#Mouse was IMPOSSIBLE to hear on his end | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

psychedelic-ink · 1 year ago

Text

𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐇

pairing: joel miller x webcam model!f!reader

genre: no outbreak AU, explicit smut, minors dni

word count: 9k

summary: Joel, only now starting to feel the impending sense of loneliness, decides to listen to Tommy and sign up on an online streaming service called Ravish.

warnings: joel is bi in this, sex toys, paddles, nipple clamps, pillow humping, self-spanking, female/male masturbation, piv, dirty talking, possesive!joel, cum eating, oral (female receiving), size kink

additional warning: alright so there is a short moment in this where reader smacks herself with a paddle that has a heart-shaped hole and gets a heart mark on her skin, I don't use any descriptions (like calling it red or pink etc) but I'm also not oblivious enough to think everyone would get a mark when getting spanked so I wanted to let you know in case that would put you off and wouldn't want to read and that's completely fine!

a/n: this definitely ended up being longer then it needed it to be bfgbfg I want to take the anon who requested this, and the rest of you who chimed in and voted on the polls. I hope you all enjoy 💜 oh, also a special thanks to @missredherring who gave the idea of a more in-depth reason as to why Joel likes honeysuckle flowers 👀

edit!!! this has more than one part now! click here for the masterlist

Joel was lonely.

He hadn’t really thought about it until Sarah went off to college.

Since the day she was born, he had one thing and one thing on his mind only—to give his little girl everything that he could and make her happy. The rest didn’t concern him. He didn’t really care about dating, he didn’t have the time to think about how lonely he was. He had been on a couple of dates, all of which were initiated by Sarah as she entered her teenage years, pleading with him to go out and have a life.

But now that she was gone, studying what she always wanted to study and being happy, the emptiness began to spread like a nasty infection. Every creak and groan of the house sounded like mockery to him. He started keeping the TV open all night, most of the time falling asleep, only to wake up in the middle of the night startled by sudden shouts from a randomly playing film or show. He hated it. This wasn’t how Joel imagined his golden years to be like.

Maybe that’s why he decided to use the damn website. Ravish. He’d heard it from Tommy first —which was an uncomfortable conversation as one could imagine— and after that, he kept on hearing the name.

Ravish

It was like a shitty pop song, stuck between his teeth like toffee, impossible to get rid of. The name made a home in his brain, making its presence known whenever he was doing anything, no matter how mundane the task was.

Ultimately, he gave in. What was the worst that could happen?

Joel groans. He stares at the screen with his brows drawn tightly together, the text cursor blinking as it waits for him to type out a username. It’s been almost ten minutes. A brief thought of asking Tommy passes through his mind but he quickly pushes the thought away and leans over the keyboard.

JMiller. That should be alright. He doesn’t need anything fancy, and J can be any name. It can be Jack, Jacob, Jonathan, John, Jeremy. There are a bunch. Besides, Miller is a pretty common last name, so if someone asks if he's JMiller, he can just deny it. Not that anyone would. Everyone would be too busy jerking off to pretty people. The last thought anyone would have would be of him.

He quickly decides on his password and he’s immediately overwhelmed. There are too many things happening at once. His eyes widen, heart beating a bit too fast as he moves his mouse around. In the corner, there’s a little pop-up begging for his attention, and on the screen, there are multiple thumbnails of women and men. When he drags his mouse over a thumbnail it starts moving and he jumps.

“Holy hell,” he mutters. “I’m in way over my head.”

Joel gets up to pour himself a glass of whiskey. After that, he sits on the couch again and takes three deep breaths. The ice clicks together as he takes a swig, the amber liquid pleasantly burning as it goes down his throat. He looks around some more, looking for the profiles that pique his interest the most.

While he scrolls, he sees one of a man with the username NicolasCageFreak, which he finds odd, but the man is pleasing to the eye with soft brown curls and natural honey highlights in between. The man has a small bullet vibrator pressed against his hard length, a cock ring at the base of it. Joel presses like and saves it for later.

Joel has to remind himself a couple of times that the people who stream can’t actually see him. The more he scrolls the more relaxed he feels. There’s a woman with pretty green eyes he saves for later and another man with the username CammingBravo. He has his face hidden, Joel can see the red ribbon circling the back of his head as he bends over, granting the viewers a delicious sight of his ass that has a shiny buttplug.

Liked! Added to your queue for later.

Until now Joel was fairly certain he was straight, sometimes he’d get the occasional same-sex dream but he figured everyone did at some point in their lives. He’s not so sure anymore.

Some more scrolling and Joel starts getting restless. His cock strains against his sweatpants, aching for his rough touch. He takes a deep breath. The next live stream he sees that he likes he’ll click and that will be that. He’s starting to get worked up and, unlike NicolasCageFreak, he’s not a fan of edging himself.

Then he sees her. A woman wearing a delicate chain vest with rhinestones that sparkle whenever she moves. His eyes flit to the username; Honeysuckle. He loves that flower, he has many memories of picking them with Tommy and sucking the sweet nectar hidden inside. He wonders if she tastes just as sweet.

Not one to break a promise to himself, Joel clicks on the thumbnail. His eyes are instantly drawn to the live chat. There are so many people asking her to do something all at once—Jesus Christ. There are also a couple of them just chatting as if they were friends with her. He sees that everyone calls her Honey, which is fitting and a bit on the nose, he thinks.

Noticing that he has the stream muted, Joel unmutes it, a pleasant tingle running down his spine as soon as her voice comes through the speakers of his laptop.

“Wow, Eric47 I’m so happy you got that promotion!”

“Don’t worry everyone, I’ve been thinking naughty thoughts all day and I’m ready to put on a show.”

“Patience everyone.”

“Thank you for buying a private chat, SarahBelieves! I can’t wait to be your good girl. . .”

Joel is too focused on her tone, the smooth lilt of her voice, to hear the words she’s saying. The only thing his ears pick up on is the words private and chat. He wasn’t aware you could buy some extra time with the streamers. He loves that—

He shakes his head. Loves? Is he already planning on paying? At the thought, his cock twitches with interest, his reserve quickly crumbling to the floor.

Joel decides to focus on the stream first. He can decide later on if he wants a private session or not. He cups himself through the soft fabric of his sweatpants, groaning as a spike of relief shoots through him. His eyes are glued to the screen. Honey’s hard nipples poke through the chains, her hands delicately kneading the tender mounds as she rises slightly by lifting herself onto her knees. She’s on a bed, wearing black panties and a matching garter. Joel’s mouth waters. The things he would do to her. . .

His tongue pokes from between his lips, soft tendon moving with muscle memory as he thinks of eating her sweet cunt out.

“Today my sweet bees,” she addresses them. “I was thinking of fucking myself with the biggest dildo I’ve got, how does that sound?”

Joel’s eyes drift to the chat. Everyone seems to be cheering and asking her to show them how much she can take. There’s also a bunch of them calling her their favorite size queen. She chuckles.

“I love all dicks, in any shape or form,” she purrs. “I’m just in the mood for a bit of pain.”

Pain. That captures Joel’s attention. It makes him curious about all the other things she might be into. Perhaps she enjoys getting spanked, or she would enjoy the feeling of someone dragging their nails down her pretty back. He wants to know. He wants his imaginary scenarios to be as accurate as possible.

He’s about to pull out his cock when he hears her voice again.

“I do have one question though,” she says innocently. “Should I keep these pretty black panties on or off?” she grins into the camera, her eyes shining with mirth. “Let’s see those answers, my bees.”

What do you want? Joel wants to ask. But this isn’t that kind of scenario so he thinks. The answers come flying in, there’s a fifty-fifty ratio. Joel’s mind blanks for a moment, the corners of his lips twitching. He wants her to keep them on. He likes the idea of her sliding them to the side and fucking herself deep, it feels more animalistic, more raw. He enjoys the idea of claiming someone, a curiosity he hasn’t yet fully explored yet.

He types exactly that. His wording and grammar a bit too neat compared to the rest, but he gives Honey his answer. He wants her to keep it on. Maybe play with herself some more until the fabric is basically see-through, then she can fuck herself with the biggest cock she’s got.

Joel watches intently as her eyes go over the live chat, there are so many answers coming in, he doubts she’ll see his comment. Still, he likes to believe she’ll see it.

Honey’s eyes still briefly, hunger swirling in them as a canine sinks into her bottom lip. Her smile is bashful and shy, much different than the character she’s playing. Her eyes move back to the camera. Joel watches her breasts as her chest heaves, nipples grazing against the cool metal.

“Well, well, JMiller. . . you certainly have a mouth on you,” she tuts and Joel’s eyes go wide. The satisfaction he feels leads to goosebumps coursing over his burning skin, being noticed. . . it’s surprisingly thrilling. “Are you new? I haven’t seen your handle before.”

Joel swallows, his hands shaking as he types in a quick “yea”, Honey smiles, “Welcome to the hive then, baby. Keep the comments up,” she sighs, cupping both her tits. “I love a man who knows how to dirty talk.”

A knot forms in his throat, his skin tight. He wasn’t expecting to be this affected. Now he understands why so many people enjoy live streams. They don’t see you, not actually, but still, it almost fills the void. Almost. He’s excited now, eager to type in more of his thoughts, eager to hear her answer him. Joel pulls out his cock, the waistband of his sweats hugging his thighs. He gives himself a firm tug, his spine straightening at the burn gathering in his lower stomach. It feels fucking good.

“Since it’s J’s first time, and because he got me all hot and bothered, why not leave the panties on for this time?” Honey says. Joel observes the chat, there are a lot of congratulatory messages addressed to him, welcoming him. He doesn’t care. “You want to see these panties soaked, huh? You guys know how much I love making a mess.”

Honey shimmies back, revealing more of her bare legs. She spreads them for the camera, the soft sound of delicate metal filling the air whenever she moves. Her fingers start to move lazily over her clothed clit, her head falls. Joel can see a subtle dark patch growing, his own hand starting to move slowly up and down his throbbing cock. A drop of precum dribbles down, easing the glide of his rough palm. She doesn’t look at the chat as frequently as she did before, too focused on her pleasure. Her glossy lips part and her eyes scrunch up. Her moans are loud and breathy, signs that she lives alone.

Joel doesn’t think as he fists himself. Normally when watching porn he would think; he would think of a scenario, or what he would be doing differently, or the things he would want to do. This is different. He’s just watching, inhaling what’s being given to him. He sucks a sharp breath, his hand moving faster, the side of his fist smacking against his pelvis, dark curls damp under his palm.

“Fuck,” Honey moans, eyes peering toward the screen. Her fingers move faster, her hips grinding to meet the graze of her palm. Joel groans, his eyes rolling back into his skull. “I think I’m going to come,” he breathes out. “Should I?”

Joel doesn’t bother with typing until he hears his alias.

“JMiller, since you’re new the decision is yours. Should I? P-Please answer,” she sounds desperate, her hips rutting the air as she presses her fingers hard against her clit. “O-Or do you want me to come on your cock?”

Joel’s hips stutter, filling the tightness of his fist, “Fuckin’ hell.”

With sticky fingers he types his answer, telling her that she should come with his cock deep inside her. Joel also adds that he wants to hear her, telling her to be loud.

“O-Okay,” she whines, almost tearful as she reaches to grab her dildo off-screen. Joel can’t help the grin that makes its way across his face. He types again, telling her not to cry and that she’ll be coming soon enough. When he presses enter, he notices that his name is highlighted in dark orange. “You’re kind of an asshole,” she answers playfully. “I like that.”

You're the buzzing heartbeat of Honeysuckle’s live stream! You are picked by the streamer as the treasured Drone Bee, your unwavering loyalty and vibrant energy create an electrifying atmosphere. Your presence is a key ingredient in making the honey even sweeter!

A growl echoes in his throat when Honey shows the camera the dildo she had picked out. She wasn’t kidding when she said it was her biggest. It’s bigger than his own dick, and Joel is by no means a small man. He squeezes his cock and looks down, with a sudden need growing in his chest, he purses his lips and lets a long trail of saliva drip between his lips. He shudders when it reaches the head of his cock. He swipes his palm over it and continues to stroke himself, he wants to come.

He wants them to come at the same time.

Honey pushes the dildo in slowly, giving her viewers a clear sight of what’s happening. The toy stretches her wide, the ache of it pulling a gasp from her pretty lips. Joel breathes heavily, his nostrils flaring as his hand speeds up.

Oh, how he would love to be the one fucking slowly into her, to hear those little gasps coming from her in person rather than his shitty speakers. He holds his breath. It’s buried fully inside of her now. She slowly looks down, her eyes looking directly into the camera.

“I hope the view down there is good,” she says with a smirk. Joel doesn’t type anything. He focuses on the way his cock drools for her, aches to be buried in her cunt. Honey pulls out the toy until it’s only the tip that’s inside and then shoves it all in one smooth thrust. She cries out, her voice unfiltered. Joel’s stomach jumps at the sound, his pupils dilating like a wolf seeing its prey for the first time.

She fucks herself hard, whimpering and crying out every time she fuck herself deep. Joel sees the way the plastic surface shines with her slick, he bets she tastes fucking sweet.

He knows she’s close when her thighs begin to shake—he also knows thanks to the live chat going completely berserk, cheering her on and telling her to squirt. Joel, despite her own release close enough that he can taste it, rolls his eyes.

“This one is for you JMiller,” she whimpers and Joel’s eyes go wide, his cock pulsing in his wet fist. “Hope you’re gonna fall down the edge with me, big guy.”

Joel doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until she’s coming—she does so with a loud moan, her cunt fluttering around the large cock. Her head falls back completely, giving a clear view of her heaving chest, nipples fully erect under the see-through armor.

His fall from grace is less pretty. He lets out a grunt, his hips fucking into his hand helplessly as come spurts from the slit, it’s almost painful. His heart beats aggressively while he tries hard to keep his focus on the screen, he doesn’t want to miss anything. Joel makes a mess of himself and his surroundings, the rug underneath his socked feet stained with his release.

Joel’s cock stops throbbing and with a pleased sigh, his shoulders drop.

“That felt fuckin’ goood,” he groans, staring blankly at the ongoing live stream. Vaguely he notices Honey pulling the toy out, an equally fucked out expression on her face. The live chat is still going wild, he manages to lean over and type in one last sentence before going offline.

Good girl.

Joel is a weak weak man.

Watching Honey quickly became a routine for him. She would start streaming around the same time he would come back from work and it was the perfect way to let off some steam. Tommy had asked if he checked out Ravish, to which Joel promptly said no. He didn’t need his baby brother making fun of him.

Besides, some primal part of him didn’t want Tommy to know about Honey. It’s an odd thought, he realizes, since she’s enjoyed by many many people. Still, he didn’t have an explanation for what he was feeling.

Once she had brought in a guest, and his body had immediately rejected it. He was ready to close the stream and head to the bathroom for a quick shower—however, he stopped when he noticed who the guest was; CammingBravo. Another streamer who had caught Joel’s attention when he was scrolling through the endless amount of entertainers for the first time. He watched Honey eat out his tight little asshole, then he watched Bravo fuck her senseless, making her soak the sheets.

Joel never came that hard in his life before— It was exhilarating. He tipped handsomely that night and Honey mentioned how JMiller was one of her best viewers. Bravo’s smile, which was surprisingly kind, was infectious.

He would be lying if he said his chest didn’t puff up a little.

And, of course, he ended up buying a private chat with her after that. He just had to. It would just be this one time, he told himself, just one hour without the live chat. Just him and her.

He turns on the laptop, already knowing that he’s kidding himself. There’s no way this will be a one-time thing. He’s too. . . smitten to leave it with one private chat.

Maybe he can limit himself to once a month. That seems reasonable.

The familiar website of Ravish loads and he clicks on the little gray person in the corner. He finds the section that’s titled “private chats” and clicks. Her username, Honeysuckle, pops up. On the screen, it says she’ll be with him shortly.

A minute later the screen goes black and her face comes into view. She’s wearing a pink see-through bra with strawberries on it, Honey’s smile is bright as she looks into the camera.

“Hi there J!” she greets him, his stomach warms at the sound of her voice. “This is your first time doing a live chat right?”

He nods absent-mindedly while typing. Honey reads his answer and gives him an empathetic look.

“Okay, so you don’t have to show your face—obviously—but if you want you can click the tiny microphone in the corner and talk to me directly. But if that’s also too much you can continue to type what you want me to do.”

Joel’s eyebrows raise. Talk to her. . . with his actual voice? The thought both excites and sends cold fear down his spine. What would he even say? What if she doesn’t like the sound of his voice?

“Are you there?” her voice comes through. “Is everything alright?”

His fingers tense and rigid, Joel types in the questions that swirl in his head. Luckily the questions sound cheeky without any tone indicators so Honey smiles, her eyes narrowing while her lips curl seductively.

