day 31 - Speaking Saturday: "I'm not going to beg you to love me."

i’m challenging myself to keep all these at either 127 or 1,270 words each, see day one for more of an explanation!

“You can’t keep going on like this, Eddie! You’re gonna die, you’ve gotta find them, tell them!”

Eddie hacks another horrible cough. Three petals fall into his hand this time. “Uh huh.”

The cough started not long after Eddie’d been deemed fully recovered and fully cleared of all wrongdoing in the spring break murders.

It started light at first, Eddie brushing it off as getting used to smoking again, but it’d just gotten worse.

After a good couple weeks of solid cough, Steve finally saw a petal.

All Eddie’s attempts at squirreling them away successful until that moment.

Eddie had contracted Hanahaki. Love blossoms, Death thorns.

And he’d staunchly refused any conversation about confessing to whoever it was he was stuck on, who he was literally dying over.

"Why are you being such an idiot about this?!”

“I’m being realistic, Steve.” Every breath sounds like it’s going through a cheese grater.

“Realis– Eddie. You. Are. Going. To. Die.”

“Yep.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

That finally seems to set him off, “Of course I’m not! I’m fucking pissed that this is my lot in life. I survived the bats, the infections, the goddamn people of this town, and now it’s my stupid, lovesick heart that does me in?? I’m livid!”

Eddie hacks another cough, folding up on the bed with the force of them. A pile of ten blood-spattered petals sit on his lap by the end of his fit.

“So why not try?” Steve asks when Eddie’s breathing levels back out to its new normal level of wheezing. “If you’re already resigned yourself to dying, what’s the harm in telling them?”

Eddie studies him, his dark eyes are bloodshot, watering still from the coughs, then closes his eyes and shakes his head yet again.

“Damn it, Eddie.” Steve drops his head into his palms, “Do you think this is fun for us? Watching you wither away like this?” He picks his head back up, “Do you think Wayne is enjoying knowing that he got you back from the dead once only for you to turn around and walk back towards it?”

“I’m not going to do it, Steve, so stop.”

“No, this is asinine and you know it, Munson!”

Eddie’s face twists up in anger, “I’m not going to beg you to love me!”

Every fiber of Steve’s being freezes in place. His heart stops, his feet are made of ice.

Then, his head, blissfully quiet for only a moment, swirls back into a frenzy.

What?! Me?! I’m the one causing thi—

“I want you to leave.” Eddie’s whisper cuts his thoughts short.

“Huh?”

“Leave.”

“Eddie, no, wait, just let me–”

“Go, Steve!”

Steve’s legs pick him up in an instant. “Eddie, I—”

“I said leave, Harrington! Get the fuck out of my hou—” a fit of coughs breaks into his speech, and this time, Eddie reaches for the bucket, spewing his meager breakfast and bile into the bottom along with at least ten more petals. A final heave, and a whole rose makes an appearance.

Once done, he spits a couple times, then without looking up, says, “Go. Now.”

So he does.

He walks down the hall and to the front door in a daze, his thoughts swirling.

Eddie’s in love with him?

He– Him?? Steve Harrington? He’s like, the complete opposite of what Eddie should be into.

He’s driving now, not sure where he’s going.

But why? Why him? How is Steve supposed to help him??

That’s why he didn’t want to tell you, dipshit.

Of course.

The car pulls into Robin’s driveway.

What is he supposed to do now? He’s got to save Eddie’s life somehow, right?

“Dingus, what are you doing here?”

“I’m why Eddie’s dying.”

Robin’s expression shifts, she pulls him into the house and up the stairs to her room.

Steve sinks down onto the edge of her mattress. “Robin, Eddie’s in love with me. I’m his Hanahaki.”

“I know, I know,” She says, patting his back, “He told me.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“There’s nothing you can do, Steve. Not unless you suddenly have a whole new preference in partners.”

Steve sits with that a moment. Did he? Eddie’s a good-looking guy, sure, that’s just objective. But…. he thinks about kissing Eddie, how his lips would feel against his, about the times he’d seen him naked while helping him recover, about how he’d feel against him..

Nothing.

Steve doesn’t want to kiss Eddie. Doesn’t want to do anything more with the imagined naked man in his head other than find him some clothes after helping get him clean and changing his bandages.

He loves the guy, sure, but it’s only maybe more than how much he loves Jonathan. Meaning he’s on the Steve Scale of Caring just under all the shitheads.

“No. I don’t.”

Robin heaves a sigh, “Yeah, figured as much. What’d Eddie say when you told him?”

“..Told him what?”

“That you don’t feel that way about him.”

“I didn’t.”

“You didn’t?”

Steve shrugs.

“You didn’t tell him you don’t have feelings for him?”

“I didn’t tell him anything. He didn’t let me.” He tells Robin what Eddie said, about throwing up and demanding he leave right after.

“What? What’s with the face?” “We have to get back to Eddie’s.” Robin shoots up, grabbing her back and pulling on some socks.

Steve follows, “What? What do you mean?”

“How many did he throw up? How many petals?”

“Uh, I dunno, ten maybe? A whole flower came out at the end.”

Robin’s eyes go wide, “Oh no.”

A rock sinks heavily into Steve’s stomach, “What’s “Oh no.”?”

“Let’s go!!”

She pulls him down the steps and back out the door, barely managing to pull her shoes on.

“Gotta hurry! We've got to get back to Forest Hills!”

So he steps on it, not quite sure what the huge rush is, but Robin’s expression tells him it’s serious.

“What is happening, Rob, why am I hurrying?” He asks desperately, screeching around the last corner.

“You rejected him, It’s going to take hold even faster now!”

Steve feels like throwing up, he presses his foot down even harder.

“I didn’t though. I didn’t say anything!”

“I don’t think it matters,” Robin says, flinging open the passenger door.

Steve follows, hopping up the porch steps and through the back door just behind her.

Her gasp doesn’t bode well. “Oh no.”

He pushes past her, into Eddie’s room.

“Holy shit… Eddie!”

Eddie’s curled up on his side facing them in the door, paler than even an hour ago, chest barely moving.

There’s thick thorny vines snaking out of his face. two out his mouth, one out his right nostril, all three covered in beautiful, bloody white roses.

The blooms do their best to cover his face, but his scrunched brow can still be seen.

“Eddie..” Steve whispers, reaching for his cheek.

He doesn’t touch him however, Robin’s voice startling him from down the hall, “Hello? Yes, Hi, I need an ambulance please, it’s thorns!”

Steve doesn’t know what to do.

He wants to yank the stems out, he wants to pick Eddie up and run him to the hospital himself.. But he’s frozen.

All he can do is stare down at the slowly decreasing rate of movement of Eddie’s chest, and listen as the sirens get closer.

—

He’s in a coma.

The beeping has been sounding in Steve’s head for weeks now, sat at Eddie’s bedside.

The vines are gone, held back by medication, but it’s only prolonging the inevitable.

“I hate you.” Steve lies.

The scratching in his throat is getting stronger.

🙃🙃🙃🙃

this is it!! the last day of Angsty August!! i can't believe i've posted something for every single day this month, holy shit

i'd say i'm not going to do this ever again, but i want to write something for every day in @steddie-spooktober so i'll see y'all then 😅

see the collection on tumblr | on AO3!

#steddieangstyaugust #steve harrington #eddie munson #steveddie #eddeve #hanahaki #hanahaki disease #speaking saturday #noelle writes

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fiberturkey89 · 7 months ago

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Ninjago Spirits AU post

So, instead of Sora having an immediate prosthetic- she actually has a brace similar to Kong's B.E.A.S.T glove! Without it, she can't really use her arm for anything - she can theoretically lift things, but too much strain on her arm hurts her. (Being ambidextrous can only get you so far, too)

The armour helps protect her arm, and in turn, she can use it for everyday use - but in combat, she prefers not to because of how weird it feels. (And sometimes it can bar on uncomfortable, so she prefers to punch with her left arm and kick)

She's still a little unsure if she should go all the way to a prosthetic. (Keep in mind this AU takes place in between the initial Merge and the present day of Dragons Rising)

#Fibers Spews #ninjago dragons rising #ninjago #ninjago sora

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iandoubt · 27 days ago

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my mildly unintelligible incoherent rambling headcannons on the life series but primarily wild life and I had more to say but I had to cut it down lol and I’m mainly posting this for personal reference: (be wary, it is a long post)

Wild life is so fascinating from a lore perspective like in the past it was everyone against everyone else, friendly survival but things were just a little bit off, a little bit desperate, felt a little bit out of control, like maybe something bigger was at work here, but you could look the threat in the eyes and kill it and go home…until you couldn’t. As the strings being pulled turned from invisible twine to neon shoelaces and the hand in the shadows was suddenly the title character and every thing seemed to connect, seemed to end. But it didn’t. The watchers were the center the thumbnail the logo the everything mercilessly piloting the story towards the conclusion they desired, and then it was done, the loop back to the very beginning was made, it was finished. But then it wasn’t. What Real Life and Wild Life have in common is this sort of sense of storytelling absurdity, everything is cut short and brief and it’s silly and horrifying and painful (just to intulude here, I am still discussing everything purely lore wise. The only pain I experienced watching either of those things was sadness when they ended) and suffering doesn’t seem to have a meaning a purpose a quiet dignity anymore it’s April fools and everyone is throwing up and dead their bodies won’t listen won’t function can’t fight cant run but it’s a joke haha there’s no story no rhyme or reason it’s just torture and now the ultimate of random purposeless suffering wild cards they can’t kill each other can’t fight each other because every moment is a struggle to survive as the world itself has turned against them as their bodies betray them as they die in humiliating horrifying ways the very fiber of their being the very core of their world something is terribly terribly wrong it is like the order and rules that bound the life series have broken and the chaos of the void is pouring through drowning the code of the world as the players are ripped to shreds by the avalanche, watching their bodies crumble. It’s like the watchers finished telling their story of perfect and purposeful suffering and then pulled the string holding the knot together. It’s like the life series is a pane of glass that they polished to perfection, punched, and walked away, leaving the shards to slowly shatter as the beauty and horror and chaos and glory that makes up the world spews forth to tear it’s broken remains apart. There will still be the games, but now there is nothing pulling the strings, nothing holding it together. Suffering no longer has a meaning, a purpose, a goal, it is simply suffering. How terrifying must that be to have everything that you are shattering, pieces of you like broken glass strewn about as the void bursts forth to consume the ruins and the wreckage of the world.