“You can say anything you want, big boy,” she licks her lips. “And don’t worry about your voice, I’m yours for the hour. You might as well have the most shrill voice in the world, I would still tell you how sexy you sound.”

You always call me that. Why? . . . Also, it doesn’t make me feel any better when you say you’ll tell me how good I sound regardless but I get what you mean.

Joel aggressively chews the smooth inside of his cheek. Honey reads his messages, a grin stretching across her beautiful face, “Let’s just say streamer’s intuition,” she winks. “As for the other thing, I mean that you don’t need to worry. I doubt you have the most shrill voice in the world.” she thinks over her words before adding. “Of course, it’s up to you. If you don’t want to use voice chat that’s completely fine.”

Joel sighs, his curser hovering over the tiny microphone. Closing his eyes, he clicks.

“Can—Can you hear me?”

Her eyes sparkle.

“Crystal clear,” she answers with a wide smile. “You sound hot.”

She sounds genuinely impressed. Joel can’t help but chuckle with the shake of his head. “Don’t sound so surprised but thanks, I think?”

“Oh it’s definitely a compliment,” she says rolling her tongue. “Is there anything you want me to call you or should I just call you J?”

There’s a brief moment where he thinks of just telling her his name but he bites his tongue at the very last moment. His heart does a little jump when he answers, “You can call me. . . sir.”

“Understood, sir,” she repeats, her voice dripping with lust. A shudder crawls up his spine and he has to brace himself by holding his knees. “There is also a matter of safewords, I don’t do everything as I’m sure you don’t as well. Red is for stop, yellow is for slow down and green is for go. I think that’s the simplest one but if you want to use a different word I’m okay with that.”

Joel blinks before answering, “Uh, yeah sounds good.”

“Also the website doesn’t allow screen recordings—which I appreciate— so you can’t film these sessions in any way. I’m just letting you know because no one reads the terms of service and one client was very unhappy when he got a cease and desist.”

“I. . . okay, I wouldn’t even think of it.”

She smiles and Joel’s heart feels a bit lighter, “Good,” with the rules established, a sense of relaxation washed over both of them. “So, do you have anything planned for me?”

Joel clears his throat as a warning and her eyes glimmer with amusement.

“Sorry,” she breathes heavily. “Did you have anything planned for me, sir?”

“Would you laugh if I said no?”

“Sir, I would never laugh at you,” she pouts, brows turning upward. Momentarily she looks off screen and when her eyes find the lens again she smiles giddily. “Would you want me to show you the toys I think you’ll like?”

Joel smiles at how genuinely excited she sounds, it’s hard to remind himself that this is all an act and that this is her job. He wants this to be real. He wants her to actually be excited to show him all the things she wants him to use.

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” he answers not missing the way her lips part with a soft gasp. “Show me what you got.”

Honey shows him a handful of her toys. She has a lot. Dildos of various sizes, vibrators, nipple clamps, kegel balls, anal plugs, anal beads, floggers, collars, paddles. . . she might as well have an entire sex shop in her room. Joel takes mental notes of all of them to use during their next sessions.

“Anything that you like, sir?”

“The paddle,” he murmurs, feeling a bit flustered now that they’re actually getting into it. “The one with the heart-shaped hole and. . . the nipple clamps—”

“The heart-shaped ones?”

Joel swallows thickly, “Y—Yeah.”

“No need to be shy, sir,” she grins. “It’s only you and me.” Honey picks out the toys Joel requested and raises an eyebrow while her gaze searches the pile. “So, no dildos? Or vibrators?”

“I . . . had somethin’ else in mind, if that’s alright.”

“Ohhhh, a mystery,” she purrs, winking into the camera. “I love it, sir.”

Honey is slow to rid herself of her bra, sliding one arm out and then the other before moving both hands to the back to unclasp herself free of the dainty fabric. Her chest nears the camera, giving him a full view of her fully erect nipples. Joel’s breathing grows heavier by the second. He can feel his cock stiffen, pleasure stirring in his gut. He quickly kicks off his shorts, leaving himself bare on the couch as he watches her secure the clamps over each nipple. She lets out a tiny sigh of bliss, pulling her arms back and planting her palms firmly against the mattress, she shows her newly decorated nipples.

Joel groans and wraps his hand around his cock. She does a little wiggle, the soft sound of bells making his cock twitch.

“Are you touching yourself, sir?”

“Yea.”

“Good, I want to hear you get off,” she quickly adds. “Sir.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me, sweet thing,” his eyes flutter closed as his fist moves down, and he opens them back up after giving himself a firm squeeze. “Turn around,” he grunts. “And don’t forget the paddle.”

She does as she’s told, which in return gives Joel an immense sense of control and satisfaction. Precome drips down his length, he uses it to lube himself further, paying extra attention to be loud for her. Just like she wanted.

His eyes follow the movement of the paddle, she drags it over the right cheek of her ass, caressing her skin. Her panties disappear between the crease of her gorgeous ass, leaving little to the imagination. “Is this okay, sir?” she asks, her voice thick. “Am I being a good girl?”

Goosebumps rise over his skin. He’d called her, wrote to her, good girl after every stream—his smirk is laced with something dark when he realizes that she must’ve enjoyed it.

“You’re being very good,” he answers. “Now hit yourself with it, I want to see a heart tattooed on that pretty flesh of yours.”

“Southern man into branding, why am I not surprised?” she purrs and lifts her ass closer the camera. “You like seeing your pretty girl all marked up by her owner?”

Fuck.

“Don’t get full of yourself,” he orders, adding a bit more venomous tone to his voice. Honey stills, and briefly Joel worries he’d overstep. He stops breathing, not wanting to miss even the smallest hint of the safeword.

But then she shudders, hitting herself lightly with the paddle. “How’s this, sir?” she says, her lilt indicating that she’s highly aware it isn’t enough.

“Harder.”

She spanks herself harder, her body jolting. Joel can hear the bells. He circles the head of his cock with the pad of his thumb, groaning as he makes himself more comfortable on the couch.

“Sweetheart, I don’t think you’re listenin’,” he inhales slowly, enjoying the way her muscles tense. “I want to see those hearts on your skin. I thought this was supposed to be a show.”

“Y-Yes, sir.”

He loves how breathy her voice has gotten. Heat licks the base of his spine, his cock begging for release.

She raises the paddle, smacking her plump meat much harder than before. Her asscheek ripples and Joel can finally see a faint trace of a shape. But it’s not clear enough to be a decent heart. “Again,” he orders.

It takes about six to nine times before the heart takes shape on her skin. She’s whimpering, tremors moving up and down her body as she fights the urge to collapse. She loves seeing his mark there, she might’ve placed herself, but it was his doing and he revels in it.

“Good,” he says, swallowing thickly. “Good fuckin’ girl. Lookin’ so pretty for me.”

“S-Sir,” she mutters. Joel doesn’t know what to expect until her hand comes between her legs, sliding the thin line of her panties to the side. Her cunt is a sopping mess. Joel leans further towards the screen, his tongue licking the roof of his mouth. “Do you see how wet I am? P-Please, I want to come—Can I, sir?”

“Fuck, ‘course you can,” his neck feels warm, burning almost. “Turn around, grab one of them pillows behind you.”

“P-Pillow?”

She sounds dazed, Joel almost feels bad for her, almost. “Yes sweetheart, pillow,” he coos. “I want you to grind that pretty cunt against it. . . honey.”

“Shit, say that again.”

“Honey,” he groans again, his hips thrusting into the air, burying himself deep into his fist. His voice drops further as he begins to chant, “Honey, honey, honey, honey—”

She visibly clenches at that, her entire body tight with arousal. With shaky hands, she brings the pillow between her thighs, straddling the soft cushion. Her head falls back as she gives it an experimental roll of her hips, Joel’s breath catches in his throat. She looks delectable. Her hands come up to her chest and tugs at the clamps, she jumps, a wanton moan echoing from the back of her throat.

“You’re so worked up aren’t you?” Joel continues as she grinds herself further down, leaving a wet, darkened patch behind. He’s preaching to the choir. His own arousal drooling over his knuckles. He closes his eyes, allowing his mouth to roam free. “Stuff three fingers in your mouth, want you to choke darlin’.”

With a whine, she nods and pushes three fingers between her lips. Joel smirks, “It ain’t nearly enough but at least you can get a feelin’ of how much my cock would stretch those pretty lips, honey,” he rasps. She shudders, her hips moving wildly over the pillow. “You love havin’ your mouth full don’t you?”

“Yesh, sur,” she moans around her own fingers, she move acutely, and with every jerk of her hips, Joel can see her throbbing clit. He’s teetering on the edge of his release, heat pools between his legs, his balls go tight.

“I’m gonna come, honey,” he groans, his tight shaking. “Come with me, show me how wet your get that pillow.”

With a hint of mischief in her eyes, she loudly gulps around her fingers, giving Joel a clear few of her cunt before rolling her hips down against the smooth surface. His eyes go wide and before his brain can register the coil snapping, he spills over his hand. Heavy strings of come dripping down his hard throbbing length. He makes a choked sound as he tries to breathe in and out at the same time. Honey pulls out her fingers from her mouth and grins, her hands drop in front of her and she bounces up and down, mimicking the way she would ride him.

The action manages to squeeze one last rope of come from him, his lungs collapse, his body burning. She comes right after, her thighs squeezing around each side of the pillow before gushing around it. Joel can see the shine as she continues to grind her hips.

“Show me,” he pants, his next words quickly shifting into a growl. “Show it to me.”

Licking her lips, Honey pulls the pillow from between her legs and shows it to him. His cock twitches with interest. “Wanna taste you,” he says without thinking.

“Sadly technology hasn’t improved that much yet,” she answers. “But I’ll tell you this much,” she leans in and flattens her tongue against the soaked fabric. Joel’s jaw tightens, his molars digging together painfully. She moans. “I taste sweet. Like honey.”

You hate visiting home.

You hate the heat, the crowd, staying at a home where you’re still treated like a child when you haven’t been one for a long long time. But you didn't really have a choice when your dad hurt his leg, which meant that you had to help around with the tiny bookshop your family owned. It was a miracle that it was still standing, but people did love their old, dusty bookshops. You had to admit, you enjoyed the aura of the place.

Your mom had asked you to bring over two coffees before coming in, she opened up shop early which you were grateful for. Now that you were home, you didn’t have the luxury to do as many private calls as you wanted to. You still streamed late at night, keeping silent, your audience didn’t mind. They thoroughly enjoyed the whispering and the “we can’t be caught” act. You only indulged in one private session, a session that you couldn’t bare letting go of.

JMiller.

You thought a lot about what his real name might be. Jacob, Jeff, Jeremy. . . none of them felt right. It was disappointing because you wanted to scream his name when you had your hand between your legs. But since you couldn’t decide on a name, you whimpered a string of sirs over and over again.

You eagerly counted down the hours until you could finally spend time with him. This was a funny thought on its own because you boasted about how professional you were. You kept things clear, not allowing for any miscommunication or—potentially—feelings. But there was just something about him that got your entire body yearning to hear his southern drawl. Maybe it was the nostalgia of it all. You did grow up in Austin after all. But still. It was odd how excited you got before going online.

You briefly mentioned you were going back home, you didn’t tell him where, obviously, but you did tell him that there could be scheduling issues. He understood.

Of course he did, he was perfect.

Pulling yourself away from your thoughts, you impatiently drum your foot against the clean marble floors. This line is insane. You let out a groan, sending your mother a quick text that it might take you a while. A second later your phone buzzes with a thumbs-up emoji from her. You sigh again as you shove the phone down your back pocket, you hate waiting, it gets you anxious and even though you don’t have a boss that will yell at you, you don’t enjoy being late.

Then, as if he popped out of the concrete like a weed, a man pushes himself between you and the other person that was waiting in line in front of you.

Your heart races, your eyebrows knitting together, no way in hell are you going to allow someone to cut in line.

“Hey,” you call out. The man ignores you and you tap his shoulder, he turns sharply, his eyes glaring daggers. “You can’t cut in line,” you say defensively. “You need to move to the back of the line.”

“Look lady I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about I was always here.”

“Ummmm, no you weren’t,” your chest heaves, heat rising to your cheeks. You don’t like confrontation—you’d do it, but you’d hate it. Your legs are already shaking slightly. “I’ve been staring at the pink paint stain on that guy’s shoulder for about half an hour so I know what I’m talking about.”

He rolls his eyes, an ugly snarl taking shape, “Just leave it. I ain’t gonna budge. I have places to be.”

“And the rest of us don’t?” you snort, eyebrows raised. He shrugs, makes a face, and turns his back to you once again. It takes you everything not to stomp your foot like an angry bull.

You’ve had enough. You’re tired of the assholes of the word, you don’t care if you’re not allowed into the coffee shop ever again. Puffing up your chest, you open your mouth wide, ready to give this rude stranger a piece of your unfiltered mind.

“You know what—”

“Is that any way to treat a lady, moonshine?”

You turn towards the source of the voice. It’s a man you’ve never seen before. He’s rugged looking, the salt and pepper in his beard endearing. He has a deep crease between his brows, his brown eyes dark as he stares down at the rude stranger. You take in the sight of his broad shoulders, thick neck—your heart does a little flip. You don’t know why but you’re drawn to the man, he has a nice voice.

The man, however, isn’t as pleased as you.

“What’s it to you? She your girlfriend?”

You’re not but you kinda wish you were.

“Get in the back of the line, I saw you cut in front of her.”

The tension in the air is thick enough that you can cut it with a knife. You hold your breath, your lungs starting to burn as electricity crackles between the two men. Finally the asshole caves and sighs, going to the back of the line. You let out the breath you’ve been holding, your shoulders sagging with relief right after.

“Thank you,” you say, your gaze finding the kind strangers. “I was right about to blow my lid before you stepped in.”

He doesn’t answer and just continues to stare at you. Worry builds in your spine. Why isn’t he saying anything? His softened gaze flits across your face, taking in every detail before looking away. He pushes his hands down his pockets, looking almost boyish with the way he drops his gaze to the floor.

“Don’t mention it,�� he mutters.

You raise an eyebrow. His voice still sounds familiar. Your curiosity getting the better of you, you shove the thoughts of familiarity into the back of your head and grace him with a wide smile. He blushes profusely, eyes slightly going wide, he takes a sharp inhale.

“How about I pay for your coffee. . . or whatever you’re buying?” you ask.

“You don’t have—”

“I insist!” you chirp, glad that the line is finally moving. You extend your hand with enthusiasm, which he accepts a bit tentatively. Your smile never wavering, you tell him your name and an emotion akin to guilt washes over his eyes. He releases your hand, lips a tight, frigid line. “Is something wrong?” you ask. “You don’t like the name?”

“N–No, it ain’t that,” he shifts from one leg to the other. You nearly look down, curious to see how tightly his jeans hug his muscular thighs. “I’m. . . Joel.”

The world around you falls into a complete silence. Joel. Joel. Something electric and searing shoots up your spine, your lashes fluttering. Your heart starts beating a mile a minute but you’re not sure why. The only thing you do know is that this is a significant moment. An important moment.

Your rake your brain for answers.

Why?

Why is it important? What piece are you missing to complete the puzzle?

His lips break into a soft smile, he gestures towards the counter with his head. “We’re up.”

“O-Oh, yeah,” you swallow, barely able to pull your gaze away from him. “Sorry.”

You tell the kind barista your order and she writes it down on both your cups happily. The two of you move away from the line to wait for your drinks; a black coffee for your mom, a caramel macchiato for you, and an iced quad espresso for Joel. You raise an eyebrow.

“I have a long day comin’,” he says with a small smile. “And I didn’t do much sleepin’ last night.”

Your mind immediately flashes you memories of last night. Legs spread wide with two dildos stretching you, JMiller really enjoys it when you test your limits. Your pulse pounding in your skull, you look down. “Don’t I know it.”

“You had a late night too?” there’s a teasing lilt to his tone. Your stomach churns and you sink your teeth into your bottom lip. It looks like he’s about to say something else but the barista calls your name and both of you head towards the counter. He takes his death juice with a grateful smile, his demeanor more relaxed compared to when you introduced yourself.

“Thank you, honey. I appreciate it.”

Oh shit.

Shit shit shit shit.

It is him.

JMiller—J stands for Joel.

Fuck.

“You. . .” you begin, panic raising in your voice. “You’re. . .”

He nods, “I think we both know why I didn’t sleep much last night,” he extends his hand again. “Huge fan by the way. You’re great and this is awkward as hell.”

“It is,” you whisper. Still, you take his hand. “It is.”

“You’ve never had someone come up to you on the street before?” he asks, curious. “I would assume you get recognized a lot.”

“Not as much as you would think,” a cruel, humorless burst of laughter drops from your lips. “People don’t exactly want their partners to know they’re watching me. But if they’re alone yeah. . . sometimes they’ll say hi.”

Or they’ll ask inappropriate questions and be weird about it but he doesn’t have to know that.

Now that he’s mentioned you bumping into others, you’re not sure why it felt like the end of the world before. You feel embarrassed, flustered even, two emotions that a client shouldn’t be making you feel.

“Well,” he breaks the silence, moving his jaw as he opens the door for you. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“Technically you bought it.”

“Right. . .”

The two of you are out in the street now, staring at each other, contemplating what to say. He scratches the back of his head, then his fingers move to rub at his jaw. Arousal gathers between your thighs, it’s not your fault, now that you know that it’s him, your body acts accordingly.

“Are we still on for tomorrow?”

You still for a moment before answering, “Yeah.”

He turns and leaves, you do the same, only in the opposite direction.

After learning your name, Joel completely abandoned his rule of you calling him 'sir', making you moan his actual name as frequently as he could. His name stuck to your tongue. It might as well have been tattooed under your bottom lip. He was possessive in the way he asked, in some instances even begging for you to say it—and you fucking loved it. You loved this sick claim he had towards you now that you two had officially met. You loved how much more eager he was to see you make a sticky mess between your thighs. You love how cock dumb he made you feel without actually being there to fuck you himself.

He even started doing his version of online aftercare. Mostly he would just talk, tell you about every-day things as you came down from your high. Or he would murmur a song. You never asked if he was a musician, he had a nice voice.

It’s the beginning of the session and you’re getting ready. He says he enjoys watching the preparation you do for him so you decided to start streaming five minutes earlier, allowing him to watch. You really need him today. You had a rough day with an order mix-up, and your mom isn’t the best at dealing with mishaps. He clears his throat, which draws your attention to him.

“Is something wrong?” you ask.

“No no, everythin’ is fine, sweetheart. I just. . .” he sighs. “I want to ask somethin’.”

“Ask away.”

“Can we—Would you want to—” he groans in frustration and you start grinning. His frustrated pout is adorable. All you want to do is smooth the crease between his brows with your thumb and give him a kiss.

“Joel Miller,” you tease, not missing the way his breath catches in your throat. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

Oh god, you hope your intuition is right. If it isn’t this call is about to get really awkward.

He flushes, eyes dropping as he nods.

“Is that okay?”

This is highly unprofessional, “More than okay. I’d love to go on a date with you.”

His grin is infectious.

“Good,” he lets out a breath then settles back against the couch. “Now show me those pretty tits, honey.”

You can’t believe you’re actually in JMiller’s, aka Joel’s, home.

The date had gone better than you expected. He was kind, charming, and chivalrous which were all qualities you haven’t seen for a while. Ever since you started streaming you hadn’t been on many dates and frankly, after a while, you purposefully avoided them. It just felt like asking for drama that you had no intention of dealing with. But Joel wasn’t like that. He could be blunt, a bit grumpy, yet also kind. He had taken you to one of his favorite pubs. Beers accompanied by the best jalapeno poppers you ever had equated to one of the finest dates you’ve ever had.

He was a contractor, had a daughter in college, and a younger brother. His mother and father had passed a long time ago and ever since Sarah left, he’d been feeling lonely. He’d admitted shyly that that was the reason why he signed up on Ravish. He wanted company.

You found it incredibly charming.

As soon as Joel closes the door behind you two, you fall into each other’s arms. He kisses you with fervor, tongue slipping between your lips as he breathes you in at the same time. You feel him everywhere. Large hands squeezing your hips, waist, breasts—it’s intoxicating. You moan wantonly into his mouth, your lids falling when he sucks your tongue into his mouth. He tastes like beer and you’re pretty sure you do too.

Joel pushes you up against the wall, knocking the air from your lungs while you continue to chase his lips with an insatiable need. You can’t bear to be separated from him, not even for a second. He drags his lips down your neck, mouthing at your jugular, sharp teeth nipping the sensitive flesh. Your hips jerk to meet his and with a growl, he pins you back to the wall.

“Don’t,” he grunts. “I’ve been waitin’ so long for this honey, so fuckin’ long.”

Your lips curl, a challenge lingering in your eyes, “Show me then, big boy. Show me how bad you want to fuck your slut.”

“Fuck,” he hisses, gripping your chin harshly and pulling you in for another kiss. Your teeth clink together, he pulls back just as quick, the muscle in his jaw twitches. “Fuck,” he breathes out again. “You have quite the mouth on you, darlin’.”

You have no recollection of how the two of you clamored upstairs, stripping one another in a lustful haze. The time you realize you’re naked is when you feel the cool air of the room caressing your burning skin, he leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses down between your breasts, fingers eagerly working your nipples as he forces you to walk back until your back of your knees hit the bed and you fall.

Not wanting to give in so easily, you wrap your fingers around his heavy cock. It juts angrily between his legs, answering your touch by drooling all over your palm, slickening your movements. You jerk him until he’s fully hard, his breathing heavy as he rolls his hips to meet the tightness of your fist. He sinks his teeth into your neck, the pain that blossoms coaxes a moan from you, your own wetness growing between your legs.

“I knew you’d be fucking big,” you whisper, tongue toying with his earlobe. “So huge—makes me wonder if I can take it. . .”

“I’ve seen you take bigger,” he groans, hips stuttering. A whimper drops from your lips, you want him, you want to feel him inside, want to feel his come dripping out later. You feel thick fingers spreading your soaked folds, he drags down a middle finger between them, licking himself into your mouth as he draws circles around your aching clit. “So wet for me,” he rasps. “Gonna make a mess in you, honey.”

You gasp, “P-Please.”

He lines himself against your entrance, teasing you, stretching you subtly with the bulbous head of his cock. Your head falls back and your back arches into him. He draws a hard nipple between his lips, closing them as he sucks. Heat rushes all over your body, arousal thick on your tongue. You clutch the sheets. He smiles as he pushes in, filling you inch by inch with a lax jaw and a dazed gaze.

He stops and waits for you to adjust to him. Joel’s forehead drops against yours, dampness growing between the skin. You feel his breath fanning your face, so warm. There’s a hint of pain, the type that makes you flutter around him. He feels it too. The way you tighten against him, your body begging for more. He obliges. Pushing further and further until his hips are flushed against yours. His jaw is clenched tight, his breathing heavy.

“Fuck you feel so good,” he presses fleeting kisses all over your face. It’s ticklish and if all your senses wasn’t narrowed in between your legs, you would’ve giggled.

Your body jerks as he pulls back, the pleasure you feel is instant and overwhelming. You’ve missed the feeling of actual flesh inside of you. Joel snaps his hips forward, locking your breath in your throat, with a moment of desperation you wrap your arms around him and pull him closer. He fucks you in earnest. Every thrust desperate. Every thrust needy. He seems lost in you, whimpers, groans and grunts trembling in his throat and chest. You spread your legs wider, wanting more of him, wanting your cunt to take the shape of his cock.

“Harder—” you cry out. “Take it—Take what you want—”

Your arms fall limp, his body moving up and towering over yours. Joel grips your thighs tight before lifting them, he jackhammers into you, tugging and pulling at you like a brand new fucktoy. He splits you in half. The force of his movements making you scream. You don’t miss the way he grins wildly, dangerously. Something dark and haunting washing over his face.

Your eyes grow wide, your heart beating in your throat, making it hard to swallow. It happens all at once, you clench around him, arousal pouring between your legs in a way it never had before. The look, the cock, the man behind it all—everything combined pushing your mind into the deep stages of want and need. Your eyes roll back, your hands coming up to pinch your tight, tingling nipples. You sob his name, your voice hoarse as you beg him for more and more and more—

“W-Wait, darlin’ if you squeeze me like that I’ll—!”

A series of curses drops wildly and unintelligently from his lips. You feel him. The heat of his seed filling you to the brim, his cock throbs and twitches, spurting into you again and again. Your lips break into a satisfied smile. Instinctively, Joel pushes deeper, shoving your combined slick even deeper.

“Shit,” he says catching his breath. “I-I’m so fuckin’ sorry. I usually last. . . longer than that. I—”

You shush him and cup his cheek. You’re so pliant right now, floating happily in the air. You let out a sigh before willing your lips to move. Has talking always been this taxing?

“It’s okay Joel,” you slur your words, smiling lazily. “I take it as a compliment, that felt fucking good.”

“Yeah?” he sounds so innocent and hopeful that you can’t suppress your giggle. His eyes twinkle under the dimmed light. “Well, I’m glad you felt good, sweetheart but I’m not done yet.”

Your breath hitches when he pulls out, your brows furrow as a chill settles between your legs. You wanted him to stay inside longer. But you’re pleasantly surprised when he slides down your body, kissing every patch of skin before settling between your legs.

“Let’s see if you’re as sweet as you’ve been tellin’ me.”

He kisses your cunt, lips moving in tandem with your wet folds. He drags his tongue up between them, curling it as he takes himself into his mouth, tasting both of you at one. You go limp at the pressure of his tongue, your walls fluttering and squeezing for more. With a groan, he shoves his fingers, the wet sound makes your toes curl into the mattress. It’s like torture, a very pleasurable torture. You gasp when he pulls you flush against his face, the bridge of his nose bumping against your clit as he licks you clean.

Your build up is spontaneous. You feel it coming, the taste of your orgasm at the tip of your tongue. Joel curls his fingers, sucking your clit between his lips and gently nipping at it. You hips chases his mouth, his mustache chafing the tender skin. Your hands come to each side of his head, threading your trembling fingers through the soft locks, his fingers brush against an especially sensitive spot and you tug at his hair. His throat shakes with a groan. His eyes closing.

“Do it again,” he mutters. And you do. He starts moaning into your cunt, his hips, despite just spilling inside of you, rutting against the bed. Your nails bite into his scalp and he flicks his tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves.

The tension coiling in you finally snaps, your entire body locking up as you gush into his mouth. He gulps you down loudly, fingers still moving deep inside you. Your throat is dry as ou shout his name, hips stuttering helplessly, he pins you down with both hands, moving his head up and down as the fat strokes of his tongue becomes more wild.

When he’s finally done feasting, he pulls away with a wet mouth.

“Wow,” you murmur, curling into him when he lays beside you. “That was. . . wow.”

“You really had low expectations, huh?”

“Not low,” you grin. “But not that high either.”

“Well,” he says, guiding you so you’ll lay on his chest. “I’m glad to prove you wrong.”

You smile, heart fluttering.

“Me too.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #tlou fanfiction #hbo the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fanfic #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters

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ahqkas · 6 months ago

Note

Gryffindor! Reader who always try to avoid mattheo because of the beef between houses. But mostly because of the rumors of the riddle brother. Mattheo knows this, it’s like a game of cat and mouse as it only ends up with mattheo teasing her until she’s flustered.

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST!

THE ANCIENT RIVALRY BETWEEN GRYFFINDOR AND SLYTHERIN WAS A WELL-KNOWN FACT AT HOGWARTS. it was a feud written in tradition and mutual dislike, carried on through generations of students. for you, a proud gryffindor, the tradition was not just a historical detail but a daily reality. especially when it came to avoiding mattheo riddle, the short tempered slytherin whose reputation preceded him.

it wasn’t just the typical house rivalry that made you steer clear of mattheo; it was the swirling rumors about him and his name. the whispers in the corridors, the hushed conversations in the common room – all painted him as someone to be wary of. despite this, there was an undeniable allure to him, a magnetism that made it increasingly difficult to ignore his presence.

mattheo seemed to take great delight in your attempts to avoid him. it was like a game of cat and mouse, one he played with a mischievous glint in his eyes. he had an uncanny ability to appear wherever you least expected him, always ready with a teasing remark or a sly smile that made your heart race.

one afternoon, you were hurrying through the courtyard, hoping to reach the library before dinner. the winter sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows over the cobblestones. you quickened your pace, hoping to evade any slytherins who might be lingering nearby.

"running from something, gryffindor?"

the familiar drawl stopped you in your tracks. you turned to see mattheo leaning against a stone pillar, his arms crossed over his chest and a smirk playing on his lips. his dark curls fell into his eyes, which sparkled with amusement. he enjoyed this game between the two of you too much.

"no, just trying to get to the library," you replied, trying to sound indifferent. "some of us actually have work to do."

"ah, always the responsible student," he teased, pushing off from the pillar and sauntering over to you. "but you know, all work and no play makes for a very dull lion."

you rolled your eyes, but your heart was pounding against your rib cage. "i have enough excitement without adding you to the mix, riddle."

he stepped closer, his gaze intense. "oh i doubt that." he reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. the casual touch sent a shiver down your spine. "why do you avoid me, really?"

you looked away, unable to meet his eyes. "you know why," you muttered.

"because of the rumors?" he asked and his voice visibly softened now. "you shouldn't believe everything you hear."

"it’s not just the rumors," you admitted. "it’s . . . well, you're you. and i am me. gryffindor and slytherin don't exactly mix well."

"who says we have to follow the rules?" he said, his tone challenging. "maybe we can make our own."

you couldn't help but glance up at him, caught by the sincerity in his voice. "why do you care so much, mattheo?"

"because i like you," he said simply. "and i think you like me too, even if you won't admit it."

your cheeks flushed, and you looked away again. "you’re impossible," you muttered, but there was no heat in your words this time.

"and you're adorable when you're flustered," he teased, his smirk returning.

before you could respond, the bell rang, signaling the end of the break. you took a step back, needing to put some distance between you and the overwhelming presence of mattheo riddle.

"i have to go.”

"i’ll see you around, princess," he called after you, his voice filled with a promise.

as you walked away, you couldn't help but smile. despite your best efforts, mattheo riddle was getting under your skin. and maybe, just maybe, that wasn't such a bad thing after all.

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ghost-proofbaby · 2 years ago

Text

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR THREE

in which eddie munson and you absolutely hate each other's guts. what happens when your friends make a bet that you can't spend more than twenty four hours consecutively together?

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ pairings: modern!college!eddie x college!fem!reader

→ wc: 3.7k+

→ a/n: quick question - would you guys like me to include chapter summaries at the beginning of each chapter? is that a thing we'd like lol? lemme know! quick edit: totally forgot to thank @boomhauer for the genius idea of the flip phone!!

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

3:00 ──ㅇ──────────────── 24:00

HOUR THREE - 6:00 PM

The pounding on the door is frenetic, nonstop as you stand and make no move to unlock it. It doesn’t take long before Eddie starts to beg.

He tries to repeatedly say your name at first, over and over, voice pathetic and cracking by the seventh time.

“Just open the door!” he finally shouts in frustration, “I- It’s- Those are private!”

You look down at the open spread once more, shaking your head, the deviant smile never once leaving your face. “What’s the magic word?”

“Magic word? I- Jesus Christ, you’re fucking impossible!”

“Sorry,” you say, taking a few steps closer to the door, “‘Fraid it’s none of those.”

The same thumping from before sounds as Eddie sighs deeply enough for you to hear, and you realize he’s lightly banging his forehead against the door now.

You start to feel bad, honestly. It was an invasion of his privacy, and if the roles were reversed, you’d be fuming. Kindness wasn’t something you offered to the likes of Eddie, and if he had ever locked you out of your own bedroom and raided your own stash of personal porn, you’d be downright hateful.

But then you remember his words.

“Why my friends are so enamored with you, I will never understand.”

Maybe he deserves this. Maybe he deserves all the hatefulness and spitefulness you can manage.

The two sides of your brain bicker, and Eddie continues to thump his head against the door. It’s a losing battle as the kinder part of you wins over.

You take a step closer to the door, until the wood is all that separates the two of you, “Try again.”

Your voice is softer and gentler, and not quite as teasing.

The banging ceases.

He doesn’t speak for a few moments and you begin to worry that he walked away. That this latest game of cat and mouse has ended, that he’s decided you aren’t worth the trouble. You don’t understand the pang in your chest at the idea – it’s not like this was supposed to be fun. Arguing with Eddie was something that ruined your day, that always strung out your last nerves and led to you grinding your teeth in your sleep. He had just shot to kill with his words to you; you shouldn’t be on the other side of a wooden door with a fickle spark of hope that he’s still waiting for you.

“Please,” he says in monotone, almost a hint of pain as if to spit the word out was like pulling blood from stone.

The spark of hope vanishes just as quickly as it had appeared. Already forgotten.

You open the door reluctantly, still gripping the open and curled magazine in your fist, “The magic word was sorry.”

He wasn’t expecting you to give up so quickly, clear as his head snaps up and he looks over you with genuine shock.

“Sorry?” he echoes, “You’re the one who stormed my room and stole my… magazine.”

“And I wouldn’t have had to if you weren’t such an asshole.”

His eyebrows disappear behind his disheveled bangs. “Because I said that I… I wouldn’t care if you disappeared?”