We know that life series players are alternate versions of themselves, because while Hermitcraft scar is happily building his zoo in season ten, secret life scar is still out there wandering among the sunflowers. I don’t remember if real life Cleo lived or not, and we don’t know if this season’s winner will live on, but let’s pretend for the sake of this ramble being almost somewhat coherent that both cleo and the new winner live. What happens to the new winner (I’ll get to what happens to Cleo later)? The world is breaking, coming apart at the seams. Each new day brings a fresh horror from the void to try to wipe them out. And what about memories? This is where this strays firmly into headcannon territory, but my personal way of imagining it starts at a fairly ubiquitous jumping off point, the idea that lifers during the games do not have access to their memories, but going upon the alternate versions thing they do not remember the games at all. There is the original player, journeying through smps and servers, and then there is a version of them for each separate life series, shadow copies that they are completely unaware of and unconnected to created by the watchers to play puppets with in their perfect dark fairytale. Each life series is a new copy, because every game the copies all died. Up until secret life. They had had their fun, there was no reason for them to kill off the last one, scar, the winner left alive and alone. The og scar and the secret life scar are not aware of each other because og has no idea about the copy and copy wrongly assumes he is the real scar. He regained all the memories from before of Hermitcraft when he won and the watchers broke the game but the way he understands it is, because again the other life series were other versions of scar, he was on Hermitcraft uninterrupted up until suddenly they were all abducted into this game called secret life and they all were driven insane and killed each other and now he is alone. He can’t leave because the copies are bound to their worlds and doesn’t try to leave because as far as he knows there is no where for him to go. Crucially, again, secret life scar and Hermitcraft scar are two entirely different people.

So let’s imagine for this new winner, living in this horrifying shattered world, there are no more watchers to police memories. The copies are still made, the code is still there, the games carry on, becoming more garbled and twisted with each broken game, so that the copies don’t come out quite right, which explains the movement issues and nausea in real life and the way the wild cards go to the very data of the player and twist it in wild life. So this broken copy wins, and suddenly remembers, just as secret life scar did, all that came before, but the game is even more broken so they remember so much more than that. They see all the lives, every version of themselves. They see themselves after, the version that was never in the games, with their friends, living on. The versions of the friends they know are dead, but alternate, happier, more carefree versions live on with an alternate, happier, more carefree version of themselves. Their friends don’t miss them, don’t know they are gone, because they aren’t. They are alone and trapped on a world doomed to slowly fracture into oblivion. Everything is broken. But they refuse this, perhaps. They rebel. There is nothing tying the world together? Then they will escape through the cracks. They will find this world with the other copies. Real life Cleo, who remembers enough to know that they are are a copy, but the game hasn’t fully broken by real life so she is unaware there were other games. Also I’m realizing now that I haven’t really talked a lot about Cleo but tbh that’s mostly because their character strikes me as someone who is unshakable, pragmatic (this is why I think she and Scott got along so well, they both go at the games with eyes on the prize) who would of course be upset but also be rational, and simply try to make the best out of their life) secret life scar, who still believes that he is the only version of scar out there and that he murdered all of his friends. Both stuck on these worlds alone, but this new winner will break through the walls on these servers, and say come on, we’re here, we’re our own gosh dang people, so let’s go take back our lives. Idk where this goes from there but I headcannon that every real life version of all the players had mobility issues, hence the movement problems, but Cleo is the only real life player left so she’s the only one still experiencing these problems. I also headcannon that the new winner has, well, I haven’t actually figured out the specifics but some sort of residual issues relating to the wild cards and broken code.

this headcannon also introduces some interesting lore ties for Grian, and tbh I haven’t thought to much about how the watcher lore would work in this, well ig this is an au at this point, but if you think about his panic at the end of the most recent session, and that he was able to freeze time, it could be a sort of thing like he is unintentionally the one causing the games to continue being a watcher, but in the past he had no control but now he’s been handed the reins with no instructions and has no idea what to do. All the power and no clue how to use it. This also could lead to some interesting things about watching, because maybe in the past he could watch, could see that they were copies, and played accordingly. He knew the other versions would live on so he resigned himself to a certain extent to death, but now there is no path no clear cut story no string to follow through the dark he can’t see beyond the games and he’s terrified.

anyway that’s like kinda my headcannons idk if anyone will actually read this far but if you did thanks. Also I really wanna write/draw something for this, maybe turn it into a proper au, so if u person who is still reading would like to join me on that endeavor I would love to work with u.

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bearw-me · 7 months ago

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Hey there, Could you maybe Write a fic of Lute with a sinner reader who is actually really good at fighting her, but eventually gets killed by her during an extermination while the reader is protecting a friend. Only Lute starts really missing the reader afterwards, but what Lute doesn't realize is that the reader's actions caused them to get redeemed and she bumps into them in heaven. Thanks in advance!

sorry it took so long anon! you don't know how many times i rewrote this until i was satisfied! REALLY hope this lives up to the request lol

𝐁𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 — 𝐋𝐮𝐭𝐞

𐐒 includes : lute x redeemed!reader (enemies to ?), roommate mentioned 𐐒 cw : mentions of death/killing/blood, readers a major badass, mentions of reader trying to behead lute, there's fluff i swear 𐐒 summary : she hates you. she hates you. . . and yet, exterminations just don't feel the same without you anymore. 𐐒 word count : 986 𐐒 note : love this dynamic sm!

She hated you, with every fiber of her holy being, she hated you.

Every extermination was the same.

The portal to hell opened like a volcano, spewing up steam from hell's fire and the smell of brimstone. Lute cast her spear down, signaling for the exterminators to begin their descent on the red sky.

Like many times before, hell watched in horror as the horizon spilled forth thousands of dark angels, slaughtering bloody paths through the city.

Lute stared into the abyss, the lovely screams of sinners like music to her ears. She sighed, a soft, sinister smile crawling across her lips.

Her foot stepped into the empty air of hell, free falling over Pentagram City.

Like the other times, she did her duties as the lieutenant of heaven's army. Running her path like a woman possessed. Duty and adrenaline coursing through her wings.

And just like all those times before, you laid between her path.

"I'll kill you," You warned with a huff, the sword in your hand trembling, but never falling. "Don't come any closer!"

Lute looked you up and down this time, drinking in your appearance.

Not much to look at, at first. Not much muscle on your arms, trembling legs. . . a dark glint in your eye. The same one all sinners possessed.

You were in hell for a reason, and Lute would make you pay for it.

She pointed her mighty spear at you with one arm, the holy weapon nearly crossing the distance between your two bodies. "This is what you deserve scum," she hissed.

You shook, like you were afraid in her presence, but never looked away. . . never stepped back.

She liked it.

Or at least, it was admirable. . . for a sniveling sinner.

"You're not getting away this time," Lute promised, dropping her spear to her side and standing square with you, her wings unravelling from her back, fluttering and hissing like the mighty angel she promised she was.

That's when recognition hit you "Your... You're that angel." Then a soft, uncharacteristic smile appeared on your face "Was last time not enough of a fight for you!"

Lute fist tightened into a white-knuckle grip around her spear, her other hand absentmindedly shooting up to her neck.

You could see it written all over her face: the fear of being beheaded this time by your blade.

With no warning, she burst straight-forward, spear pointed at your chest in fury.

With every hit, every punch and broken knuckle, you kept standing. Not relenting to her power in the slightest, but pushing her back. The fight like an intricate dance between enemies bent on destruction.

Lute screamed, wielding her spear high above her head and bringing it down onto you, your sword blocking the blow.

The angel used her wings to push down harder against you, the wind of her might kicking up dust and feathers in attempts to crush more than just your body.

You didn't even have the power to make a sound, holding the blade up with trembling arms.

The scream Lute heard wasn't yours.

Someone called your name, a loud sob "Please don't die!" they begged you.

You shoved Lute off your sword, the force enough to send her flying back with a snap, spear clattering against the asphalt. Before you could run to your roommate, you swung at Lute.

All she could hear was ringing, her head spinning violently as she willed herself to open her eyes.

Lute blinked blearily, realizing with horror that her mask had cracked in half, the vision on her left eye plain and exposed to the horrors of hell. With wide eyes she rose uneasily to her feet like a zombie.

"You," she mumbled, "YOU!"

You turned just in time to bring your sword up in defense, Lute once again raising her spear above her halo.

You didn't even know angels could fly with a broken wing.

As if time stopped, Lute's attacked shifted to the trembling girl behind you, your best friend who craved escape. . . you're best friend who deserved safety.

Four months after the extermination, Lute found herself prepping the raid on hell with less enthusiasm than before.

Adam's shoulder punches of excitement bordered on annoying now.

And the Seraphim's wishes seemed pointless.

More like the order's that they were than a fun task to undertake herself. The days just seemed to blend into the next. No excitement, no real challenge.

Was that what you were to her?

She sighed.

All the millennia that had passed. . . she had never felt so- so empty, so void?

Was that the right word? She thought to herself uneasily, moping in her thoughts as she walked the promenade.

All she knew was that it happened the extermination she had finally prevailed over you.

And she didn't even know what your name was. . .