It’s more than that. You both know it. He says it with restraint, he pauses because he knows that that wasn’t the comment that struck you hardest.

“I’m sorry,” he swallows his pride with surprising ease, straightening up, “I assumed the feeling was mutual.”

“Well, it’s not.”

“You wouldn’t celebrate my death?”

There it was. You’re surprised he’s even willing to repeat the words. Acknowledging them is the first step, you suppose.

You want to say no, but instead settle on, “I wouldn’t tell you to your face.”

You wouldn’t even think it to begin with. Because while Eddie was awful to you, he wasn’t a bad person. You’d seen his ability to play nice with others, to treat others with the respect that they deserved. For some odd reason, you were the only exception when it came to him. Even the strangers that he’d keep up a brooding act with had never met the sharpness of his tongue when he was within proximity to you.

He opens his mouth, but you don’t think you can stomach an insincere apology, so you lift the magazine into both your views instead, “Whatever. It’s water under the bridge. I’m far more intrigued by this now.”

The moment he catches sight of the laminated photo, his expression goes from something similar to remorse to a full-fledged blush. Eddie Munson is blushing because you’re holding his Playboy magazine.

His hand shoots out for it, but you’re faster than him, pulling it out of his reach with ease, “Nope! Not so fast, Munson.”

“Give that bac-” he starts with ardent desperation, following you with each step back you take.

You shake your head and hide the magazine behind your back, “Over my dead body.”

He goes rigid, as if it reminds him of his cruel words, before his efforts double. There’s no hesitation in occupying your space as he begins to reach behind you to snatch back the private item.

You’re not quite sure how it happens. It’s a quick succession of mistakes made on both of your parts; he’s grown too determined to get the Playboy back in his grasp, and your mind is solely focused on keeping it away from him. You don’t notice the way your two bodies shuffle farther into the room as you struggle with him. You don’t notice when your knees hit the edge of his mattress. Neither of you do.

Not until it’s too late.

One moment, you’re standing upright and Eddie’s arms are wrapping around you. The next, your back is connecting with soft sheets that erupt in the scent of boy upon impact, the entirety of Eddie’s weight now on top of you with a hand trapped beneath your lower back.

He lets out a soft oof directly into your chest.

Directly into your boobs.

Both of you freeze, unsure of what to do. The magazine has fallen to your side, opening to a different marked page, but you can’t even turn your head to properly see it.

The warmth of him suffocates you, twisting your gut as it sinks into your skin. You can feel his heartbeat drumming in his ribcage against your own. Racing, racing, racing. Just like your own.

“Get off me,” you grunt, shoving at his shoulders to roll him off of you, the closeness suddenly too much. If you two stay this way a second long, you’re sure you may die.

As he does lift off of you, still looking aghast, his hand remains pinned against your back. Your shirt had ridden up ever so slightly, a sliver of skin exposed that his palm brushes. It sends shockwaves up your spine.

Without his weight caging you in, you’re quick to leap back onto your feet, away from him and away from his touch. Your movement must break whatever spell of embarrassment he had been lost in, because Eddie is just as quick as he searches for the Playboy and grabs it so roughly the pages might rip.

You catch a glimpse of the second marked page. The similarities remain. It could have been the same model, for all you know.

You tell yourself that that’s what it is. It’s not a matter of the model looking like you. Eddie just has a thing for that specific model. It’s all left to chance that you share similar features, that the plush of her thighs resemble yours and that your hips follow the same curve as hers. It’s a coincidence.

“I can’t believe yo-” you begin to chastise him, chest heaving still as you glare down at him. It must be a residual symptom of anger, of shock. The way your heart hammers is out of contempt. It has to be.

He cuts you off, “That was not my fault.”

“You were being an…. a….” you falter. You can’t think straight.

“An asshole?” he supplies, sitting up now and looking at you with expectancy.

Why was it so hard to find your words? This was a dance you’d done a thousand times before with Eddie – the fighting, the bickering, the hurting of feelings and the absence of genuine apologies. What changed?

His body against yours. The brush of his breath on your chest. His weight firm between your-

You cut off the ridiculous thoughts and focus on him, “Yes. You were an asshole.”

He scoffs, “Yeah, well, you’ve already mentioned that. Next time, don’t go through my shit.”

If you weren’t still recovering, you’d bring up the model looking like you. If you were in your right mind, you’d take that gift from the Universe and put it to good use, sending the dagger straight into his back.

But your mind has gone hazy for the time being. It swirls with hesitancy and confusion and why the fuck weren’t you laying it into him right now? Where the fuck were you usual words of viciousness?

“If you’re done staring me down with evil eyes,” he sighs and nods to the clock, “Nancy said we have to send a picture this hour. Or no cash, bet’s off.”

At first, you’re beyond belief he can brush past it all so easily. It’s damning that it’s only affecting you so vehemently. But then you take a moment to glance over him, to really look at the boy sat on the bed before you.

He’s still blushing, violently so. Rosey cheeks and red nose, his neck aflame with the evidence that he’s not brushing it off. He’s avoiding it. He’s avoiding talking about the magazine, just as he’s avoiding talking about the position the two of you had just been in, just as he avoided apologizing for cruel words spoken so casually. Eddie Munson is avoidant to a dangerous degree.

“Okay,” you finally supply in defeat. Even if he wasn’t avoiding the topics, what is there to say?

Oh, hey. I can’t fucking think straight because that’s the closest we’ve ever been after a year of hating each other, and I have no idea why. Care to explain?

He stands and moves out of the room, down the hallway, to the living room. He doesn’t even check to make sure you follow. You have to pause to grab your phone off of the ground before you’re speedwalking to catch up with him.

It’s stupid. It’s stupid and ridiculous.

“So how are we doing this?” he asks once you’re both in the living room. He’s already sitting down on the end of the couch that he’d taken to the first few hours, looking everywhere but you. “Do we just, like, send a photo? Do we take separate photos?”

“They want a selfie,” you inform him as if he hadn’t been in the room during all of the discussions of the limitations of this bet. As if he hadn’t encouraged it, even.

He nods to your phone clutched in your sweaty palm, “Let’s get it over with, then.”

“Remind me again why it has to be my phone?” you question, deciding to sit on the opposite end of the couch. As long as you both were visible in the photo, it should be fine. “You have a phone, too. I know you do - Nancy called you.”

“I do have a phone,” he nods, watching as you unlock your cell and tap until you’ve opened the camera app, “It’s just not a smart phone.”

You stop all actions, looking up from where you’d just flipped to the front camera setting, “What?”

“I don’t have a smart ph-”

“I heard what you said. What the fuck do you have then? Do you just communicate with two tin cans and a string?”

He rolls his eyes, but his hand is still moving to his pocket, tugging out a small flip phone, “No, I just have a phone.”

It’s black and shiny, downright tiny as it sits carefully in the palm of his hand on show for you. You have to bite back your laughter.

“Oh my God. Why do you have a flip phone? Jesus Christ, what year is it?”

“Fuck off,” he quips, fingers curling around the phone protectively, “I just… I don’t like all the technology and shit. It can get overwhelming, but this?” he holds up the phone for emphasis, gripping it loosely between his pointer finger and thumb as he waves it around, “This is simple. This doesn’t need a new update every week, or to be replaced every year for the shiniest model, or-”

You reach over and snatch the phone from him, and his hand is still frozen in midair, fingers still pinched from where they’d held the phone, “Oh, what’s this? I think it’s ringing. Let me get that for you,” you dramatically flip the phone open, taking some glee in the nostalgic action before bringing the phone up to your ear and humming tauntingly. Eddie still makes no move to stop you, face contorting in bitter amusement at your unexpected antics, “Yeah? Uh huh, okay. I’ll tell him,” it’s even more fun than you remember to snap the phone shut with one hand. It almost has you reconsidering joining Eddie’s anti-technology cause. You face him and try to pull a straight face, but you can’t help laughing at your own joke before you even finish it, “It was the early 2000’s. They’re calling because they want their prehistoric technology back.”

You’re giggling at yourself as Eddie sucks in a deep breath. He’s about to break, you know he is. The corners of his mouth are twitching terribly, so you go in for the kill. Not the type of kill you had expected to be delivering tonight, but a kill all the same.

“Also, I had to put the 80’s on hold. I think they’re calling to ask for their hair back,” you nod towards his dark curls, wild and frizzy around his face.

That’s all it takes for him to break. Right before your eyes, the stoic and cold front that Eddie Munson had put up crumbles. A smile breaks out across his lips, slowly spreading as he shakes his head and his shoulders shake with the effort to withhold any actual laughs from escaping him.

He has dimples. You’d never noticed that before.

“Fuck off,” he says with a voice still wavering from unheard laughter. You can’t recall a single time before in which he’d said those words to you in such a lighthearted tone.

“I’m serious,” you press on, still caught up on his dimples, “I think it might be Jon Bon Jovi himself!”

He snorts. The battle against the laughter is lost as the apartment fills with your childish giggles.

“My hair is way better than that old assh-” he’s cut off by the sudden buzzing from your phone on the couch. It effectively shatters whatever resemblance of a moment the two of you were having, and you push back the disappointment at that.

If it hadn’t been the phone, it would have been something else: jokes taken too far, insults tossed out carelessly, one of you remembering that you shouldn’t be joking around this way. You shouldn’t be joking around friends.

You glance down at your screen and the notifications that have begun to roll in.

STEVE-O: you guys have a minute before you both owe me $500

ROBIN 🐦: and me!

STEVE-O: and robin

“Who is it?” Eddie asks, leaning over to grab at your phone. Similar to how you had done to him with the magazine, you throw your hand out of his reach, narrowing your eyes in his direction. Unlike with the magazine, he doesn’t make a move to grab it. He keeps as much space between the two of you as possible.

“Excuse you,” you huff, glancing back down at the group message, preparing to take the quick photo and send it off.

“What? You can steal my phone but I can’t steal yours?” he questions, almost whines.

You glance at him, thumbs still hovering over the keyboard, “It was Steve. There, now you don’t need to steal my phone.”

“Let me respond to him,” he simply makes grabby hands this time, not reaching into your personal space.

“No.”

“Oh, c’mon.”

“Maybe you should have a smart phone like the rest of us so you could be part of the group chat.”

“You guys have a fucking group chat?”

“Yeah, without you.”

If it hurts his feelings, he doesn’t let it show. He simply pouts in his corner of the couch.

You’re about to swipe up, hit the camera icon and get the photo over with, but Eddie interrupts again.

“C’mon, just real quick. I just have something to say to Steve.”

He’s holding out his palm again. Another buzz of your phone, surely another text from Steve.

You don’t know why you do it. But you succumb. You take a leap of faith, and you reach out to drop your phone into Eddie Munson’s waiting hand.

Once it’s in his grasp, he wastes no time to bring it in close to him. For someone who has a goddamn flip phone, he’s quick with his thumbs, typing out whatever message he had been so desperate to send with ease. You don’t notice that you’ve scooted closer to watch him over his shoulder until he’s hitting send.

Patience, Harrington. We’re just trying to find my good angle. - E

“E?” you snort, “God, first the flip phone, now the cryptic messages. You’re either a serial killer or a drug dealer.”

He only flips you off as he hands back the phone.

Finally, finally, you’re able to open the camera app without interruption, stretching your arm out as you turn your back to Eddie and move your hand until you’re both in frame. Eddie keeps his middle finger held high and forces a scowl onto his face. You huff out, trying to not appear entertained before you flash a half-assed smile and thumbs up.

If the two of you were friends, it’d be a cute photo.

But you’re not, and as you hit send in the groupchat, providing them with the proof they so desperately crave, you consider deleting the photo. What use will it serve you after tonight?

You should probably delete the photo, but you don’t.

“Don’t look so overjoyed over there,” you comment as you finally lock your phone upon seeing the photo successfully sent, “You look miserable.”

“I am miserable.”

“You weren’t, like, ten seconds ago,” you’re quick to point out, discarding the smartphone onto his coffee table and facing him once more. You’re closer than before, “You were actually laughing at my jokes. It’s okay to admit I’m funny, y’know?”

You should probably scoot back over and put the distance back between the two of you, but you don’t.

“You were funny once,” he puts severe emphasis on the once, “That’s a rare occasion for you, sweetheart.”

There’s something different in the way he enunciated the nickname this time. He doesn’t sound out each syllable with the purpose of annoying you, and instead it seems to slip effortlessly off his tongue. You try to not think too much of it.

“Bullshit,” you shake your head and refuse to believe, only because you have proof to back your words up, “I’ve seen you laugh at my jokes when we’re out with everyone. You do this stupid thing when you start to laugh, and then you cough into your fist like you’re trying to cover it up. And everyone knows it’s not a real cough because when you really cough, you cover it with your elbow like a normal person.”

You probably shouldn’t take so much notice of his mannerisms, but you do.

To emphasize your point, you bring your arm to wrap around your head as if you were coughing, “Like this. Like… Like Dracula or something.”

He simply stares, one eyebrow slightly raised as he watches you. Normally, you’d interpret look as unimpressed. But something tugs in your chest, and you nearly convince yourself that he’s watching you with mirth.

“Oh, come on! Stop staring at me like I’m the giant nerd here for referencing a vampire everyone knows,” you complain, finally scooting under the burn of his gaze.

“You’re not a giant nerd,” he corrects, and it almost seems as if his mouth is working faster than his brain as he continues, “You’re a fucking dork.”

He lets the word hang heavy between the two of you. Dork. A stranger might find it to be dripping in adorement, all because they don’t know better. But you know better, and you know it can’t possibly be dripping of anything. It’s dry. It’s nothing.

“I’m a dork?” you counter, “You’re the one with an action figure of Gandalf the Great in your living room.”

“Oh, so you know who Gandalf is? Maybe you are a nerd.”

The dimples are back. This time, you try to not stare at them, to now acknowledge their existence. Because every time you do, you think of his hand passing over that sliver of skin on your lower back. Because every time you do, you remember the time when you thought there was hope for you and Eddie to be friends.

For a moment, it’s been easy. The banter has been friendly between the two of you, and if you close your eyes, you could pretend you’re having just another night in with Steve or Robin. Another day of sitting in Nancy’s living room as she asks for your opinions on her latest articles or another afternoon of smoking with Argyle. If you close your eyes, it’s not Eddie you’re here with, it’s a friend.

The realization seems to hit the two of you at the exact same time. All the merriment of the banter drains out of both of you. Eddie clears his throat, and you scoot back to your original placement on the couch.

You’re not here with a friend. You’re here with Eddie, the boy who has gone out of his way to make you miserable at every chance he’s offered. Eddie, the boy who’s made you cry twice now.

You probably shouldn’t still cling to the what-could-have-beens of a friendship with Eddie that had long since been buried, but you do.

taglist: @catherinnn @haylaansmi @gaysludge @paprikaquinn @manda-panda-monium @audhd-dragonaut @amira0303 @blushingquincy @hellkaisersangel @eddieslittlewh0re @ajkamins @prettyboy200 @munsonzzgf @blue-eyed-lion @digwhatudug @madaboutjoe @wickedslashdivine @sweet-villain @somespicystuff @big-ope-vibes @jadequeen88 @sylviin @emma77645 @notbeforelong @lolalanaie @lo-siento-ama @happy-and-alone @micheledawn1975 @aysheashea @moon-huny @munsonswrld @bambipowerblueaddition @averagestudent03 @bakugouswh0r3 @mattefic @mxcheese @bietchz @nativity-in-black @tlclick73 @stezzil @vngelis @coley0823 @folklorebau

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#twenty four hours #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #i learned a lot about taglists this time around lol #didn't double check formatting bear with me

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classic80sand90smovieloves2 · 1 month ago

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Lestat wooing you would include~

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

( I wrote this draft a while ago, and only now edited and finished it, so hopefully I'll still like it after my next viewing of IWTV lol. I tried to balance romance with Lestats naturally manipulative and toxic side. And I tried to make a neutral set of headcanons for something I think would really depend on the type of person.)

- When he can, and when he wants to be, Lestat is like a dream personified: one you feel so vividly and yearn for so ardently that you pray you’ll never breach the waking world again. He sweeps you off your feet; both figuratively and literally, until all that’s left of you is a foggy haze that can think only of fairytales and fantasy.

- And yet, the dream is bound to end as nothing short of a nightmare.

- Lestat views mortals as toys, things he can do with as he pleases, and dispose of as quickly and as often as it suits him. He hardly ever takes into consideration the feelings and the value of those around him, save for when he decides he wants them: and even then, he can’t help but play cruel little games.

- Lestat’s love, in general, is a game. It’s a game of cat and mouse, one that only he ever manages to win. No matter how long it may take, no matter how hard you may try to avoid it, no matter how much it might hurt you, you’ll end up being his in one way or another, even if it kills you....