That was a weird thing to think wasn't it?

The thought made her heart feel heavy. It wasn't guilt. No. . . it was.

Without looking where she was going-or you for that matter, the two of you collided, the force sending you backward.

Before you could fall, Lute caught your wrist, steadying you.

"I'm so sorry!" You apologized quickly, a blush creeping its way across the bridge of your nose.

Lute could only stare, mouth parted in awe.

"I wasn't watching where I was going! I'm sorry, I'm not used to this place. . . uh the promenade I mean." You explained messily, trying to cover up your mistakes as you fumbled over your words.

Lute's wings jumped from her back in surprise, only to recoil from the shooting pain her broken wing caused.

And recognition hit you both like a truck.

Lute's eye, unmasked that night, paired with the broken wing.

And you were the same, besides the fact that you traded your horns for a bright golden halo.

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star-farer · 23 days ago

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to capture your doom

Summary: Loveless worlds hold no power over a child of hope. AU: Ik'aad Taglist: @kybercrystals94 @fionas-frenzy @padawancat97 @margindoodles2407 @dreamsight73 @comfy-vember

Comfy-vember 2024, Day 8: Found — Thunder shower

It’s dark when they arrive on Tantiss. Dark and stormy, rain whisking around in mad whirls and sprinkles by the fickle wind.

But where Kamino’s grand seas were ravaged by the elements, this is a far tamer weather, she finds. Perhaps it’s because of how swift and steady the assassin flies his vessel. Perhaps it’s because she’s more focused on finding a way to escape and get back home.

Whatever the case, she doesn’t trust anything about this place; not its people, not its fauna, not its climate. She braces herself when she feels the ship land. She inhales, then exhales, and prepares herself to face anything.

The pilot’s seat slides back and swivels around. The clone assassin stands, considering her quietly for a moment, head moving ever so slightly to the side as if he wants to say something.

The moment passes in the blink of an eye, and he turns to pull out rifle and pack from a compartment. She watches curiously as straps clasp onto his cuirass, but quickly averts her eyes and schools her expression into what she hopes is stoic silence when he notices.

A soft rasp escapes the assassin’s helmet and he dips his head. “Get up.”

Loathe as she is to obey, she does as is required of her. She has to cooperate if she’s going to get into Tantiss Base and free all the clones. Her brothers, her vode, her aliit need her.

“Move,” he commands, and she moves, one brave foot in front of the other.

He presses some sort of brace around his bicep and the ramp lowers open. A chill runs through the gaps of her clothing, clothing meant for sunny days and sandy beaches. She looks about the dull hangar they have landed in, takes in the lights dimmed by the mist of heavy rain.

The wind slamming around haphazardly makes her shiver, but the man waiting for her with keen and eager eyes, features highlighted by the red glow of the vessel’s engines, turns the blood in her veins to ice.

Before she can spew profanity of any kind and prove herself a sister to soldiers, she’s shoved forward to climb down the ramp.

They walk the entire short way to where Hemlock stands with his hands behind his back. It’s only when she stops as close as she dares to that demagolka that the assassin unclips her binders and her arms are freed.

She wraps one sore wrist in her hand, thinking about the number of times her hands have been bound. The thought isn’t troubling, only peculiar in how singular it is to her.

“Turning yourself in was a wise decision,” says Hemlock, his speech soft and silver, venom laced slyly along its syllables with the wry humor of a man who laughs at death periodically. Of all those on this wretched planet, she declares him lower than the dirt that clings to her shoes.

He turns from her, all purpose and pride in his posture. “Come with me.”

How convincing. Her eyes narrow and mouth twists at the man who has ruined her life not once, but twice. Victory at his cost will be sweeter than anything she will ever taste.

She’s shoved a second time for lingering too long. Instinct nearly drives her to snarl back at the clone behind her.

Only her buir’s voice, resonating firm in her head, makes her follow after Hemlock despite every fiber of her being screaming for vengeance.

Crosshair kneels before her. He takes her hands in both of his. He looks her deep in the eyes.

“Bide your time. Hold out for as long as you are able. Stay alert and keep your eyes and ears open. You found a weak point once. You can do it again.”

She nods, lips a thin line of utter determination, ready to execute their plan.

But he doesn’t let go. Not yet.

He takes her face gently between his palms. He presses her forehead against his. Neither realize that they have closed their eyes. Neither realize the tears running down their cheeks.

“Whatever happens there, cyare, whatever they do to you, don’t forget.”

If his voice shakes, if his fingers tremble, they refuse to acknowledge either.

“Don’t forget us, Om’ika. Don’t forget who you are.”

She clenches her jaw as she remembers his rasping voice, clings to the memory of all that is him, fierce and warm and alive.

“I won’t,” she promises, knowing not even lightyears can keep her family away from her, “I won’t.”

#tbb #sw tbb #the bad batch #clone force 99 #ik'aad #tbb fanfiction #tbb omega #tbb crosshair #royce hemlock #tbb hemlock #tbb cx 2 #cx 2 #<- not tech #comfy-vember 2024

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cherryslyce · 1 year ago

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The Avarice Files (III) | Regulus Black

Series Synopsis: Boundless uncertainty ensues when you’re tasked to complete a mission requiring time travel for the Ministry. The best part? Your partner, acclaimed hero of the Great Wizarding War, Regulus Black, a man who was supposed to be long dead.

— Chapter Synopsis: A confrontation ensues and Regulus provides enlightening truths.

Part II / Series Masterlist

Pairing: Regulus Black x GN!Reader

Notes: Exactly 5.2k words. Apologies for the wait!

Every fiber of muscle in your body draws taut with primal fear, adrenaline bleeding into your senses as you stare at the wand pointed at you. Despite the physiological distress surging through your being, your face slackens into an unimpressed scowl. The mystery man sneers at you and emphatically jabs his wand toward you, eyes narrowing further. “I said, who the hell are you?”

“And what the hell are you saying?” You cross your arms, eyebrows drawing together as you steadily hold his gaze.

The man faintly lowers his wand, beginning to circle around you with an intrigued gaze. “Fascinating. You really have not done your research.” A derisive chuckle crackles into the stiff air as your eyes find him again.

Even if you could, there was no use trying to convince the man, you couldn’t leave any witnesses anyway. Spinning on your heel, you frown and move across the room toward the bar, snatching a decanter containing amber liquid and a whiskey glass from the shelves. “How insulting.”

Your musing has the man raising his eyebrow, wand dropping to his side as he cautiously watches you. “Insulting?” He echoes, voice tinted with unadulterated curiosity. The change in his demeanor has you sniffing into the air as you pour yourself a glass.

“Yes. To be confronted by someone like you of all people.” You hum, taking a sip of the alcohol. Scotch.

Tipping back the rest of the drink into your mouth, you slam the glass onto the polished bar and smile caustically at the man. Slipping your wand into your hand, and concealing your movements behind the wide bar, you tilt your head and hum out to him in your normal voice, “Who are you anyway?”

“Henry Mulciber.” The man’s knuckles whiten as a triumphant grin mars his face, “Decent accent, by the way. Pity that you couldn’t fool me, hm?”

“I’ll give credit where it’s due. How’d you know?” You ask with light curiosity, running your thumb along the handle of your wand.

A chuckle slips past his lip, “Asking to move to private quarters? My dove could have cared less about being found out.” He twirls his wand and gives you a look of deep consideration. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you too bad. I’ll let Clyde decide what to do with you, you did break into his home after all.”

“Charming,” you snark back, licking your lips as you discreetly cast a silencio over the room. “But apologies, you know how business can be.” You smile cryptically at him, momentarily relishing in the confused look that flashes across his gaze. Before he can retort, your hand flies over the counter and the words are streaming from your mouth in a flat mutter, “Petrificus Totalus.”

To your dismay, Mulciber manages to duck quick enough to avoid your jinx, the spell missing him by a hair’s length. The man flies up from his crouch not a second later and has you taking cover as his arm snaps towards you, a reverberating Crucio spewing from his mouth cruelly.

The red bolt crashes into the shelf behind you, splintering the mahogany wood and sprinkling the floor around you with pins of polished red. You grit your teeth and swiftly shuffle to the end of the bar, leaping up from your new spot as you throw a potent reducto at the glass coffee table beside him. The thick panes burst into the air in shimmering fragments before evanescing as they flee the light of the chandelier. Mulciber instinctively raises his arm to guard his face as his body tilts away from the destruction.

“Incarcerous!” You grit out, rounding out of the bar as the spell knocks the man off his feet, his body crashing into the glass-strewn floor with a resounding thud. The binds around him tighten as he begins to wiggle and grunt, but just as you point your wand at him again, the door bursts open.

Your head snaps up in shock as you peer at the intruder, breathing out a sigh of relief when you see Regulus with a deep purple tome tucked by his side. “Dear merlin. You’re finally here. I may have made an error in judgment.”

Regulus goes to say something, eyes wide with disbelief as he takes in the scene, but he is interrupted by a strangled yell from Mulciber. “Diffindo!”

The orange beam shoots toward your neck and you feel your entire soul evaporate away before a thundering stench of impending death wraps itself around your body. Throwing yourself away from the approaching cutting spell, you grunt out as it slices through the muscles of your shoulder.

Molten pain erupts from the flowing laceration, warm blood pouring down your attire as you feel a biting chill drip down your spine and to your toes. Regulus flies from the doorway and toward Mulciber’s body just as a million tingling needles settle down your arm. Assessing your injury, you nearly reel back in shock as you see red everywhere. The spell probably severed a few ligaments—and Merlin, is that your bloody bone?

You pay no mind as you hear a loud grunt from in front of you. Regulus could be kicking in the man’s face for all you know, but you are too enraptured by the sight of whatever was left of your shoulder.

Another day at work, another injury.

Huffing, you raise your eyes just in time to see Regulus releasing the binds from an unconscious Mulciber. “Thanks.” You mutter, moving your gaze to fixate on the artifact that was now lying on one of the lounge chairs. It was emitting a faint pulse of magic that whispered indecipherable promises through your head, causing you to step back in wonderment.

Definitely not an ordinary artifact.

Regulus maneuvers Mulciber from the floor, propping him up on the opposite chair before turning to face you. “You’re bleeding.”

“Astute observation.” You huff out, grunting when Regulus gently pushes you to sit down by the tome with your good shoulder.

He lifts his wand up to the wound, muttering a quiet Vulnera Sanentur under his breath and only releasing a pleased hum when your wound begins to heal under the coat of your blood. “You handled it well.” He swiftly follows up his words by repairing the tear through your sleeve.

You smile wobbly at the man and sink into the cushions behind you. “I’m surprised as well. You’re good with healing spells, do you get hurt a lot?” Your curious eyes flicker from the tome beside you to Regulus as he holsters his wand.

“Not too badly anymore.” He grunts, turning to face the unconscious man across from you. You both grimace as a trail of drool slides down his chin, hair now resembling disheveled foliage as his head tips awkwardly onto his shoulder.

Gently rolling your newly healed shoulder, you get up and prop a hand on your hip, shaking your head in amusement at the sight. “Oh how the mighty have fallen so.”

Regulus shakes his head, but you can see the inkling of a self-satisfied smirk on his face. You walk over to the obliterated shelves and search for any surviving bottles of alcohol, bringing your wand up to repair the mess. “Reg, can you undo his collar a bit?”

You huff as you clear the mess of glass fragments and spilt alcohol, eyes frantically scouring over the never ending mess.

“Aha.” You mutter to yourself, wrangling a hefty wine bottle from a lower cabinet. Regulus complies with your previous request wordlessly, only offering a look of bemusement when you wander back over with the bottle and a glass.

“Oh. You fixed it.” You falter in your steps as you see the glass table sitting spotless in its original spot.

“Are we toasting?” He quietly hums, standing back as you crack open the bottle.

“Not quite, maybe later.” You reply, pouring the wine into the cup. Pushing the glass in front of Mulciber’s unconscious body, you pull your wand out and dispel the rest of the wine from the bottle.

Putting the empty bottle in Mulciber’s slack hand, you turn to look at Regulus with a proud grin. “Do you want to do the honors of waking him up?”

“Sure.” Regulus says, raising his eyebrows at your elaborate set up. The man shuffles by you before raising his wand up and casting a swift Rennervate. You ready your wand as Mulciber’s eyes fly open in panic, pupils darting from side-to-side before they settle on you both.

You were sure that if he had the energy, he’d be frothing at the mouth. “You!—”

Before he can continue, you point your wand at his sluggish figure, “Obliviate.” You channel all your magical energy into ensuring that any suspicion of your infiltration and duel is wiped clean from his memory. The man slumps back down in a daze and Regulus gives a low huff as Mulciber’s expression droops with a glassy-eyed look.

“Best we get going then.” You mumble, beginning to retreat from the room as Regulus strides after you with the file. “Does this place have a back door or something?”

Regulus takes another once over of the room to check for missed damage before shutting the door behind him with a small exhale. “Yeah, we should hurry before the potion wears off.”

“My joints are tingling a bit.” You quietly confirm, falling back to let Regulus lead you through the maze of hallways.

The winding corridors eventually come to an end once Regulus locates a narrow entryway seemingly at the end of the west wing. The walls are noticeably less vibrant, with a haze of dust dimming the atmosphere around you. Regulus continues forward through the slim doorway, turning to peer at you once he steps through. “Watch your step, these stairs are a bit worn.”

Mutely nodding, you both swiftly descend down the stairwell until you step onto a small landing between two sturdy green doors. Regulus deftly twists the right door open, cautiously peering through the crack before swinging it open for you.

You have to squint as you make your way through, the bright light of the daytime sky stinging at your eyes as your shoes crunch against the verdant grass. “Where did the other door lead to?” You ask smally once Regulus falls into step beside you.

“The kitchen.” Regulus mutters, sighing once you both near the wards, likely tired of the repetitive process.

You pull out your wand and perform the interception charm again, feeling a shiver vibrate across your body as the Polyjuice Potion in your system nears the end of its life. Regulus waits for you to step through and into the edge of the forest before he continues behind you, “I’ll go fetch those two.”

He hands you the file before disappearing into the dense forestry with one last glance toward you, beginning to undo his overcoat as his body starts to morph back. You clear your throat and make your way over to the tree hollow, relieved to see that your bag is still tucked away inside the inky pocket.

As you haul the woven bag out, the sound of heavy footsteps echoes toward you, indicating that Regulus had arrived with the two stunned Italians. Turning around, you smile faintly as Regulus hurries over, the two bodies resting along his shoulders swaying as he carefully lowers them to the ground.

You begin to pull out all of your clothes, remembering to be careful with Regulus’ mask as your fingers graze against its hard surface. The next few minutes are painted with a busy silence as you both work to tear off your outfits before you both completely transform back, a mutual understanding blossoming as you both turn away from each other to get situated.

“Are you decent?” You ask awkwardly, relief sinking into your muscles as you adjust to your familiar robes.

“Yeah.” Regulus replies back, his cadence indicating that he had already put his mask back into place.

You turn around and step toward the two limp bodies between you both, placing the formal wear down beside their feet just as Regulus slowly spins on his heel. “I can do it.” His soft mutter has you agreeing easily, opting to instead move away to place the retrieved file into your bag. Just as you close the opening of the bag, Regulus’ wordless Rennervate has the body beside your feet twitching before you see his eyes slowly peel open, eyebrows furrowing from the light. Before he has the opportunity to regain awareness, you watch as Regulus raises his wand again.

“Imperio,” He firmly commands, one hand tucked away inside his robe pocket, as if his actions were the most casual thing in the world. The man’s eyes glaze over immediately before a milky fog stirs across his iris and pupils as he awaits Regulus’ commands. “Get dressed, head back inside using the back door, and grab yourself a couple of drinks.”

Like a doll being maneuvered by strings, the man silently complies with stiff movements and unwavering precision in his task. Regulus barely bats an eye before repeating the same process with the second victim, watching as they both slowly rise up and walk out of the small clearing and toward the door you both exited from.

“One file down, two more to go.” You huff out with a tired smile, fiddling with the chain of the time turner.

Regulus nods quietly and strides toward you, throwing the chain around him before releasing a patient hum as you continue to turn the handle of the device. Lifting your fingers away, the rings of the artifact begin to spin sporadically and you feel the ground beneath your feet rumble faintly.

Your eyes squeeze shut as the spinning of time rapidly picks up speed, melding together days and nights and weeks to years. After a flurry of arbitrary thoughts to busy yourself, you feel Regulus’ gloved hand fall against your shoulder, “We’re here.”

Nodding, you slowly open your eyes and roll your shoulders back. “Thank you.”

The forest remained as lively as ever, the only decipherable change to your environment being the position of the sun in the sky. Tucking away the time turner, you turn your gaze to Regulus’ masked one as he offers up his arm again.

“Do you think Gawdry will tell us why the files are so valuable?” You ask, looping your arm with his.

“Not a chance.” Regulus muses, his words followed by the swift pull of apparition.

Wind bats against your ears for a few moments before you feel smooth tile press against your feet, spurring you to fall back into reality. Blinking, you step back and survey the area Regulus brought you both to: a dim alcove in the Ministry atrium. The walk to the Department of Mysteries was a far one, but you both would be able to hug against the shadows nearby to avoid wandering eyes until you reach the elevator.

“How do you navigate around the Ministry without being seen?” You hum out curiously, treading by the tall brick pillars.

Regulus seems to slow his steps to match yours as he tugs his hood down further once your passage conjoins into the main chamber of the Ministry. “I don’t. Not usually, anyway. My assignments are delivered to my place of residence.”

“Aside from work, you don’t get out much, do you?” You huff out in both consolation and worry. “We’ll have to change that.” You mutter under your breath, feeling Regulus’ eyes dart to your face.

The buzzing of chatter and clicking of shoes against the polished floor grows in tandem with the illumination of your surroundings, thrusting you and Regulus into the milling clusters of Ministry workers.

“Might want to keep your head down.” You sigh out, holding your elbow out once you are both near the elevators.

Regulus wordlessly grabs onto your sleeve and drops his head, allowing his hood to fall over and veil the glow of his mask. You lead him to stand in line, keeping an eye out for any suspicious looks or double takes.

By the time you both manage to clamber inside one of the lifts, you can feel the remnants of adrenaline in your body dissipate, leaving you feeling boneless in the cramped box. Regulus shuffles behind you, slotting himself into one of the back corners as an older man turns to you.

“What floor?” He asks pleasantly, eyes never straying to look at your cloaked companion.

“Ninth, please.” You nod at him, shooting a small smile in thanks.

He simply nods back before punching the milky button just as the golden grille door slides across the aperture. A peaceful lull ensues as the lift jostles slowly from floor to floor, the faint creaking of the grille and the melodic announcement of each floor number occasionally flowing into the air.

When the lift begins to ascend past the eighth floor, only you, Regulus, and the man at the button panel remain inside. You shift your weight from foot-to-foot as you can sense the man’s growing anticipation. The jangling of chains shoves itself into the peripheral of your mind as he finally turns to face you, a cryptic gleam casting over his eyes.

You’re able to get a good look at him now that he’s fully facing you, eyes running across his worn expression and grey-streaked combover that evidently used to be tinted a deep tawny.

“Apologies for my frankness, but do you happen to be Auror L/N?” He asks, head tilting imperceptibly as your eyes widen at the unexpected question.