- At first, Lestat is very open about his infatuation with you, introducing himself to you in the dead of night as you walk the streets or sit in your garden. He apologizes for scaring you, ignoring how strange his sudden appearance may be; how it seems almost impossible for him to be where he is right in that moment.

- Though you're too distracted by his physical appearance to truly consider the logistics. Too distracted by his complexion and his hair that seems to be glowing in the moonlight, how striking his eyes are, how expensive his clothes are. He's completely foreign to you; both in physical attributes and status, and because of that, you're taken with him from the start.

- Being with him is thrilling, it's exhilarating, and it feels almost dangerous, so comparably taboo to everything you've ever been taught to yearn for. You would have never imagined that you'd be sneaking away in the middle of the night, tiptoeing past your parents room or climbing down the steep side of your home's architecture: all to meet with a man who only ever appears to you in dark corners and secluded spaces. You would have never imagined slipping back inside just as the sun rises and hiding your exhaustion in the morning at the breakfast table, knowing that if your father ever found out he'd lock you away.

- But just being with Lestat is enough to make you forget about any and all consequences that you may face. He's able to strip away your worries: waxing poetic about how he loves you and how he'll never allow anything to happen to you. About how he's capable of giving you a life that you couldn't even imagine.

- He's worse than the devil when telling you how he'll let you live deliciously: promising you no more pain or sorrow for the rest of time, how not even sickness or death could ever touch you again. But only if you'll trust in him, love him, accept him, him, him, him. His tone is never above a whisper yet it's deafening, rendering the world around you silent so that all you can hear is the beating of your heart and the softness of his voice.

- When he talks to you about the future, it's as though he can read your mind: as though he understands you on some deep and emotional level, perfectly summing up your deepest and darkest feelings that you do your best to hide. He promises to change the things you wish to change, to give you the things you have always yearned for, to rid you of the grievances and the heartaches that you have grown to worry about. Out of everyone in your life, it is a complete stranger who seems to know you best, and it makes you feel as though you are somehow one in the same, connected on some otherworldly level.

- He flirts with you in your more lighthearted moments together: making you laugh and flush and hide your face. He speaks so smoothly, so charmingly, so intelligently. All the boys you've ever met have either been perfectly plain or dreadfully boring, and Lestat is the total opposite: so full of life and passion and romance. It's like he holds your heart in his hands and tells it when to beat.

- He calls you such beautiful things: things reserved for your parents or the letters between history's greatest lovers. Some are comparably innocent to others, holding the affection of a guardian rather than a lover. Pet, lambkin, sugarplum, treasure, angel, beloved, darling, dove, lover, my love, my dearest, my heart, etc. Not to mention when he speaks in his native tongue.

- It's easy to forget who you actually are when every name he seems to call you is a term of endearment or your name spoken in a tone that you've never heard before. He makes it seem so foreign and different: makes you feel different.

- And when he feels his words are no longer enough, he moves on to gifts: covering you in gems and jewels and satins. You tuck them away in the bottom of your dresser, keeping them hidden away from your families prying eyes. The first time you visit his home, you're shown a room that's already made for you: it's closets and dressers full of luxuries that you've never known.

- When he zips and clasps you into them, his fingers linger on the pulse beneath his touch. He kisses your wrists and your neck as his hands slide across your body, listening to the heartbeat racing in your chest and the thoughts crossing your mind, knowing that his affection is filling you with burning heat.

- It's an age of innocence that you live in, and Lestat is a creature of sin: when he woos you, it's bound to include seduction and lust. He wants to sway you towards a life of debauchery, the type of life he has lived for quite some time, the type of life that he can give to you: one without punishment and restriction, one with only pleasure.

- He tries to lower your inhibitions: tries to trap you in a whirlwind of excitement, and romance, and affection, until all that's left is a dizzying love that makes you want to give yourself to him and only him. When he feels he can get away with it, he'll lean in close, staring straight into your eyes as his mouth draws nearer to your own. A grin pulls at his lips, feeling as though he is seconds away from stealing a kiss and sealing your fate.

- It's then that you pull away, wanting to; needing to, preserve your chastity, not wanting to allow yourself to get carried away and do irreversible damage; to be a fool for the sake of love. On one hand, he loves it. On the other, it infuriates him. He soothes himself with your touch, pausing only for a moment as your head turns away from his own before dropping his face into the crook of your neck or burying it in your hair, feeling your softness against him; a promise of what he is capable of winning as long as he can remain patient.

- You're so soft, so warm, so sweet: all attributes he tries to imitate himself; wanting you to trust him more than anything. He drapes himself across you, lays his head in your lap or rests his chin on your shoulders, wanting to seem gentler than he is. He is a monster, yes, but he's determined to convince you that he is not: as though he holds less control than he actual does, as though he is weaker than he is. Perhaps in a way, he is weaker: weak for you, for your touch, for your acceptance, for your love.

- And in convincing you that he is weak for you, he manages to win you over and turn you away from your family, planting seeds of doubt in your mind and ideas about running away with him. He introduces you to passion, to all of the things your family taught you to stay away from because they're sinful and will lead you down a dark path. He questions why something so beautiful and pleasureful would be so wrong for you to engage in. Why god would mean to keep you from enjoying them, from enjoying life and enjoying him, enjoying all the pleasure that he convinces you to let him give to you.

- At some point, he will find himself an entry point into your regular life: likely by attending a party that you and your family are at, and making himself known as an honored guest or sponsor; someone that the people around him are bound to respect and trust. He pretends not to know you when the two of you are introduced, though the way he looks at you when he kisses your hand will tell anyone who's watching that that is simply not the case.

- He plays nice in the presence of others, treating you more like a child than a potential wife: acting like a protective uncle when in the company of your family, friends, or suitors. He cultivates a close relationship in public with you under this pretense, lowering your families guards and making them believe that he truly has your best interests in mind. When other men come around, he is not seen as a competitor, but rather a guardian, someone that they must convince to like them if they wish to get close to you

- Yet for all of this acting, there always comes a time in the middle of the night when he finds you alone, acting as though a switch has been flipped and he cannot keep himself off or away from you. He grabs you from amongst the darkness, concealing your shrieks of surprise as he holds you close to him, growling about how he's missed you and cooing at you as grumble about how he's treated you all evening. He reminds you that you must keep your love a secret; whether it was initially his idea or your own, and against your better judgement, you begin to soften once more; forgiving him as he smiles at and hugs you close to him.

- He keeps you close to him at parties once he feels he has earned the right to; or even when he feels he hasn't, urging you to sit with him at his side and leaning into you so that he can murmur little comments in your ear, grinning as you giggle and try to hide it. You sit at his side as he plays the piano, watching his fingers fly across the keys as he quietly makes lighthearted conversation or teasing quips.

- In the presence of others, his affection turns gentle and innocent: tapping your chin, booping your nose, patting your cheek, escorting you around by your interlocked arms. In private his affection is more intimate: brushing your hair from your face, toying with your jewelry, lingering caresses, purposefully placed hands, long and gentle kisses. It's hard to grow used to the difference: how he can be one man one moment, and seem like a totally different one the next.

- But Lestat enjoys this difference, this game of his that he gets to play with you. It's a game he takes even further in an effort to make you jealous, to make you even more interested in him: to invoke some kind of strong reaction in you and bring the two of you closer in the long run. It's a rotten and dangerous game that he plays: brushing you off in favor of another, disregarding how happy you are to see him, taking pleasure in your confusion and disappointment.

- He expects to bite then lap at the wound like a dog, be the one to hurt you then strip you of the pain. He expects you to eagerly accept his undivided attention later on: for you to feel fortunate for the scraps, to wait for his beck and call. And how rewarding it is for you when you ensure that his plan backfires. Two can play at that game, you reason, and you watch as he conceals his own jealousy in response to your actions.

- When he stands you up during your nightly meetings, you don't show up the next day yourself. When you're at a mutual party, you dance and stay by the side of a boy your father boisterously insists you'll marry one day. When you need fresh air, you take the boy with you and sit in the garden side by side. And oh how Lestat could snap his neck like a twig: drain him right in front of you and sully your little saintlike dress. There's still a chance that he will....

- Your attention is like a drug to him and when he is left with none of it, he festers in sickness and in agony, rotting from the inside as he suffers from withdrawals. He must remind himself to be patient when he thinks about sweeping you away, about making you his and forcing you to stay with him until the end of time.

- He'll undoubtedly interrupt you, whether during your sit down with your potential suitor or after it happens: either scaring the boy off with the sheer tension and anger that radiates off of him, or stealing you away when his back is turned, grabbing you in the blink of an eye; reminiscent of times when you were both in much more jovial moods. His ability to suddenly appear will never cease to shock you, to startle you before you gain your bearings and sigh at the sight of him; whether in relief or annoyance.

- It's in these moments that he has to be very careful. He feels the need to turn you, to ensure that you're not going anywhere, but in doing that, he is playing a very dangerous game. Lestat believes that you could grow to love him over time, that you would get over the initial resentment of being turned once you realize the gift that he's bestowed upon you. But what if you don't? What if he loses you all the same? You'd be as good as dead then, wouldn't you? Immortal and yet refusing to be by his side. He wouldn't let you, but that's besides the point.

- If he does manage to quell those urges, manage to convince himself that now is not the time to change you, then he must decide on how to deal with you accordingly: decide if anger is the way to go, if sorrow is, if kindness should prevail above all else. Sometimes his temper gets the better of him and his sweetened words turn sour, making you wonder if the man standing before you is the same man you've grown to love.

- Oftentimes, you respond just as angrily, lashing out at him in the same venomous way, your pain and your exhaustion showing through. He can't help but love it, love the anger and the passion that you show him. He finds your fury exhilarating: proof of why he chose you in the first place, proof of how perfect you are for each other.

- It's then that he turns on the charm: smiling and laughing in amusement, somehow turning this rage of yours into a bonding moment. It's baffling to witness, and it gives you much to think about. It's in these moments that he might be forced to turn you, seeing the conflict on your face, hearing the words leave your lips, orders for him to leave you alone, how you never wish to see him again.

- He can't allow you to make that decision, to leave him and be rid of him forever. He'll ensure that you're unable to: that no matter where you go and no matter how far you run, he will continue to be the only one you can turn to, the only one who can understand and guide you. You'll learn to love him then, he'll make sure of it. Despite all the aggravation, a life without him will be even more unbearable, ...and you'll realize that soon enough.

- There's a very likely chance that he'll woo you after he bites you, that he'll turn you during your first meeting, or feed from you and later convince you to let him change you. For the sake of these headcanons, I've pretended as though there's a reason he's unable to steal you away in the middle of the night and run away with you. Just let it be known that under different circumstances, he might react very differently when trying to win you over.

- That being said: Lestat does try to give you the choice when deciding whether or not to change you; regardless of your history together. Although, it isn't much of a choice, is it? It's either change or die: a sort of "pick your poison" type of scenario.

- I can see him making his secret known in an attempt to win you over and intrigue you, to fascinate you with his mere existence and draw you towards him even more. Your interest in him facilitates his beliefs about you: about how you're made for his world and not your own. The fact that you're not terrified of him; that you still yearn to be near him even after learning what he is, proves to him that you're different from everyone else, that there's a reason he chose you out of every other person on Earth.

- Logistically, you know that things like him should not exist: that even if they do, they're dangerous and should be avoided at all costs. And yet, you find yourself incapable of of doing so. Knowing that he exists frightens you, and yet it fascinates you even more, making you want to continue seeing him: scared of losing this double life of yours that has allowed you to see things beyond your own comprehension and the set of beliefs that you've been taught since birth. If you turn from him, you risk going back to a normal and boring life, forced into realism after getting a taste of true fantasy.

- It's a hard decision to make; whether you'll choose to continue seeing him or not, yet you should rest assured that Lestat is seldom finished with a person even when they fully believe him to be. If he wants something, there is simply no preventing him from having it. And the thing he wants most is you....

#lestat de lioncourt imagine #lestat de lioncourt headcanon #lestat de lioncourt imagines #lestat de lioncourt headcanons #interview with the vampire headcanons #interview with the vampire imagines #interview with the vampire imagine #interview with the vampire headcanon #lestat imagine #lestat imagines #lestat headcanons #lestat headcanon #90s movie imagine #90s movie headcanons #90s movie headcanon #90s movie imagines

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red-dead-sakharine · 11 months ago

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Tickles - Part 7

Raphael x Tav, RaphaelPOV, soft!raphael, gn!tav, fluff, hurt/comfort, body worship, conflicted!cambion

Part 1 | P 2 | P 3 & 4 | P 5 | P 6 | P 7 | | P 8

Raphael sat at his desk in the boudoir. He had sent Korrilla to to keep an eye on the adventurers again. While he had an avid interest in keeping them alive before, his investment has now skyrocketed to new heights. The mere thought of losing his little mouse has become unbearable to him.

He wrinkled his nose. The fact that he had become so... attached to this mortal bothered him somewhat. It was a weakness. It was un-devil-like. It was pathetic. That was his fiend blood talking, and he knew it. His mortal side longed for Tav's affection. Their touch. Their understanding. He's had a long and difficult life. But never in all his years, has he felt as whole as he did last night, when his little mouse held him tight and told him he was perfect. He had craved this. And he feared it. And he hated it. The thought of killing the mouse crossed his mind. It would prevent him from more mistakes. From indulging in this weakness. But he could not bear the thought.

He sighed. No matter how much his father's blood rebelled against it, he would keep his mouse safe. And once the brain was defeated and he had the crown, he would keep them close and never let go again.

He threw a glance at the clock, almost midnight. His fingers drummed impatiently on the desk - just once. But that already was something that irked him. It was unlike him to be restless. When you live for thousands of years, you perceive time differently. But today he was eager to act, but he had to wait for the right moment and it made him antsy. A feeling he rarely experienced.

Finally, a knock on the door frame announced Korrilla. Raphael's insides were doing handsprings, but he kept his composure and projected a picture of calm superiority on the outside. Though as the dwarf approached, his nose wrinkled again, "What is that smell?"

"Your favorite misadventurers have been trudging threw the sewers all day." Korrilla grumbled slightly.

"Ah." That explained things. "I take it, they are back at the tavern now?"

The dwarf nodded, "Yes. When I left them, they were fighting over the rights to the bathtub."

The devil's nose flared in disgruntlement. This would mean he'd have to wait even longer for them to all get to sleep. He tried not to let his frustration show, "Did anything of note happen today?" "They seem to have found the entrance to the temple of Bhaal but couldn't get through the door." Korrilla reported. Raphael hummed in acknowledgement, "They'll figure it out, I'm sure. Good work." he waved the warlock off, and she nodded and left. No doubt to go burn her clothes. That sewer stench would never get out.

The devil's fingers drummed on the desk once more. How could a day feel so impossibly long?

He waited several more hours - the finger drumming on the desk slowly increased in frequency as the night dragged out. In the early morning hours, Raphael finally stood up. Surely, the tadpoled mortals have had enough time now to get clean and fall asleep.

Still, to not end up in another embarrassing disaster, he decided to appear outside their room. And so he did. With a flash of fire and ash, he appeared right in front of the door to their room in the elfsong tavern. The place was quiet for the most part. He could hear some drunkards from below, but at this time of night most of the merry folks had already passed out. He cautiously put his ear to the door. Nothing. Good. Slowly, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. He scanned the room for the vampire spawn, but he wasn't there. Probably out feeding. Next he looked for the animals. He didn't see them at first, but a few steps further into the room, he spotted them: Curled up at the foot of the tiefling's bed. A quiet spell later he could be sure they wouldn't wake, and disrupt him.

Now for the reason he was here...

[mood music]

He turned to where he had been during his first visit, and there they were. His little mouse. He quietly moved over to them - and frowned. There was a bruise on Tav's face, that hadn't been there last time he saw them. Who dared to hurt you, mouse!? He was angry at whoever caused the damage, but he was also quite confident that the culprit was already dead. His favorite mortal probably cut their way through several Bhaal cultists today. The thought made him smile. He made a mental note to try and watch from the shadows sometime. He found the image of his mouse covered in the blood of their enemies incredibly arousing.

He took a deep breath and shook the thought off, though. This was not why he was here. He knelt down in front of Tav's bed and looked them over. They were lying belly-down, the uninjured side of their face squished against the pillow. It looked a bit funny, but also incredibly endearing to the fiend. He smiled at the picture and just drank it in for a while.