Nodding slowly, you plaster on an uncertain smile. “Yes, I am. I don’t believe we’ve met before though?”

“Ah, how rude of me, I am Lord Grey.” He clears his throat, just as the lift halts in its movements. “I just wanted to introduce myself to such an esteemed Auror. I’ve heard such high praises about your ability to find things.”

You incline your head toward him and release a sheepish chortle, “That’s me. Just a little penchant for tracking is all… Well it’s nice to meet you, Lord Grey.”

The grille doors are wrought aside not a moment later, and you turn to gesture for Regulus to exit first, much to his confusion. Just as Regulus steps out of the elevator, Lord Grey leans towards you and shoots you an indecipherable grin, “You are also renowned for your… impartiality, Auror L/N, no?”

“Yes?” You confirm lightly, masking your disconcertion with the sudden eerie atmosphere. Lord Grey simply nods before he slides something toward you, and one glance downward has you realizing it is a business card.

“I hope you give it some thought.” He mutters equivocally.

Raising an eyebrow, you take the card and slide it into your pocket before shuffling away. “Good day, Lord Grey.”

“Yes, good day.”

The odd exchange imprints itself into your mind as Regulus shoots you a questioning look once you reach him. His eyes slowly move from you and over your shoulder, gaze narrowing and causing you to peek back around. You aren’t able to catch another glimpse of the man, but the lift continues to descend until the echo of chains fades away.

“Are you okay?” Regulus asks once you trudge over to his side.

You nod and fiddle with the card in your pocket before making up your mind. “Yeah, he just handed me this all ominously.” Regulus eyes you as you slip the card out of your pocket, remaining soundless as you bring the thick rectangle between you both.

Your eyebrows slant further down as you realize that the card is blank save for a black emblem at the center. The symbol sends a shiver down your spine as you continue to stare at it; a thick black line curves uniformly into a soft, open triangle, the proud snake head at its end seeming to jitter against the ivory paper.

“Bloody hell.” You murmur dryly, “Not creepy at all.”

Regulus looks just as confused as you feel, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to hide the mounting tension in your posture.

“Let’s keep this between us for now.” Regulus mutters, straightening up to turn away, but even as he moves forward, you can still identify the calculative glint in his eyes.

Tucking the card away again, you readjust your hold on the woven bag on your shoulder as you both pace through the looping corridors. You aren’t even aware of your proximity to your destination until you’re nearly pedaling into Regulus’ back as he waits for the imposing doors to flutter open.

Gawdry’s office is a welcomed sight, the nebulous glow from the light beams enveloping your fatigued figure. The dour expression across his face lifts slightly once he takes in your approaching figures, eyes immediately connecting with yours as he gazes at you with heavy expectation.

“Agents, what a surprise.” He grumbles out, leaning back against his chair as you both stop a few feet short of his desk.

“Save the confetti and cake for later,” you hum out, beginning to dig in your bag.

Gawdry remains unfazed as his attentive eyes lock on your movements. “If you wish,” his drawl is accompanied by a wry smile as you wrestle the thick purple tome out of your bag. Handing the sturdy object to the man, you suppress the chill that storms through your body as you feel the densely packed magic ingrained in the file.

“By the way, a warning would have been nice. A patrimony ball of that degree was hardly an ideal event to blindly jump into.” Your tone is light despite the visceral feeling of doom that still crawled around the cavity of your chest.

“You’re both here in one piece, aren’t you?” Gawdry raises an eyebrow, bringing a hand up to wave you both off, “Nicely done, though. It seems that I chose wisely.”

You hum out in agreement before you glance at Regulus’ indifferent gaze and nod your head toward the doors. “Right. Well we’ll be back tomorrow, boss.”

Without waiting for a response from the preoccupied man, you and Regulus spin on your heels and retrace your steps toward the exit. As your badge’s magic tediously weaves through the locks of the doors, you bring your palm up to rest on your chest, feeling the imprint of the time turner jump against your skin.

“Ten hours to cool down, I think.”

Regulus glances at you and shoves his hands into his pant pockets. “Sounds good.”

“Yeah.” You nod in agreement before releasing a small breath of exhaustion, “Right, well, see you later.” Your shoes beat against the tiles as you begin to make your way down the hallway.

“What?” You slowly turn around at Regulus’ voice, watching as he blinks at you through his mask, eyes blank with blatant confusion.

“Oh, well ten hours of downtime…” You trail off, hands awkwardly gesturing to your right.

Regulus blinks at you before humming, “Yeah.”

You clear your throat as you feel a flush of heat bloom across the blades of your shoulders. “Uh, but… Actually, I’ll go with you. It’ll be quicker that way, anyway. Y’know to get moving onto the next assignment.”

“Yeah.” Regulus agrees plainly, eyes darting away as you shuffle back over to him.

Somehow in the whirlwind of your lethargy and incessant thoughts, you and Regulus manage to make it back to the elevator and down toward the floo networks in record breaking speed. You tilt your head as Regulus juts out his elbow for you to take, and you wordlessly comply as he leads you to the farthest network all whilst keeping his head down. Once you both step into the wide space of the network, Regulus grabs a handful of floo powder before throwing it onto the ashy ground. “Abscondita terra.” His voice rumbles out lowly and the clear words spur green flames across your vision.

When the lurid fire flees into nothingness, you’re left standing in front of a dim living room. Regulus shifts out of the network first and offers you an assessing look before gesturing for you to sit on the grey couch. You barely contain the gape threatening to materialize on your face as you swallow harshly, “Is this place yours?”

The man merely nods and watches as you teeter toward the plush cushions, dropping down stiffly onto the firm seat. You clear your throat and look to Regulus as he moves to lean on the doorway to your left. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

He bats his hand in a show of casualness before cracking his neck. “You can only come here if I allow it, so.”

“Right, witness protection and whatnot.” You say quietly, clasping your hands in your lap.

Regulus nods jerkily and gazes at you for a moment before speaking up again, “You could have died earlier. With Mulciber’s attack.” He mutters, eyes sliding to look at your shoulder.

You hum and hug one of his throw pillows to your chest, “I dodged in time. Luckily, he didn’t hurl the killing curse at me.”

“Because he wanted you to die a slow, agonizing death in front of me.” He quickly retorts, clearing his throat as he kicks off from the doorway. “That spell would have severed through half of your neck.”

A shiver blooms from the base of your spine as you envision the gory picture. “Ah… Well, that’s the risk of the job.”

Regulus keeps his eyes on you for a few more seconds before he sighs and disappears somewhere off into the kitchen, momentarily leaving you to your devices. You hear distant clanking and the sound of cabinet doors being shut, lulling you to reminisce on the day’s events.

He soon reemerges into the room with a glass of water, blinking sluggishly as he approaches you. Somehow, seeing him in his tired state eases the awkwardness in the air and you slouch back to get comfortable.

“But are you okay?” You couldn’t help but prod, still remembering his tense demeanor during Clyde’s toast.

“Yeah,” Regulus hums, gently placing the cup of water in front of you. He sits down on the opposite side of the couch as you quietly thank him, and you nearly break your neck when you see him slowly push his cloak off.

Turning away with wide eyes, you swallow harshly before trying to distract yourself by breaking the silence. “So, Clyde’s toast was a bit…”

“Creepy?” Regulus supplies, tone lilted with amusement.

You shake your head and lean over to grab the cup, “Yeah, I thought I’d accidentally joined a cult.” Bringing the rim of the glass to your lips, you chance a side glance to your companion and see the glow of flesh in the dimming room, a stark contrast to the perpetual veil of black that always covered his skin.

Sipping your water, you relax against the cushions behind you as Regulus clears his throat and shifts in his seat. “You remember my father, right?” His voice is level, growing serious as he departs from his previous amusement.

You nod, it was unlikely you’d ever forget the stern man—and then realization dawns on you. “The man who stepped out during the toast… that was Orion?”

“In the flesh.” Regulus says, cracking his knuckles as he leans his elbows on his knees.

Frowning, you place your half-empty glass down on the table as you debate over what approach to take in the conversation. “I’m glad you got out.” You admit honestly, unable to suppress the images of twelve-year-old Regulus’ mischievous smiles and twinkling eyes from your mind.

“Me too.” Regulus breathes out, “Only killed him in the process.”

Your eyebrows furrow at his words and you lean back, turning to him and gesticulating slowly with your hands, “Like, run out the door and throw an expulso behind you—kill, or…”

Regulus’ shoulders shake as he muffles a laugh, and your eyes are immediately drawn to the toned muscles of his arms, webby veins trailing down from his forearm to his hands. Your mouth parts slightly at the sight, but you quickly dart your gaze back up, grateful that Regulus was still looking straight ahead and not toward your gawking face.

However, it seemed that you couldn’t catch a break.

As your eyes stray from his arms, they catch themselves on the raven tresses which were slightly disheveled from his hood. The flowing waves fall a bit past his ears, not unlike how he maintained it when you were both younger.

Before you can fall into a mental tangent about the sight in front of you, Regulus’ head turns to you, eyes practically glowing behind his mask. “Not quite as exciting, I’m afraid. When he got the news that I helped Dumbledore take down the Dark Lord, his heart stopped on the spot.” Regulus breathes out harshly and pushes a hand through his hair, “At least that’s what I was told.”

“Merlin.” You mutter, fully turning to Regulus now. Bringing one leg up onto the couch, you tilt your head as you and Regulus maintain eye contact, “Are you alright, though?”

Regulus nods slowly and mirrors you by sitting up and tilting his body toward you. “I made peace with it. Seems he couldn’t handle two rebellious heirs.”

“Inbreeding tends to promise a life with faulty organs.” You say offhandedly, only freezing when Regulus’ eyes light up in humor. Backtracking, you let out a small laugh, “Uh, no offense.”

“You’re not wrong.” Regulus admits, throwing an arm across the back cushions.

You flash a small smile as you lay your head against the pillowy surface, eyes falling to the single cushion of distance between you both. “Do you ever miss Hogwarts?”

Regulus’ eyes close for a few moments before he opens them again and you’re greeted with a faraway look. “Sometimes. You?” He hums out, fingers aimlessly drawing patterns against the cushion.

“Sometimes,” you intone quietly. “I miss all the Quidditch games and even the late hours in the library. Helga, studying for our N.E.W.T’s was so taxing.”

Regulus nods and blinks slowly, his silence prompting you to continue. “Anyway, I’m glad our paths crossed again.” Your words are firm with genuinity, but you can’t ignore the flutter of bashfulness that pulses through your veins at the admission.

“I always thought you were going to be a Curse Breaker.” Regulus whispers, dropping his head back onto the couch cushion to rest.

You muffle a yawn as you peer at the man in inquiry. “Maybe at first. How’d you know that?”

Regulus fixes you with a light look, and you feel your breath leave your lungs as he pins you down with a warm gaze—one you haven’t seen in years. “It was hard not to be intrigued by someone who watched me from a distance so diligently.”

Your words get caught in your throat as you blink owlishly in surprise. “And now? Are you still intrigued by me?” You breathe out with searching eyes.

Regulus holds your gaze before quietly replying, voice barely a whisper: “Even more so now.”

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#regulus black #regulus black imagines #regulus black imagine #regulus black fanfiction #regulus black deserved better #regulus black angst #regulus black fluff #regulus black x reader #regulus black series #regulus black x y/n #regulus black x you #regulus black scenario #harry potter series #harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter fanfiction #the noble house of black #marauders era #golden trio

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satomatto · 11 months ago

Text

. //TK DAYS | NAOYA ZEN'IN.

cw: femdom; bondage; supposedly non-con/dub-con towards the end; Naoya is a bastard and that says it all.

tw: control/submission; brat taming; orgasm control; dry orgasm; semi-public; anal sex; is prostate massage with an armature part of your plans, dear friends? now yes; humiliation; binding; it can be a little incoherent in places; facesitting; foot fetish (a little?); Naoya is a bastard x2.

wc: 3.2k

Your fingers gently run over the rough rope. The quiet, sweet breathing right next to you is relaxing. The pretty face is surprisingly calm. A little off-putting. And after all, this guy is cute only when he's asleep - the muscles of his face are soft and relaxed, and his mouth isn't spewing tons of nasty, barbed words that spread through you like poison.

The airy lace shirt, you know that silly pink thing makes him drool. He'd prefer to fuck you without taking it off and then jerk you off for weeks, clutching it in his fist and reaching for it with every fiber of his worthless soul until the smell wears off.

It's truly disgusting to watch it from behind the screen. While he's sure you still don't suspect a thing. Oh yeah, sure, the bastard moans loud and high while he does it - it's impossible not to realize what's going on during these 'meditation' sessions in the back room of the clan mansion. It's worth giving him credit, he's actually more focused afterward. As befits a worthy Zenin heir.

And, as befits a worthy bride of a Zenin heir, you're doing a pretty good job of keeping him in line. After you came into his life and followed him around, he became much more balanced, which is surprising to everyone. You've heard a few thank yous from the servants. You know, the assistant Zenin personal chef adores you. And your personal maid, who was begging to be transferred somewhere - even demoted, expecting you to treat her like Naoya - is now willing to die for this place.

Good food is never too much to ask for, though, is it? And always clean clothes and royal-level service at the snap of your fingers comes in handy most of the time, too. Besides, access to the gossip going around between the clans and in this cursed place comes in handy too.

For example, that's how you found out that Naoya has a small altar in his room dedicated to a man named Toji. Fushiguro was once a Zenin, and after a couple fateful interactions, little Naoya made him his ideal - in fact, even without going into details, you find the man worthy of respect, but Naoya… He's always been the odd one. Anyway, since this place was never built on such high feelings, like a respect, it's a sin not to take advantage of another of his weaknesses - that's the extra pressure points, right?

But, uh, can't you just throw away all your trump cards? Nope, and that's the only reason you're not talking right now. Yes, sometimes it's worth it to stick your tongue up your ass to enjoy watching others bury their heads in the sand, luckily for you, Naoya wasn't good at shutting up in time, but isn't that more fun?

Looking at him makes you think about so many things and it does make you want to try to mess with him in much more subtle ways, but at the moment you should stick to your plan. It's too early to cross the line. Boundaries need to be pushed first, then broken.

You know, it's pretty sweet. What a blatant variety - the sheer volume of curses he heaps on you (the only thing his generosity shows, merit note) while his cock desperately jerks and leaking thick, translucent pre-ejaculate profusely. He's already soiled his expensive clothes and is now whimpering at your feet like some dirty dog.

"Doesn't your pretty mouth know how to do anything else?" you mock him. He'd said the same thing to you once, one of your first nights, and you hadn't had much experience in bed, either, since most of your interactions had been limited to fingering and the porn the maid had shown you.

It's not something a noble lady can do, but in the end, you had to - after you were put up as collateral, you had to gain the trust of the heir.

So all your family's debts were forgotten as a wedding present. Still, thanks to this performance, you remain relatively free, so it's not like you regret what you've done.

Especially because the heir to the clan himself turned out to be such a whore.

The soft slippers you usually wear - you wish you'd changed them for high-heeled shoes. Preferably with a platform, the kind that would smear that pretty face on the garden tiles where he's lying tied up and helpless.

With a sharp tug on the ropes, you struggle to get this carcass to sit up and turn around, safely ignoring his protests.

Still, he should be quieter. Just because you dragged him to an abandoned, albeit neat barn, doesn't mean he can yell as usual and go unnoticed.

What a shame for the heir to the clan to cry out for help while in such a humiliating position. He knows how quickly rumors spread, and his frankly vile nature doesn't help his position as a victim. He'll be laughed at - there's no other way to put it!

Either way, he shuts up pretty quickly when your foot rests against his lips. Maybe fuzzy slippers really weren't the best choice - he'll choke on it. Fine, though, because in one elegant motion, you drop the slipper, which lands quite successfully nearby.

You flirt with his lips one last time. Well, he must not be ready for that yet.

So, you gently slide your foot lower, rubbing your fingertips through his clothes.

The very next second, you step on, placing your foot flat and causing him to topple backwards, hitting his head painfully on the wooden bench behind him. Watch as the idiot shakes his hips, looking for a better footing to keep from falling over.

The way he looks at you in that moment is priceless. There's so much helplessness in that fleeting contact that is immediately replaced by a contrived coldness afterward. He doesn't like restrictions. Also, he's never let you be on top, eh, complexes, complexes… Well, you'll have a blast now.

What are you thinking about, running your little foot over his cock? Not that you're going to get dirty in it too. And this pedicure was only recently done… But it's too late to back out.

Pretty warm for late summer, isn't it? The way Naoya's moans resonate in your crotch makes you redouble your efforts. Your position isn't very stable, especially because of the way he wiggles his hips to the beat, letting out another dirty moan, followed immediately by a filthy curse in a language you don't know. Well, at least it sounded vicious enough….

How nice - Naoya manages to come to his senses again and gets into that prickly shell again, spitting out another insult in your direction. He's starting to get repetitive in them. It seems even this rambunctious boy has limits; or he's just lost the ability to think clearly already, which is just as likely.

How long do you think it will take for him to soil himself in his own cum, like the dirty dog that he is? Ah, probably quite a while.

Just when you think about it, his pathetic cock begins to throb more tangibly under your leg, like a butterfly trapped in a cage (too elegant a comparison), and alas he's still moaning in a way that so caresses your ears, signaling that he's really close. But, are you going to give him that opportunity? What a freaking pump jump….

Losing your balance a little, your foot slides down, landing right on his balls. He's a big enough boy to be able to support some of your weight, ignore those frustrated-painful moans coming from this pile of incoherent shit. He's looking at you with a pitying stare, out of his clouded eye sockets. He's gonna cry, that poor guy!

At first you thought you'd hurt him somehow, but when you looked down, you saw a charming picture. This one was whining not because he was in discomfort - rather the opposite, he was literally dripping with it.

Ah, yes, that pissy little masochist.

Now you're really wondering what exactly makes him so obsessed with his training. Oh, maybe he even have played with his juicy ass before… In fact, you don't really care if he's had experience. After all, you're always happy to give people an unforgettable time!

The light satin pouch swinging on the delicate silk cord tied around your hips opened to let your delicate fingers in.

You've been planning to use it on him for a while now.

Nice wavy texture, with a very successful seal at the end, still with a comfortable, curved handle - isn't it fabulous? The material is wood. This was hard to find - such good work…. You could tell you were very pleased with your find. Well, it's time to use it on this brat, he's been so quiet, it's almost boring.

As soon as his eyes meet yours, he once again makes a wry face and venomously spouts how disgusted he is to be here, once again demanding to be untied in order to teach you some kind of lesson.

You'd think you'd be that stupid. It's not like he'd think of anything better than just making you taste your own medicine. Though you're both good at that - spitting at each other from the same angle until one of you comes up with something new, and so on and so forth. Kind of ironic.

His cock drooped and now he was only squinting somewhere through you. You didn't like the fact that he was distracted, but for the sake of a brighter future, you could be patient for a while, couldn't you?

Of course, it didn't make you feel any better to listen to the asshole's beautiful, sweet, exceptionally flattering speeches. Your soft, condescending smile won't waver - you've spent so much time perfecting it in the mirror that nothing can shake it now. Yeah, you've definitely been preparing for something like this.