When he had memorized every detail of the sight, he began to act. He gently pulled the blanket down to their waist and snaked his fingers below the nightshirt. He leaned in, hoping the mortal would smell his perfume, and he whispered every so quietly into their ear, "O apple of my eye..." He meant to wake them as gently as he could, to avoid repeating that calamity from last time. His fingers gently stroked Tav's back. He enjoyed the feeling of their skin. Soft. Vulnerable. A few battle scars here and there, that told tales of victory and prowess. "Little mouse... I'm in your house." he whispered and smirked at his own rhyme. His fingers ran across their shoulders, one by one, tracing the shoulder blades. "You're so fast asleep, little mouse, you don't even wake at this..." He whispered against their ear, and his fingers traced back down their spine. Perhaps they are too exhausted. It didn't matter. He kept caressing their back, their sides. And he looked at their face. That beautiful - squished - face, looking so peaceful and without worry. Looking so kissable. He leaned in, "Little mouse, you're such a sight." His words were barely audible, and he followed them with a gentle kiss to Tav's cheek.

That finally caused them to stir. They inhaled deeply, and without even opening their eyes, a smile formed on their lips, "Raphael?" they mumbled into their pillow. He smirked to himself. They knew his smell. "Yes, little mouse. I was in the area and thought, I'll stop by..." he lied in a whisper, and stroked their back gently. Their smile widened, "Glad you did." they mumbled sleepily. He brought his face close to theirs and placed another kiss on their temple, "Just relax, sweetling." And they sighed happily. His hand moved up to run through Tav's hair. Another sigh. He could not help himself but to place another kiss on their cheekbone, and their smile grew even wider. They liked what he did. He felt proud and happy. He caused them to feel good, and it was his accomplishment.

His hand trailed down their back. Now that Tav was at least somewhat awake, he became more daring. He placed his hand at their waistband and waited - an unspoken request, like the ones before. He looked back into Tav's face, and their eyes were open now. Looking at him in the darkness, still smiling. He had his answer. His hand slid down into their pants, gently stroking over their butt cheeks, one by one. The mortal's eyes closed again. Enjoying the attention.

His heart swelled with pride. Never would he have thought that he'd feel so good, just from causing some mortal pleasant feelings. But he did. He felt elated to be the cause of their happiness. And after all, this wasn't just some mortal. This was his little mouse.

For a short moment, the feral fiend inside him wanted to tear off their clothes and ravage them on the spot. But he calmed the monster and pushed it away. This was not why he was here. His fingertips ghosted over the mouse's rear, and he heard them sigh. It made him feel so good. This was better than a short moment of sexual relief. This was... soft.

He began to like soft.

He looked back into Tav's face and they were still smiling. Likely drifting somewhere between waking and sleeping. He would be gone by the time they woke up in the morning. Perhaps they will think this was all a dream. He wasn't sure if he liked that idea, or if he wanted them to remember his visit. He pondered over it, while he continued to caress their butt cheeks, then their back again. Trailing down their right arm - the only one he could reach. His kissed their hand. Another sigh. He trailed kisses up their arm. That happy smile never left their face. Their beautiful face. He leaned in again to place a kiss on their bruised jaw. They hummed. Another on their cheek. The smile grew larger again. Another on their temple. On their nose. And after a moment's hesitation, on their lips. They kissed back lightly. Obviously more asleep than awake, but still reacting to his touch. He was filled with love. He kept going, gently stroking and kissing them, until the sun poked their first rays of light into the room.

He finally stood up to leave. But he hesitated. He wanted them to know, he decided. He wanted them to know, it wasn't just a dream. He used his powers to nick a single rose from a bouquet he had in the devil's den. It appeared between his fingers, and he left it on Tav's bedside table.

Then he bent down to place a parting kiss on Tav's cheek, and pulled their covers back up to their shoulders. He drank in the picture for a few more moments before he vanished. Leaving behind the smell of his perfume, ash and sulfur.

His heart sang with delight,

he had enjoyed this night.

👉 Part 8

#fanfiction #tickles rds #raphael x tav #raphael x reader #ace #bg3 #body worship #free use (sorta)#raphael bg3 #bg3 raphael #baldur's gate 3 raphael #raphael baldur's gate 3 #raphael the cambion #rds #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3

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hatsukeii · 3 months ago

Text

Today, I’m thinking about… haikyuu + other anime characters that would end up in this situation…

warning(s): none!! this is pure crack and you can interpret it as friendship or a relationship but just don’t do ANYTHING that happens in this fic because my friend almost shat himself afterwards…

“Dude, don’t fuck with me, I’ll literally fly your ass to Brazil and fight you if you win another round.”

You cackle at his empty threat, the ‘one card left’ message on your side souring his glare at every passing second that it stays on the shared screen. Scared to wake the rest of your household, you slap a hand over your mouth, the laughs threatening to burst from your chest. It’s been two hours of playing UNO online, and he hasn’t been able to win a single round since twelve. Frankly, it’s getting a little embarrassing for him, but you aren’t one to back down from a threat.

“Is that a challenge? Let’s fuckin’ go then, what are you waiting for? Put the next card down and see, bitch.”

He gasps through the screen, a hand flying to his chest as he searches for some sort of witty retort, or some form of instant retaliation. Instead, his mouse clicks through the call, frantically picking his +4 colour changer. He’s going to win this time, he’s certain of it. He’s going to watch you pick up four useless number cards, and throw his final card down before you even have the chance to come back-

“GET SHIT ON!”

You slam your final +4 onto the game, eight new cards slotting themselves into his deck as the gold medal and confetti of UNO victory explodes on screen. You pump your fists in his face, and he slams his hands onto his head, dumbfounded.

“Is that even allowed? What the fuck!”

“Uh, doesn’t matter? Because the system says I won! You’re dogshit!”

He turns in his chair, spinning round and round and round blankly as he drowns in his utter loss of dignity and ego. How can he possibly win against you, when all he gets are useless numbers to start with, and you somehow happen to score every single power card possible?

“What, you gonna fight me now? In Brazil?” You taunt, and his screen goes white as the google search engine pops up. His fingers hammer at his keyboard at an impossible speed, scouring the Internet for the quickest flight to Brazil. He’ll just scare you into thinking he was serious for a bit, just to see the panic that he has endured in the final moments of every single UNO round plastered on your face.

“There’s no way you’re actually doing this right now.”

He clicks onto the next flight to Rio, Brazil, highlighting the details as if forcing you to remember them for later. Drawing circles with his cursor furiously, he reaches down for his duffel bag, pretending to shove necessities into it. A singular t-shirt goes in, then his hoodie, all while the cursor sits dangerously close to the purchase button beneath his presaved credit card details, already filled out in each field.

"The next flight we can feasibly catch is 8am tomorrow. I'm coming over right now to pick your ass up, and we're gonna fucking fight in front of Christ the fucking Redeemer in Rio, me and you."

He reaches for his bottle, his arm stretching across the screen for the hunk of metal. As his fingers grab at it, he misses, and the entire bottle topples onto his mouse.

Click.

"Thank you for your purchase. Your flight number is: RJ3992. Please scan the code below at check-in."

The laughs that have been pushed under your throat all erupt at once as you hold your stomach and fall backwards, tears spilling from your eyes. He stares at the purchase confirmation, eyes peeled open and mouth ajar as $3000 worth of money vanishes into thin air. He did not intend to fight you in Brazil, but he might actually have to now. Should he call his bank? Call the airlines? His questions are answered as his phone rings beside him. From the other side of the call, you hear his murmurs as he comes clear to the banker on the line.

"No...not sure how it happened...just saw the confirmation...refund it now?"

You stifle your laughter, resisting the urge to punch your table in shock as he bargains with the banker to refund the ticket he just bought to Rio de Janeiro at two in the morning. Finally, he rips the phone away from his ear, letting out a sigh of relief. You cackle, pointing at him in a fit of hysteria, and he scowls at you, giving you the nastiest side eye he can conjure up. Not only has he lost every single round of UNO tonight, he's also come close to putting his credit in the negatives. It's time to call it quits.

"Still wanna fight me, huh? Another round?"

"Don't fucking try me, or I'll call them for the ticket back."

Characters: Tanaka Ryunosuke, Nishinoya Yuu, Kuroo Tetsurou, Lev Haiba, Kentaro Kyotani, Terushima Yuji, Bokuto Koutaro, Tendou Satori, Suguru Daisho, Miya Atsumu, Hoshiumi Kourai, Bakugou Katsuki, Neito Monoma, Tetsutetsu Tetsutetsu, Yo Shindo, Touya Todoroki, Aoi Todo, Gojo Satoru, Denji, Power + all your faves<3

author's note:

i can't make this shit up this actually happened to me once because the guy i was playing uno with kept losing and got upset and threatened to fight us all in brazil and then accidentally bought a 3000 dollar plane ticket to rio um???? bro had to call up the airline to cancel and then his bank had to call him at 3am to ask why he was suddenly withdrawing so much money i was about to piss myself laughing ngl

also IM FINISHED WITH FINALS!!! WOOOO!! CONFETTI!!!!

anyways tags!!

@starlysama @chuuya-brainrot @fiannee @bailey-reeds

ok love u guys see u soon bye bye

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thisismeracing · 9 months ago

Text

King of my heart | MS47 | Part. 24 (ending)

― Pairing: Mick Schumacher x hamilton!reader ― Word count: 1.2k ― Warnings: none I guess. ― Summary: Mick Schumacher rode a lousy wave for quite some time, so when the sky gets cleaner and the sun brighter he just knows something terrible may be in store for him. Whereas y/n was just so magnetic, and the possibilities of life with her seemed better than anything his mind could ever create, that’s why, for the first time in forever, he threw caution carelessly through the window, hoping to get to the finish line before it catches up on him.

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part. 23 | series masterlist

Mick paced around the room again, and for the looks of it, it wouldn’t take him long to dig a hole in the exact spot his racing boots were hitting.

“We don’t have much time, Mick, you gotta get ready,” Gary, his engineer, knocked on the door, opening it just enough to look at the German.

“Where’s Yn?”

“You mean Yn Hamilton?” he asked, just to make sure and Mick tried to keep his eyes from rolling, too stressed to answer properly, but too polite to give a rude answer to Gannon who was friendly most of the time. The engineer took on the driver's silence, and tried, “I think she’s with Lewis. Want me to get her?”

“Get who?” just from Yn’s voice Mick could guess she was smiling. That bright and big smile he loved so much. The only smile that would be able to calm his racing heart.

Gary waved to Yn opening the door wider for her, he motioned ‘5 minutes’ to Mick and left the lovers alone giving them as much privacy as a small driver’s room could.

“Hey, mouse, what's the matter?” she walked inside and towards him, tipping her face up so their lips could meet in a quick peck.

Mick, however, had other plans.

His hands found purchase on her waist, bringing her body impossibly closer, and his tongue took advantage of the surprised gasp she let out to sneak inside her mouth, tasting her sweetness. Yn grasped his blonde locks between her fingers, and corresponded the kiss as much as she could, feeling how nervous he was.

When the air made itself scarce, the driver hid his face in the crook of her neck.

“I’m nervous, what if I fuck it up? What if I crash? What if the car is shitty? What if–” Mick started, voice trembling, finally letting his walls down, and showing someone how vulnerable he was feeling.

Sure they had this conversation before, and sure Mick Schumacher knew he was a great racing driver, but he was also a human being and, of course, he had his own insecurities and doubts.

Yn held his face between her hands, leveling it with her own, and looking him in the eyes. His big blue orbs looked at her with adoration and fear all mixed in one, and she smiled sympathetically.

“Close your eyes,” she commanded in a soft tone and he obeyed. “Hear this rustling of people walking around from one side of the other working non-stop?” Mick nods keeping his eyes shut, they’re chest to chest so listening to her soothing voice and feeling her breath evens his. “They’ve been working for a while now so everything is perfect for their number one driver. They’re not sure if the car will beat that Red Bull witchcraft, but they’re doing their best, and they counting on you to do your best as well. It doesn’t matter if this combo doesn’t get you a podium today, there’s always next Sunday. They got the will to make it happen, and they got the driver to do so too. Leave the past in the past, get in that car, and do what you love doing, do what you know you can do, and also what you don’t know you can do yet. We’ll be here watching, rooting, working, and praying.”

Her comforting words and soft tone made Mick lean even more on her touch. He smiled, nodded, and kissed her forehead.

“Where–”

“Here,” she was quick to answer, already knowing he was going to ask from where she would watch the race. Lewis was racing as well, and before Sunday rolled around Yn was asked this question by a lot of people, her brother included. “I’ll watch it from here, you may see me cheering when Lew overtakes others, but I’ll be here rooting for you too. And I don’t care about the outcome, you’re my number one.” She whispered the last part and Mick smiled, kissing her yet again.

“I love you.”

“I love you,” she echoed back, lacing her hands around his large shoulders and enjoying his warmth. “You’re also looking hot as fuck in this new racing suit, please tell me you can sneak one in your bag tonight.”

Mick laughed and nibbled on her neck just enough to make her whine, but before he could give Hamilton a witty answer, there was a knock on the door.

“Go out there and kick ass,” she kissed his chin, and smiled, turning to the door.

And that was exactly what Mick did. He turned the first race of the season into a show. His show. Everyone watched on the edge of their seats as time after time he overtook cars and climbed up to the podium. A fight for the podium went on on the last turn – Lewis, Mick, and Max were fighting for first place, and in the last seconds the Schumacher overtook his future-in-law, hatching the first place and surprising everyone.

The camera panned on Yn watching the race from the Porsche’s garage, and the way she smiled and cheered when Mick got his first win of the season on the first race of the season during his first year with a team that was racing for the first time. It was a first, and how sweet it tasted for everyone. Even for Lewis, who ended up getting second place, but celebrated as if that was his win too.

The team ran for the celebration, and Mick went straight for Yn once the car was parked and the helmet was off. There wasn’t much thinking into it, he just saw her there crying and smiling wearing his team’s merch, his number on her body, his initial dangling from a chain around her neck, Mick couldn’t do anything but kiss her lips in front of the cameras. The cheers and flashes faded during the seconds their lips were sealed, he hugged her close, before jumping on top of the crew. Lewis walked to his sister after the congrats from his own team, he hugged her and they smiled as brightly as ever.

After the podium celebration and interviews, Mick walked back to his garage finding Yn and Lewis there. They were side by side talking, both smiling, and Mick couldn’t help but remember the first time he saw Yn. That day she was talking with Lewis too, it was also the beginning of the season, and now, just like before Mick felt like he could stare at her forever. Yn looked stunning wearing Porsche’s shirt and baggy jeans, the colors of the shirt creating the perfect contrast with her black skin. Her curls were tied on top of her head after the long day. She was stunning, and now he was the one walking into the room, walking to her, his girlfriend.

His heart was doing somersaults inside his chest.

After so many days of worrying and agonizing about the future, he was here with a seat on a great team. After so many days of fear about his relationship, Yn was here, as sure as ever about their commitment. After so many times unsure of the future, Mick was happy with the unknown, happy to discover it with Yn, happy to build his own legacy, happy to experience life to the fullest, and even happier to rule the kingdom of Yn’s heart because he knew damn well she was the queen of his heart, body, and soul.

She was the one he had been waiting for.

“There he is,” Yn said taking Mick from his thoughts and walking towards him again. “My number one,” she whispered hugging him, “the king of my heart.”

And nothing ever felt as right as being in her arms.

────── ⋆🪩 VOICEMAIL: Hi, honeybees! I hope you guys liked this. I know it's been a while since I last updated, but it's finally here, and I'm happy to end (or give a pause to it, considering I won't stop thinking about mickyn in the context of komh) this journey. Thank you so much to each and every one of you who liked, reblogged, commented, sent asks, and gave me the motivation needed to get this together. This wouldn't be possible without you, thank you! <3 I hope to see you guys in a new series soon. Meanwhile, make sure to tune in to my account and read all the new blurbs and pieces coming. I may post a bonus piece (or rather a smau epilogue) hihi.

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taglist: @sachaa-ff @mickslover @mishaandthebrits @fdl305 @iloveyou3000morgan @crimeshowjunkie @saintslewis @carojasmin2204 @chaoticevilbakugo @wondergirl101ks @smiithys @shhhchriss @f1kota @lunnnix @karmabyfernando @crashingwavesofeuphoria @schumacheer @callsign-scully @v1naco @dearxcherry @elliegrey2803 @peachiicherries @he6rtshaker @therealcap @mehrmonga @the-depressed-fellow @cixrosie @darleneslane @buckybarnessweetheart @nichmeddar @fastcarsandshit @goldenalbon @balekanemohafe @jamie2305 @nzygftoji @heelariously @bbreezybitch @graciewrote @ferrariloverr @minkyungseokie @scopeiguess @princewis @leclercsluv @alessioayla @littlesatanicassholebitch @barcelonaloverf1life @fanboyluvr @noncannonships @is-just-a @love4lando @woozarts

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#komh #ms47 #millie writes #mick schumacher imagine #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher x black!reader #hamilton!reader #f1 fluff #f1 fanfic #f1 x black!reader #f1 fandom #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #mick schumacher #formula one fanfic

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multiwritesstuff · 6 months ago

Text

If you think I’m pretty

Summary: you and Colby have a toxic relationship

Note: I don’t romanticise toxic relationships this is just a one shot

Warnings: kinda toxic relationship?, 18+ minors dni, cursing, unprotected sex (don’t be silly wrap your Willy)

I’m finally back with a Colby one shot what else is new lol

————————————————————————

How would one describe yours and Colby’s friendship.. relationship? Whatever you want to call it.. well for one thing it’s what one would call toxic and here’s why. Well you guys like each other.. sorry no you like screwing each other. When you’re not screwing each other.. you’re bantering like a couple would.. then you guys end up fighting.. over something stupid.. so you take a break from each other and then after a while it’s like a game of cat and mouse.. until someone wins.. and when they win.. the sex is great.. but after.. comes the toxicity again..

—-

You were currently in your apartment getting ready for a party that your friend was throwing when you feel your phone buzz, you put down the curling iron and you read the message, rolling your eyes as you saw who it was from.

Colby: You coming to the party tonight?

You: Sorry who’s this?

Colby: Cute.. come on princess… I want to see my favourite girl.

You roll your eyes at his reply and type out your response

You: You think I’m dumb? I know you say that to all your girls

Colby: Yeah well now it’s your turn to hear it x

You don’t bother replying back and you continue getting ready for the party.

——

You were dancing with your friend, swaying your hips to the music and having a good time. When all of a sudden you felt a pair of hands on your waist.. you’re about to tell them to let go of you when Colby’s voice whispers in your ear.

“Relax princess. It’s just me.”

You roll your eyes and turn to look at him

“I don’t like it when strangers touch me.”

“I’m not a stranger.” Colby chuckles rubbing your hips with his thumbs

You try not to melt into his touch but it was impossible.. his touch ignited a fire in you and he knew that.

“Shut up Colby.. why are you even here?” You question him

“I told you.. to come and see my favourite girl.” He tells you still rubbing your hips looking at you.

“You’re so full of shit.” You tell him

“You could be full of me.” Colby retorts smirking at you

“No thanks.. I’d rather pass.” You act disgusted

“Oh come on.. it’s not the first time you’d be full of me.. I know how much you like to beg for it.” Colby whispers into your ear

“That was a long time ago.” You push him away

“I know that you still think about me.. because I still think about you.” He looks at you

“I don’t ever think about you.” You tell him

“The text messages you send me when you’re drunk.. tell a different story.” He says recalling all the times you’ve drunk texted him.

“I was drunk.. when I sent those messages so it doesn’t mean anything.” You tell him

“Drunk words are sober thoughts darling.” Colby says leaning in to press a small kiss to your neck

“Sure.. I’ll let you think that.” You say as Colby pulls you closer and you let him

“You know I’m right.” Colby says as he presses kisses against your neck

You snap out of the little trance you’re in and you pull away from Colby

“Baby.. what are you doing?” Colby asks

“I’m stopping this.” You tell him and you walk away leaving Colby alone in the sea of dancing bodies.

——

You were in your apartment, sitting on your couch watching a rerun of friends when you hear a knock on the door, you stand up grabbing your cash thinking it’s the pizza you ordered. You open the door and roll your eyes when you see Colby.

“Not happy to see me sweetheart?” He asks

“Not in the slightest, what are you doing here?” You ask as Colby steps past you, walking into your apartment.

“Well I haven’t heard from you since the party.. I was getting worried.” Colby tells you putting his hand over his heart.. acting fake concerned.

“Sure just come on in.” You close the door

“Did you just hear what I said?” He asks

“I did.. you’re full of crap.” You say

“You could be fu-“ You cut Colby off

“I could be full of you.. yeah yeah I’ve heard it a million times before.”

Colby chuckles and walks over to your couch and sits down making himself comfortable

“Sure just make yourself at home.” You comment watching him still standing

“I am.. come sit gorgeous.” He pats his lap

“Not happening.” You say walking over sitting down on the couch keeping your distance

“Come closer, I won’t bite.. unless you want me too.” Colby says with a smirk

“I’m good here.” You tell him looking at the television

“You’re no fun.. let me at least give you a foot rub.” Colby grabs your ankles pulling your legs into his lap.

“I don’t want a foot rub.” You look at him

“You like my foot rubs.” He says as he starts to massage your sock covered feet gently

“I never said that.” You say as you relax into the couch

“Your body language does.. you forgot I know you and your body better than anyone.” Colby says still massaging your feet

“Sure.. keep telling yourself that.” You say

Before Colby could retort a knock was heard at the door, you stand up and walk over grabbing the cash again and you open the door grabbing your pizza and handing the cash to the pizza delivery guy

“Keep the change.” You close the door and let out a squeal, Colby standing right behind you.

“What pizza did you get?” He asks

“Pepperoni.. why aren’t you sitting on the couch?” You ask

“My favourite.. and I wanted to get your heart racing.. is it racing?” Colby asks

Your heart was beating fast

“Nope.. now go and sit.. I’ll bring you a slice of pizza and a whiteclaw?” You tell him

“I know it is sweetheart.. remember I know you better than anyone.. yes please.” Colby pats your ass gently and walks back over to the couch sitting back down

You take a breath and shake your head putting the box of pizza on the counter and you grab two plates, you open the box of pizza and you put two slices on Colby’s plate and one slice on your plate, you close the lid and you open the fridge grabbing out two whiteclaws tucking them under your arm, you grab the two plates and walk back over to the couch handing Colby his plate and his whiteclaw, you sit down next to him.

“Thank you gorgeous.” Colby thanks you and you nod as you both eat in a comfortable silence.

Some time had passed when Colby speaks up

“We should make out.”

“We should not make out.” You get up grabbing the plates and the empty whiteclaws

“Come on please.” He groans

“No.” You walk into the kitchen putting the cans in the bin and you put the plates in the sink

“It’s just an innocent make out.. my hands will stay where you can see them I promise.” Colby tries to compromise

“You and I both know that’s a lie.” You put the pizza box in the fridge

“Please y/n.” Colby says

“No.” You walk back over to the couch and just as you’re about to sit down Colby grabs you by the waist and pulls you down to sit on his lap

“Colby!” You gasp taken by surprise

“Shhh.” He says as he places a hand on your cheek pulling you in and he kisses you

You melt into his touch as you kiss him back

Colby smirks against your lips as he keeps kissing you.. his hands trail down to your ass and he gives your ass a squeeze, you gasp softly, Colby takes that chance to slip his tongue into your mouth

You and Colby make out, Colby lays you on your back and settles in between your legs, be pulls away from the kiss and starts kissing down your neck.

“Colby.. we really shouldn’t.” You breathe out

“Shh please baby I miss you.” Colby says sucking a hickey into your neck

You let out a moan and give in. “Okay okay.. fine.”

Colby pulls away and smirks and picks you up walking into your room throwing you onto your bed gently before taking his shirt off and crawling on top of you. He kisses you again and you kiss him back.. you guys start to make out and Colby pulls away

“Can I take this off?” He asks tugging on the the bottom of your shirt, you nod and lift your arms up and Colby takes your shirt off you and throws it somewhere your shirt landing with a thud.. he reaches behind to your back and unclasps your bra taking it off and throwing it on the floor.

“Wow.” He breathes out and you blush, he kisses down your neck before stopping at your chest.. he kisses your breast before taking a nipple into his mouth sucking gently, you moan, Colby pulls away with a pop before moving onto your other nipple, before pulling away.

Colby kisses you again, you kiss him back and he tugs on your pants you lift your hips up and Colby pulls down your pants, followed by your underwear.

Colby pulls away and kisses down your neck, you pull down his pants followed by his boxers, Colby slides his tip in between your wet folds, you moan softly and Colby slides into you, he lets you adjust to his size.

“You can move.” You tell him, he nods and kisses at your neck, as he thrusts, they start off slow.

“Fuck.” You moan out softly, Colby keeps thrusting his pace picking up, he keeps kissing at your neck, leaving hickeys behind.

“Feel so good around me baby.. this pussy was made for me.” Colby groans as he keeps thrusting, you whimper at his words.

“All mine aren’t you baby?” Colby asks, he thrusts deeper, you swear you could feel him hit your cervix.

“All yours Colby.” You moan loudly

“That’s right.. now be a good girl and cum for me.” Colby grunts, thrusting faster.

You drag your nails down his back, he keeps thrusting, you moan your climax fast approaching, Colby reaches in between your bodies and he finds your clit, rubbing it in fast circles.

“Colby! Oh fuck Colby!” You scream out, you arch your back as you cum.

“That’s my girl.. good fucking girl.” Colby grunts, his thrusts start to turn sloppy, and he shoots load into you, coating your walls.

He kisses your neck and pulls out of you, the both of you panting heavily. Colby rolls off of you, and he wraps an arm around you. You snuggle into him and he presses a kiss to the side of your head.

You lay in a comfortable silence for a while, before Colby gets up and goes into your bathroom and he wets a towel coming back, walking over to you and he cleans you up, before getting dressed.

“Thanks for this.. this was fun.. I’ll text you later.” He winks at you and he leaves.. leaving you naked and alone in bed.

————————————————————————

Finally posted, let me know what you think, requests are open thanks 🫶🏻

#Spotify #colby brock #boyfriend colby #colby brock fanfic #colby brock x y/n #colby brock x reader #colby brock smut

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prozac · 8 months ago

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December 27th, 2008 is the day Anik Pillai was left behind. Trying to find his family, he travels the East Coast with his new friends, avoiding the bloodthirsty monsters created by a world-ending virus. ⠀⠀⠀🌹

⠀⠀

⠀

🌹 Season 1: 5 months (Jan-May)

⠀Anik Pillai, separated from his sister, makes friendly with multiple people in the chaos of the collapse of society. In this chaos, Anik raises a little boy who was also separated from his family.

⠀

🌹 Season 2: 1 month (June)

⠀Anik and his friends try to escape the city before it is bombed by the remnants of the United States’ government.

⠀

🌹 Season 3: 2 months (July-August)

⠀Still unable to find his sister & parents, Anik and friends meet a capable married couple, and head to a safe settlement called Wheatville.

⠀

🌹 Season 4: 1 month (September)

⠀The main group learn more about the state of society and science after the fall.

⠀

🌹 Season 5: 3 months (October-December)

⠀The main group learn more about the virus that has made the world implode.

⠀

🌹 Season 6: 1 year (January-December)

⠀Those who remain stay at the first major rebuilt faction: a settlement called Libertytown.

⠀

🌹 Season 7: 4 months (January-April)

⠀While the group is forcibly split, Anik and those with him travel to the city formerly known as Atlanta, which hosts another rebuilt faction: Center for Safety.

⠀

🌹 Season 8: 1 yr (May-May)

⠀A period of rest. However, the surface of calm begins to bubble…

⠀

🌹 Season 9: 2 months (June-July)

⠀Anik learns more about the state of the world outside of the embrace of the powerful settlements.

⠀

🌹 Season 10: 1 month (August)

⠀THE MEAT FACTORY.

⠀

🌹 Season 11: 11 months (September-July)

⠀Anik is alone.

⠀

🌹 Season 12: 6 months (August-January)

⠀Valentino King, hungry ruler of the Kingdom faction, strikes a deal with the mourning Anik Pillai. Anik takes that deal.

⠀

🌹 Season 13: 1 year 4 months (Feburary x2-June)

⠀With society on the coast all forming alliances, the new faction Home begins to become a place of respite.

⠀

🌹 Season 14: ~3 days (July)

The war begins to end.

⠀

🌹 Season 15: 6 months (July-December)

⠀Anik Pillai finishes what was started.

⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 🥀

#DAIL #DAIL Summaries #❤️💚💙🧡#Zaxart

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ikeromantic · 7 months ago

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Ikesen Boys React to a Tattooed MC pt 4

Thank you again to @otomedad for this fantastic idea ^_^ This one has Mitsuhide, Keiji, and Ieyasu! Approx. 2600 words of tattoo and MC appreciation!

Mitsuhide

Mitsuhide’s smile was infuriating. You wipe the sweat from your forehead and stretch your aching muscles. After five hours of practice, you were tired, your hair was a tangled mess, and your clothes looked even worse. And Akechi was just standing there, grinning, not a single hair out of place.

“That was much better, little mouse. Almost passable.” His grin widens. “In another week or two, you might be able to fend off, say, a small rabbit? Perhaps a squirrel?”

You throw a sweat-damp rag at him, which he dodges easily.

Mitsuhide’s eyebrows arch. “What’s this? Another match? I could never deny my little one.”

“W-wai-ahhhh!” You hold up a hand to stop him, only for him to grab your hand and send you up and over his shoulder. He holds you there, your head flopping against his upper back, legs kicking uselessly in the air.

“Hmm. I think you’ve lost this round. You don’t seem to be able to get down.”

You seriously consider biting him, but there’s no easy spot to clamp down on. Besides, he’d probably just -

“If you bite me, I will return the favor.” You hear the laughter in his voice, and feel his breath on your leg.

“Put me down!”

Mitsuhide does laugh then, a low, wicked chuckle that sends feelings skittering through your frayed nerve endings. “I don’t think I want to, though. You’ll have to convince me.”

You struggle some more, trying to grab hold of him so you can leverage your grip to wriggle out of his. It’s impossible not to be aware of the flex of his muscle, covered by thin linen. The way he holds you, gentle, but implacable. Your pulse is racing and your face is red from more than exertion. I’m just embarrassed, you think, knowing that’s not quite true.

With some effort, you manage to grasp his clothes firmly enough to pull yourself down, but you feel the loose folds of your hakama slide away from your hips as you do. You freeze, held by the terrible image of Mitsuhide carrying a pantless you, your rear in the air, legs kicking.

“It seems my little mouse has only further ensnared herself.”

The low, smooth tone of his voice sends a little shiver over the newly bare skin of your hip, and you fancy that you can feel his hair tickling that sensitive spot. “You - I - this - this is your fault!” It’s hard to think, and you wonder if he’s distracting you on purpose. Teasing, as always.

Mitsuhide chuckles, the laugh more something you can feel than hear. “But however will you escape? Perhaps you could persuade -” He pauses, holding very still.

“Ummm. Pretty please? Put me down?” You stop squirming, hopeful this means he’s done with his current game.

Instead, he shifts his grip on you, and you feel a cool, calloused finger drag against your hip.

The unexpected touch, featherlight, sends a jolt of heat through you, and you bite back a pleased sigh. There is no way you’re letting Akechi get to you. Nope. No. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing his taunting touch got to you this time. “Mitsuhide -”

“You have been marked. What is this, my naughty little mouse?”

For a moment, you have no idea what he means and then you realize. He must have glimpsed your tattoo. Your face, already hot, grows hotter still. This was something you hoped to keep to yourself. Especially given . . .

You feel his fingers catch the waist of your hakama and pull it a little further down. “Wait! Stop!”

Mitsuhide pauses, though now you can feel the cool air and his warm breath teasing your low hip. “This is no irezumi kei.” His voice has changed, the teasing replaced by strained curiosity.

“I told you I’m from the future. People have all kinds of tattoos there.” You hope he hasn’t realized what the design is. Please, please, you think, if there is any goodness in the world, he won’t see enough to -

“Little one. This is a -” His voice is so low you don’t catch the end of his sentence.

You let out a breath, realizing there’s no escaping it now. “Look. I got that a long time ago. It was supposed to be the first part of a full leg sleeve.”

He sets you down gently, his hands lingering at your sides. His eyes are molten gold, and you find it hard to look away. “May I see it?”

It is tempting to tell him no. To return some of the frustration you feel with his obtuse answers, his hot and cold behavior. But you find that you want to show him. Afterall, who else would appreciate this particular design more? You carefully tug your hakama down to display your hip and upper thigh. There, etched in bright colors is a nine-tail fox. The kitsune leaps from cloud a cloud toward a flower that looks like a cloud - or perhaps it’s a cloud that looks like a flower - and below that, the first hint of a river that was meant to tie the leg sleeve together.

Mitsuhide’s smile widens and he kneels to get a closer look.

“Go ahead,” you sigh. “Say what you’re going to say.”

His breath is warm against your skin as he leans close, his hand not quite touching. He stares into the soulful eyes of the inked kitsune, one fox to another, as if it might hold answers for him. When he looks up at you, your heart stutters in your chest. “You somehow manage to surprise me still, little one.”

You aren’t sure what to say, and honestly, you feel as if you can barely breathe much less speak. It’s not just Mitsuhide’s closeness, or even your vulnerability in this position. It is the expression that haunts his eyes, a flicker of something hopeful, something raw beneath his usual smiling mask.

“Why did you choose this? This . . . unworthy trickster?” His voice is almost inaudible, as if he too is having trouble breathing.