Maybe not specifically for this day - you didn't even expect it to go so smoothly. Maybe our omniscient and ready for anything heir is so used to you that he doesn't even pay attention to your cursed energy anymore? You've heard that everyone has it, but even so, you can't control it. That's sad, because then you'd have so many new opportunities. And danger.

But that makes it even more interesting.

It's also funny that despite all his brave speeches, the proud Zenin still hasn't used his cursed technique that he bragged so much about. Maybe the ropes are in his way, but it's highly doubtful - the most ordinary untreated harnesses, taken a couple of days ago from the same shed.

That leaves only one possibility: he's actually enjoying it, or in other words, getting a real high, isn't he?

Even watching Naoya deal with such a pathetic situation, covered in your juices, his cock leaking more and more, even through the erection ring you so thoughtfully put on, right after he started moaning too loudly, even after your warning. Not that he was a rabbit in bed, despite the fact that he often finished things earlier than you would have liked, he was ready to go for another round almost immediately - he clearly lacked stamina, because he would also finish after a couple of slimy moans and a couple minutes of panting whimpering. You should teach him how to fuck, dear.

Yes, definitely - spread his legs even wider, tying another knot behind his back as he bites his own lips, holding back a heaving moan. He's ready to burst from the fact that you're finally coming down on his cock. The freshly cut grass is actually quite unpleasantly prickly. However, it smells good. Unlike this--

All right, fine, in fact, the master of water procedures knows how to give himself a good bath - with all those silly rituals, he most often emerges from the ofuro with a very pleasant, lingering smell of green tea and honey, among a whole bunch of disparate but surprisingly well-blended scents, even the smell of lavender slips in.

However, even all this splendor wears off after a week of regular training and other delights of a sorcerer's life. And this man is clearly not going to bother with even a simple shower once every three days, so is it worth talking about how he usually smells? Especially when you have to give him oral.

You just can't stand it, even though Naoya himself adopts a cute, wrinkled expression on your face as he stretches your mouth and nips at your throat, trying to get you to take him even deeper. Every time, he feels obligated to fuck you the hardest he can so that the next day you'll wrinkle your nose every time you need to open your mouth, even if he doesn't enjoy it himself. He just likes to see you in pain.

He may know more about clan politics than you do, but you're clearly a bit more educated than someone who spends most of his time as an adult in some sort of training (and even that is questionable now).

He stopped in that regard as soon as he turned sixteen, yes, his manners aren't bad, but still, they leave a lot to be desired, especially compared to you. Well, your former educational institution had high standards.

At the very least, you still have the support of your family and you're not his wife yet, and who's to say they have pride and would rather be up to their ears in bloody debt than let their precious eldest daughter be humiliated into full marriage.

He can't just beat you up, and his bullshit isn't the least bit intimidating, at least not yet, not once, after his next verbal diarrhea, has he ever raised a hand to you. You highly doubt his upbringing played into that. He's not a silent biter.

You pull your panties down to your ankles and pull them off, shoving them deeper into his mouth. So they don't fall out. It would be better to shove them down from your leg for security, but you're more focused now on the idea of how hard his eyes will roll. Will you be able to make him cry? There's no time to waste, because the asshole is starting to realize something - the last thing you need is for him to start squirming.

The smooth wood slides easily between your labia, collecting your natural lubrication. Yes, it may be not enough, even over the top, especially for someone who has never tried anything like this before. But, somehow, you don't care. Like he once did.

You can still remind him of the time that bastard brazenly spit in your crotch and ignoring your willingness to do it, he put it all the way in, holding your arms above your head with a steely grip.

Oh, and afterward he was so complimentary about the way your walls clenched around him that you'd think he actually liked it, pfft. You remember perfectly well how hard it was for him to move.

Here, even Naoya, the speed himself, somehow lasted longer than five minutes, all the while panting and twitching every time you clamped down because of the unpleasant sensations down there, intentionally or not. After that, he left in unhappy, snorting unhappily.

Oh, you'd forgotten how beautiful the moments were when he was silent. As you shifted him into a horizontal position, you realized that you hadn't really thought about picking up more proper knots.

It's going to be a little uncomfortable, but it's too late to back out - not when you've already done it all. You want to get to the end, and Naoya will to remember this day.

As you thought about how to push the toy in, you were totally oblivious to Naoya. You might have been a little lost in your own thoughts, but without even realizing it, you were playing with your pussy, gently collecting your juices on the toy. Well, there was nowhere to get lube anyway (and even though initially you wanted to limit yourself to spit, such a vulnerable view could not help but inspire lustful thoughts).

The guy below was literally seething, and why wouldn't he be? Hovering right over him, you were literally giving him the VIP-seats to this voyeur.

It's amazing how you didn't think of that before. He was scrutinizing your curves so closely that you couldn't even think about the admiration your body aroused in him - only senseless lust could move him, of course. Such a graceful figure, skillful hands… Ah, no wonder he likes to watch you so much - to tell you the truth, you'd do the same if you were him.

The moans coming out through his gag were music to your ears. Couldn't have been more charming.

Well, it's time for dessert. You squat down, getting comfortable on his chest and playfully wiggling your hips, teasing him even more, you spread his legs. He still doesn't understand that you want to give him the slip - poor guy. so naive… Locking the knots so that he can't move the hips at the worst possible moment, flattening your head like a watermelon, you return to his crotch.

Gently, just touching the overexcited, sensitive cock, you gently move lower and lower, smearing your secretions all over his ass. He seems to start to realize what's going on - through the half-drunk fog of arousal. he starts to move his hips indignantly, really only helping you to push the dildo into his anus.

A light flick on his engorged cock is enough to make him shriek and hastily shut up in a rag. Literally.

The ribbed walls of the wooden dildo graze his entrance with startling frequency. You might not be too rough on him, it's not to your advantage - that's an easier way to phrase it.

After a couple of thrusts, you get the feeling that he has a vacuum cleaner in his ass, otherwise how then did he create such a powerful pump? Yeah, there are more and more questions to those training sessions, perhaps you should attend one sometime…..

He's wriggling around like some kind of worm. Almost pathetic, but what can you do - you're already tired of it. Perhaps it's time to finish it?

Accelerating your thrusts to the point where your hand starts to go numb, suddenly, stopping, you grab his flushed cock. It feels swollen, as do his balls.

It must be painful? Not being able to get free for so long.

You probably should have tortured him a little longer, made him walk with the ring long enough for him to come crawling back to you, but you've had enough of that already. Nerves are getting the better of you, aren't it?

Such tension - ah, his whole body shakes and arches as you squeeze him lightly at the base.

The muffled click of the lock on the ring sends a wave of satisfaction through your body. Zenin is so sensitive right now, he could cum from your breath-… And that's something you should have thought about a little earlier. Or at least realize how hard it's been on him all this time. Probably should have brought tissues, though… What do you need them for when you have such an adorable mouth around? Should you get him to clean you? Oh, no, you've got a better idea.

Sliding closer to his face, still wiggling your hips and never stopping generously jerking him off, you position your ass roughly where his mouth is. From the sounds of it, the heir managed to spit out your makeshift gag the moment you sat on him. Come on, you're not that heavy, but apparently it was just too much for some people - heavy breathlessness is a testament to that.

At first you thought he wouldn't have thought of it on his own, because he'd never been brilliantly intelligent - brazen, maybe, but now that his brains were leaking out through his cock (and still soaking into his clothes), he was unable to form the simplest coherent sentence, making only scraps of sounds that should be… Words?

However, his tongue was between your legs pretty quickly, desperately playing with your entrance and engaging your clit. Maybe you cost each other, finally deciding to pull the dildo out of his ass, with a distinctive pop, slowly pulling out and yanking sharply when there were only millimeters left; you come to the point where you can't reuse it.

Not wanting to put the dirty toy away in that lovely pouch, you toss it into the nearest bushes, getting comfortable on the guy's face beneath you. As far as you can remember, this part of the garden will barely be reached by Friday, so you have plenty of time.

Ah, turns out this prick is really good at this. Perhaps you shouldn't have underestimated him and his complaints about you aren't so unfounded? But, he hasn't given you a hint of that until now, so… It's not enough to have talent - you have to know how to use it.

And now you've found the perfect use for it.

Even though it's a little selfish, you ignore his whimpering - on edge, you decide that a slight asphyxiation wouldn't hurt him. After all, he's only shown his best feelings for pain before.

With a loud groan, you move all over the surface available to you, rubbing your pussy all over his face, and finally soiling him with your juices, you move up and get, by your own admission, the best look on his face today.

All wet, slimy stuff, greedily gulping air with his mouth like a beached fish, tongue out and eyes rolled back in delight. His cock seems to twitch again, but this time nothing comes out of it - the guy's body shakes with spasms and he struggles desperately on the ground, trying in vain to get out of the ropes and uncomfortable position.

To think what you've driven him to - what a bad girl, eh! And exactly the same thinks the unfortunate man who came out of that damned house at such a late hour…

#headcanons #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #naoya x reader #naoya zenin x reader #naoya zenin #naoya x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #naoya zenin smut

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whumpsday · 4 months ago

Text

Whumpmas in July #25

Share a sneak peek of something you're working on

all my WIJ stuff is being completed like the day before since i fell super off-schedule, so here's some other WIPs that are less "on the burner"!

there's a bunch of em, so i'll put them under a read more. this will primarily consist of Kane & Jim and BG3 fanfic things. at the very bottom is something with major Kane & Jim spoilers, but i'll give ample warning.

excerpt from a segment of a Kane & Jim AU RP i intend to edit into its own little thing. still have to put it in past tense and polish it up lol

But he has another problem: how is he to possibly stop this from happening again? He can't stay awake forever. Jack's things he can protect by sleeping in the middle of the floor with nothing, but he can't stop himself from screaming. Can't he? Kane eyes the little scissors that came with the sewing kit, then takes them into the bathroom. This is worth it to not lose access to food, he tells himself. And if nothing else, it will prove to Jack he's serious about trying to be good. He'll do anything to please his rescuer. Using the mirror as reference, he makes an incision into his throat. With all he's been through, he knows where to aim by now. He snips into his vocal chords until the whimpering stops, making sure not to interfere with his ability to breathe. Blood and tears mix in the sink, mostly blood. He presses his hand over his throat until the bleeding stops. It's quicker than usual: faster healing due to the blood, he supposes. It looks nasty, but he can't make noise now, at least until it heals.

this excerpt is from a Kane & Jim-related oneshot. by "related", i mean it takes place tens of thousands of years before K&J's story, when the first vampires were created.

Alukah sliced the man's throat with her sickle, watching the fear die in his eyes as the life left him. The life that would soon belong to her, for an eternity to come. She held him just so, letting his blood drain into the earth where she had prepared the spell, before tossing him in a pile with the rest to be buried later. The farmers said they could be used to nourish crops, an extra bounty on top of their main purpose. The tedium it would require would no longer be a concern, at least: they'd all have nothing but time if this went as planned. The message-girl bounded up to her, undisturbed by the mountain of dead.

this is another Kane & Jim AU, actually a fanfic (not sure if that's the right term to use) of a K&J x MMSS crossover i have with @not-a-space-alien. in the RP we did, Lex was Kane's victim and the hunters handed him over to her instead of Jim. i'm writing an AU of that where things go pretty badly and he gets sent back. i've been working on this for like a year and it's almost done, but i get nervous writing other people's ocs lol i'm always worried i'll write them ooc...

Kane hissed, loud like a feral cat, a sound he hasn’t made since his early days with the hunters. Eyes wild with fear, he tried to exude STAY AWAY FROM ME with every fiber of his being. “Did you just hiss at me?” Ari asked, incredulous. It only made her stop for a moment before she reached for his hair, to drag him away, to drag him out into the sun- Kane had no options left. It was eternal torture, or anything at all he could put between it and himself. It dawned on him that he had absolutely nothing to lose. There was no worse fate he could be punished with. And he’d said he would do anything to avoid it, hadn’t he? He lunged forward, swiping at her neck with bound hands. Ari was quick, but she wasn’t quick enough. Kane missed her throat, but as she turned her head away, his nails clawed at the side of her neck, delicious blood spewing from it. If Kane had been thinking clearly, he would have taken the opportunity to find something to end his life with. But he wasn’t thinking clearly: the only thing occupying his mind was the enticing scent of blood. Ari shouted something, but he wasn’t listening, focused solely on trying to get at the food he needed more than anything. A hard kick to the chest sent him flying back into the wall, further splintering already-broken ribs from yesterday’s beating. He tried to get up again, but promptly collapsed: he had no energy left in his burnt, beaten, starved body for another attack. He’d barely had enough for one. He wheezed, trying to catch his breath around fractured bone.

extremely tiny bit from a Catharsis chapter i have planned, during Luan's captivity

Cyrus’s shoe pressed against the back of Luan’s head, grinding his face into the floor. “This is where you fucking belong. You and every other nobody who thinks they’re hot shit.”

this excerpt is for chapter 2 of Lost at Sea, a miniseries i started a long time ago and never finished.

It had been several days since the monster had taken Digory to her cave, and by some miracle, he was still alive. He was alone much of the time. Each day, she brought him fish- more than he could eat in a day- and a large shell filled with freshwater. Blessedly, he was out of the sun. His skin, though still angry and red, was beginning to heal a bit from more than a week of nonstop exposure. It was miles better than the boat. Digory had been sure he would die there. Of course, he was still in dire straits. His mangled legs weren’t getting better anytime soon, though by this point he’d gotten somewhat used to the throbbing pain of them. He was pretty sure that his feet turning purple was a bad sign, but at least he couldn’t feel them. That was probably worse. And of course, he wasn’t always alone. The mermaid was terrifyingly enormous. She liked to stare at him with unblinking eyes almost as big as he was, her claws as sharp and menacing as her teeth. She could kill him with no effort at all, if she wanted to. She probably would. Digory pretty much figured that was why he was being kept. After starving on that wrecked ship so long, there was little meat on his bones. Every bite of fish he took to sate his hunger was bringing him closer to his own death.

here's an excerpt from chapter 2 of my BG3 fanfic Astarion and the Cleric (remember that?) that if i'm being honest i probably won't ever finish

That gave Astarion pause. “A vow of celibacy.” “It means I don’t–” “Yes, I know what it is, darling.” Astarion’s hand retreated as he attempted to think quickly of a way to salvage the situation. Had a mark said that, he would have normally given up and gone for someone easier. But Gentle was not a mark. Gentle was a reliable source of food, and by some twist of fate the gods surely found hilarious, currently his best means of protection from Cazador. He was an irreplaceable resource, and things were too shaky as they currently stood what with their… moral differences. He had to make sure– “I’d still love to spend the night together.” Gentle spoke in a manner evoking his namesake, stepping ever-closer. “It would simply be less… lustful. Though I understand if you’d prefer to seek elsewhere for your night of passion instead. I overheard Lae’zel expressing similar wishes?” “Ha.” The githyanki was perhaps the one least likely in all the camp to allow him to indulge in her blood. This could work, however. “What exactly do you have in mind?” Gentle’s smile turned playful, his turn to be coy. “You’ll have to wait and see.” “Cheeky. Wait and see I will, then,” he settled on. As Gentle skipped off to enjoy the party, Astarion tried his best to push down the part of him that ended up relieved.

despite only ever posting 1 chapter of Astarion and the Cleric and not even getting to the whumpy part, i went off the rails and started writing an AU of it in which Gentle, the titular cleric, is also turned into a vampire spawn by Cazador.

here's an excerpt of Gentle sealed in a tomb long-term as punishment, something i do intend to post probably next month for augusnippets after i put it in past tense:

Gentle prays. He is unsure by what interval he prays, unable to track the passage of time, sealed in the tomb as he is. He prays whenever it feels right. Sometimes he prays for hours on end without ceasing, sometimes he goes what might be days without, like a child throwing a tantrum. But never longer than that. More often, he prays what might be once every hour or so while he lays awake. For there is nothing for him to do here but pray, and there is no one else to listen but Ilmater.

something else from the same Astarion and the Cleric AU, Gentle helping Astarion get acclimated after he's first turned (i had Gentle be the older spawn)

Gentle’s heart sank when he saw that Master had brought a new spawn along with him into the dormitory. He’d hoped he would be the last. He and Violet already took home plenty of innocents– as much as it tormented him, he could not disobey. But a new spawn? It was a fate worse than his unfortunate victims would get. A fate worse than death. The dormitory did have six beds, in addition to Violet’s seventh in the favoured spawn room. Gentle didn’t like to dwell on the implications. The new spawn looked to be an elf. Master seemed to have a preference for them, himself being the only non-elven member of the ‘family’. An obvious newborn, he was covered in fresh dirt and clearly trying very hard to keep himself from shaking with terror. Gentle could just barely make out wounds beneath the later of filth.

this next except is from an entirely separate BG3 fanfic called Answered Prayer. the premise is that Bhaal hears Astarion's desperate prayers during his phase of "trying" every god in hopes someone will help him. Bhaal sends The Dark Urge (my durge oc Perran) to slaughter Cazador and everyone else there. Perran then takes Astarion for himself and becomes his carewhumper.

Bhaal. Oh, how he’d prayed to the Lord of Murder. To have a sliver of opportunity, a stake steady in his hands. Or for some brave hero to come do the deed themself, vanquishing Cazador for him. For Astarion was a well-suited devotee, was he not? Had he not ended enough lives himself to earn his salvation? As he was made to fight the cultists at Cazador’s word, his master’s will overriding his own, he supposed the answer was yes, not that he’d live long enough to see it. He was weak with hunger, and the hooded figure he’d been ordered to distract overpowered him easily, pinning him to the palace floor despite his struggles. “Not that one,” their leader barked, jabbing a confident finger toward Astarion before running a dagger through Aurelia’s throat. His ‘sister’ gurgled, the terror fading from her eyes as she lost her life for the second time, joining the rest of his downed siblings. The Bhaalist sighed with the same satisfaction one might feel after a full meal, turning his attention toward Cazador. Despite his own dire straits, Astarion paused his efforts at wriggling away to watch. If it were possible, Cazador’s death would make a fine appetizer to his own– or whatever the Bhaalist had planned for him. He’d never thought he would see Cazador overpowered, but the Bhaalist was a force to be reckoned with. Deliciously, he had a front-row view to the slaughter. The Bhaalist made quick work of incapacitating him and slow work of killing him, dragging screams from his throat just as Cazador had done so many times to him. If only the victory were not tainted by knowing he was next. Just like that, Cazador laid dead and bloody on the ground. Astarion could feel it as soon as the gory mess the Bhaalist had made of him transformed from an undead swath of agony to a truly-dead mangled corpse: the thread tying him to his master snapped. He was free, all too late.

the following contains major spoilers for Kane & Jim canon. it's a bit for a future present arc scene i had to write early because it wouldn't leave my head.

Stab the little bitch and make it hurt. The thought pushed its way into Jim’s mind, much louder than his own quiet, dulled thoughts. So much more important. Anton was telling him to stab Kane. Jim walked over to the cupboard drawers and took out one of the silver forks. That should work. Just as Kane got the upper hand and tackled Anton to the floor, Jim plunged the fork into his back. His task completed, he stood idly by as Kane shrieked in pain, the sound and smell of burning flesh permeating the room. Something nagged at the back of his mind- like something was wrong? No, nothing was wrong. How could anything be wrong when he felt this peaceful?

that's all i've got! literally almost every WIP i have in my folders.

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