“Unworthy?” Your eyes go wide. “Kitsune are wise. Tricksters, yeah, but that just means they didn’t lose their sense of humor. They are noble and cunning and they pursue knowledge, even when it’s forbidden, and - and I wanted to be all those things too.” You fall silent, wondering why his comment upset you so much.

Mitsuhide stares at you, his brows arched high, his lips parted. Then he laughs, a paper thin, breathy sound that rises to a low chuckle. “Truly you are something . . . else.” He stands gracefully, his gaze still on your face.

“You too,” you mutter and turn away, busying your hands with fixing your clothes. It isn’t fair how he always tangles your feelings, you think. Looking at you like that, his voice, his eyes, his touch.

“Your tattoo is lovely. As lovely as you are.” He brushes a hand down your arm, a tender gesture.

You freeze, butterflies filling your chest. His compliment means so much to you, but you don’t know what to say in return. Your throat feels parched and tight. After a shaky breath, you look up, determined to ask him why he teases you so, but he is already moving away, his back to you, the moment gone.

Keiji

“Sometimes I don’t know why I bother,” you murmur to yourself. The subject and cause of your annoyance crouches a few steps away, all but ignoring you, his gaze turned toward the street just beyond the mouth of this narrow alley. You think you might prefer his silence to his commentary.

He turns his head slightly to regard you, and you have the uncanny sense that he heard your whispered complaint. Chagrined, you offer him an apologetic smile, which earns you an eyeroll and a smirk.

You do your best to ignore his reaction, but you can’t help the flush of embarrassment in your cheeks, or the way his regard makes your pulse pound.

A few short minutes later, he gestures you forward as he steps out into the clear street ahead. You follow, a nervous energy in your steps. In fact, you are so nervous that your feet tangle mid-step.

Keiji catches you before you hit the ground, his warm arms pulling you up in an unexpected embrace. “Careful,” he admonishes you sharply, but you see the genuine concern in his gaze.

“Thanks.” You pull away, self conscious and even more embarrassed now. At this rate, Keiji will never ask you along to anymore of his clandestine missions. You try not to meet his gaze again as you straighten your clothes.

He reaches out, grabbing your hand before you manage to tug your sleeve back into place. “Is that - are you - princess . . .” The sharpness in his tone melts into surprise as he pulls your sleeve back up.

“Ehehe, umm . . . it’s a tattoo?” The inked lines of three noh masks stare back at the two of you. “I did costuming for theater and I, I liked these designs.” You end on a defiant note, practically daring Keiji to say something snarky.

Surprisingly, he says nothing, just strokes your marked skin with the rough pad of his thumb. The touch sends a pleasant shiver through you, which you hope he doesn’t notice.

“So . . . can I have my arm back,” you venture after a few awkward moments.

Keiji nods, but doesn’t let go of you. “Do you know what these mean?” His voice sounds distant, soft and surprisingly tender.

You nod. “I . . . yes.” Your gaze follows his thumb to the three faces. I got Zō because I feel like she represents the best in women. Divinity and beauty. Wisdom. And then, Namanari because hell hath no fury, right? Holding onto anger makes me a demon. So she’s kind of a warning for me to let it go, but also, like, a reminder that it’s ok to be angry too.”

“And Rōjo?” He looks up, his warm amber eyes meeting yours.

“To remind me that getting older is ok too.” You shrug uncomfortably, feeling oddly exposed by the confession.

Keiji studies you, tension in his shoulders and jaw. “It’s nice. Your tattoo.”

Your eyes widen a little at the compliment. “You know you don’t have to fake things around me,” you tell him, half hoping he means it and half sure he doesn’t.

“I said I like it, ok? It’s pretty.” He frowns, a little crease forming between his eyebrows.

For some reason, the all too familiar expression of disapproval combined with the kind words sends little butterflies spinning through your tummy, and makes your heart do a funny little flip in your chest. He has no right to look so cute, you think. Or to say such nice things while his thumb makes little circles on the inner side of your arm. “Th-thanks.”

One eyebrow lifts slightly along with the corners of his lips. “You’re blushing.”

You jerk your arm away, trying to get ahold of your galloping heart. “I am not!”

He laughs, a sound free of nega-Keiji’s bitterness, one full of a sudden, intoxicating joy.

This does nothing to help you rein in your reaction, but you find yourself joining in the laughter with him. “Come on, let’s just go meet your contacts,” you say through your giggles.

“Yeah. That’s right.” He smiles and you feel another flush of heat in your cheeks. One that only grows as he reaches for your hand.

Ieyasu

“Hold still.” Ieyasu’s crisp tone brooks no disobedience.

You stop squirming and take a deep breath. “Sorry,” you mumble. “It just hurts.”

A faint smile curls the edges of his mouth. “Yes, well, tumbling down a gravel path usually does. You should be more careful. At this rate, I’ll have to accompany you everywhere just to ensure you don’t hurt yourself.”

You feel a goofy happiness at the gentle expression on his face as he says it, though his tone stays sharp. “I’m not that clumsy,” you argue. “I don’t need babysitting.”

“The evidence leaves that very much in doubt.” Ieyasu tugs your kimono aside, revealing your hip and thigh. There is an angry red patch of skin where the gravel scraped you badly, and his eyes flick over the wound with concern. Then his gaze travels up and you notice his brows rise.

“What? What is it?” You start to move again and stop as he rests a hand on you.

Ieyasu frowns, his fingertip tapping just above your injury. “You have a mark. Like a painting but -” He drags his finger over the ink of your tattoo.

“Oh, that.” You laugh self-consciously. You hadn’t been thinking about the tattoo at all - especially not after your spectacularly embarrassing accident that morning. Tripping over a rock and sliding halfway down a gravel and sand path while out walking with Hideyoshi. And to make matters worse, he’d insisted on carrying you to see Ieyasu for treatment. Thankfully, he hadn’t stayed. You could easily imagine his disapproving expression. Probably more so than the face Ieyasu was making now.

“Yes. That.” He leaned closer to your leg, studying the colorful image there. “It looks like an octopus. Holding a flower?” Ieyasu’s voice has lost some it’s usual coldness, thawing to an unexpected warmth with curiosity.

You feel another little flutter in your chest and tell yourself to calm down. “It’s supposed to be Akkorokamui holding an anemone. I got it after my parents passed away.” The memory of your intense grief is enough to make you pause. It’s been so many years since you lost them, but it still hurts. A dull, distant ache you don’t notice most of the time. Only on those lonely, long nights when there is nothing to distract you.

Ieyasu looks up, concern in his wide green eyes. “You don’t need to tell me if it’s too much.”

“No, it’s ok. I can talk about it. That was several years ago and I - I’m alright now.” You give him what you hope is a reassuring smile. “I read that the octopus was a symbol for adaptability. And that Akkorokamui meant healing and wisdom. So . . . I got it as a tattoo, so I would never forget I can handle everything life throws my way. That I will always heal, in time.”

His warm palm strokes your thigh, a gentle touch meant to be calming. The effect on you is less than, sending your pulse skyrocketing. “I see.” He continues the tender caress, though his brows furrow. “But why is it holding a flower?”

“Fragility and strength. Because I’m fragile but I want to be strong.” You take a breath, trying to calm your heart and settle the ache in your soul. Surprisingly, your grief already feels less, as if Ieyasu’s closeness has chased it away.

He nods, looking back down with his thoughtful expression. “I think it’s nice.”

You can’t miss the flush of red in his cheeks, or his sudden shyness as he pulls his hand away.

“Too bad such a pretty picture can’t stop you from being a danger to yourself. But I don’t think this will leave a scar on your lov- er, your skin.” Ieyasu’s coldness returns in full force, his eyes as hard as jade.

“Do you really think it’s pretty? I like it but -”

“Of course it is,” he snaps back, already pulling out a tincture to clean your wound.

You bite your lip at the sting, eyes watering a little.

Ieyasu sighs, his shoulders losing some of their tension. “Sorry. I should have warned you. This will hurt a little.”

“It’s fine. I’m just glad you like me - ah - my tattoo.”

His eyes widen at your slip in speech, his mouth open. The red in his cheeks spreads to his ears, and something in his gaze wavers. “Well. Even I can admit when someone-thing- is pretty. I’m not blind.”

You feel a giggle rising up and clamp down. Laughing now would not be a good thing. “Thanks.”

“Sure,” he mutters, turning away. You can still see the red tips of his ears.

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen mitsuhide #ikesen keiji #ikesen ieyasu #mitsuhide #keiji #ieyasu #fanfiction #otome #fanfic #otome guys #fluff

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dr-demi-bee · 2 months ago

Text

Day 9--------------------Read on AO3--------------------------

Pairing: Miri/Gale Prompt: Praise kink Vocal Gale, Copious praise, Happy birthday to me, NSFW ----------------------------------------------------------------------

It had started innocently enough. Accidentally, even.

Miri had come trotting back to his side at the end of a heated battle, foe hanging limp from her great jaws and muzzle and chest smeared with blood. Ethereal, as ever. Indescribable, nearly.

And when she tossed the corpse aside and bunted her head against Gale’s shoulder, his response had been almost reflexive. The same he would do for Tara, had she brought him a mouse.

“Good girl.”

Gale didn’t miss the way she stilled for a moment - just until his hands were on her face, stroking her muzzle affectionately. She had quickly melted beneath his touch, and Gale did not fail to notice the way her tail swished back and forth.

So he had repeated it. The best discoveries require ample proof to ensure they’re more than happenstance, after all. Careful, thorough experimentation.

At first, Gale only tried when she was in her lupine form. A well placed petting, and a few choice phrases.

“Well done.” “Excellent job.” “You’re so strong.” “You’ve done such a good job for me.”

And ample repetition of “Good girl.”

And she never once corrected him. Not so much as a growl. Astarion tried it but once and she snapped her teeth at him. In fact, she seems to rather deliberately look for opportunities to receive his praise. And each time her tail sets to wagging.

So Gale had tried it again earlier today while she was in her elven form. And it was impossible to miss the way her cheeks flushed.

And tonight, he plans on expanding this experimentation.

Gale was settled down in front of their small fire, a book open across his lap as he glanced over the pages. Hardly reading this night, as his mind was positively buzzing with his latest discovery. The rest of camp was starting to settle in around them. As things grow quiet, this seems a perfect time to implement his plan.

Miri, often up late anyway, is sitting in front of her tent nearby, hands busy with some crafting project or other.

"Miri." He calls out to get her attention, not looking up from his page until her head turns to him. He’s pleased at how fast the sound of his voice makes her head raise and those long ears tilt upward. "Come here, please. I'd like to speak with you a moment.”

The lythari sets aside her knife and the antler she was carving and strides gracefully over to sit beside him.

"Something on your mind, vhenan?"

Gale can’t help but smile at her endearment. They’d confessed their love only nights ago, yet she already calls him ‘my heart’. And it makes him melt so.

"Ah. Yes. There's something I'd like to test," he said, his gaze drifting down her form. He was quiet for a moment before he spoke again, his voice dropping lower for his next words. "I'd like to try something, and I want you to be honest with me, alright?"

Her brows furrow slightly with a curious confusion. Always a bit cautious, and yet so willing to indulge him. "Alright."

He closes his book, setting it to the side and fixing her with a gaze both focused and intent. Gale shifts to slide closer to her on the log they both occupy.

"I want to see if you react to something."

Miri arches her brow at him, but he just returns it with a smirk. Gently, he reaches forward to take her chin between thumb and crooked forefinger, tilting her head up slightly to meet his heated gaze. Even this seems to surprise her - but he doesn’t miss the way her pupils expand slightly.

He leans forward, lips beside her ear and purposely drops his voice to a low whisper - just loud enough for her to hear him.

“Good girl.”

From this distance he can hear her breath catch. A soft pink spreads across her cheeks. A perfect reaction. His smirk tugs wider, and he leans back just far enough to lock their gazes together. Keeping his voice low and his eyes fixed on hers he tests a little bit more.

"Such a good girl,” he murmurs, “You're a very good girl. So good for me."

That flush darkens and spreads and she averts her gaze briefly. Her fingers clench tighter where they rest on her thighs.

"That's-" Miri pauses, clearly flustered, "What are you doing?"

Gale chuckles quietly. He moves his free hand to her thigh, letting his fingers lightly trace circles against her.

"Just an experiment. You see, I was wondering how you might react if I called you a ‘good girl’..." He shifts the fingers on her chin to lightly run down her throat. "Are you going to be a good girl for me?"

Miri shivers slightly, her gaze snapping back to his. She's quiet for a long moment, seeming uncertain. Her mouth moves a few times, starting and stopping, her cheeks still quite red.

Finally, she murmurs, "...yes."

Gale hums, a pleased smile spreading across his lips.

"Good girl," he murmurs in response, leaning forward to press a light kiss to her cheek. "Such a good girl, saying yes for me. I knew you would."

Miri huffs a soft laugh. She manages a slightly bemused, cheeky smirk back at him.

"You are a menace."

"But I'm a charming menace," he retorts, his smirk widening. He lightly pinches her thigh before adding, "And you can't deny that you like being a good girl for me."

"You are," she agrees.

She pointedly doesn't deny his sentiment. Gale smiles at her acceptance, lightly stroking her thigh.

"I knew you would like being a good girl," Gale murmurs, his voice dropping once more. "You make for such a very good girl." He leans forward, his voice next to her ear again. "Good girls deserve to be rewarded, don't they?"

Miri shivers at the effect his words, in that rich purr of his, has on her. "Ah...yes?"

"That's correct," he replies, his fingers moving slowly, massaging her thigh. "And I just so happen to have a reward for you."

Gale leaned forward to press more kisses to her cheek and jaw. Miri leans slightly closer, letting out a soft hum of contentment.

"But.. I want you to tell me something first, my love."

"What is it?" Oh, how he loves that soft, contented tone.

He presses a lingering kiss to the sensitive tip of her ear. When he speaks, he makes sure his breath ghosts over the soft shell of her ear. "Does being a 'good girl' for me... make you feel excited?"

Gale grins when it has the desired effect and she lets out a soft sound.

She hesitates before she answers softly. "It does."

He smiles wider against her skin, the soft sound of her answer sending a shiver up his spine.

"I see. I thought that might be the case," he murmurs in her ear, his voice low and rough. Gale lightly tugs on her earlobe with his teeth. "Because when I call you a good girl and you react like that... It makes me very excited as well."

She whines softly. "It does?"

"Oh, you have no idea," he murmurs, lightly nipping at the sensitive skin below her ear. "Seeing you react like that to my words, is incredibly arousing. To see such a response from you... Makes me want to do so many things to you."

"O-oh."

He chuckles softly, continuing to nip and lightly kiss a path from her ear to her neck.

"It makes me want to reward you, to praise you... and to take you." His hand on her thigh moves to hold her hip, his fingertips digging into her skin. "Would you like that, Miri? To be my good girl and feel my touch all over you?"

Miri lets out a shuddering breath. "I would," she answers softly.

Gale presses one more kiss to her neck before pulling back back from her.

“Good.” He grins at her as he takes in her flushed face, still holding tight to her hip. He rises to his feel, pulling her up with him. He can’t help but smile when she doesn’t hesitate or resist at all. "Follow me."

A pleased, smug smile tugs at his lips as he leads her through camp towards his tent. Miri follows him eagerly, cheeks flushed as she holds tight to his hand.

Inside, he leads her to stand on a soft rug in front of his bedroll. He turns and takes a seat, before gently tugging her to stand in front of him, maneuvering her with gentle hands on her hips to stand between his knees.

"You're going to listen to me now, understood? I'm going to let you know exactly what a good girl like you deserves to be rewarded with. Then I'm going to touch you and praise you for it. Is that alright?"

She watches him with dark, wide eyes, breathing quickly through parted lips.

"Yes, that's alright."

Gale smiles up at her and gives her hips a light squeeze, sliding his hands beneath the fabric of her shirt and running them across her sides and stomach. No matter how many times he is privileged to touch her, it is always an experience that thrills and delights.

"Good. What a good girl you are, always listening to me." He pulls her a fraction closer by the waist. His thumbs stroke over the toned expanse of her stomach in long sweeps. “I had a few thoughts about what I'd like to do to you."

Miri quirks a brow. "Did you?"

"Oh, yes," he rumbles, his eyes wandering over her body. "So many thoughts... I want to kiss every inch of this beautiful skin until I know every part of you on my tongue. And those markings-" Gale leans in to press a kiss to the tattoo that trawls down her left side, his eyes never leaving hers. "I want to map every last one of these lines with my mouth, to know every inch of you-"

"Oh," Miri breathes, enjoying the feel of his hands sliding along her sides and over her stomach. “That’s a lot of tattoo...”

Gale adores those lines on her - the honor markings that are so distinctly Miri. She points her bare foot beside him to emphasize the tattoo over the top. He hums in acknowledgement, his eyes shifting from her midriff to the curve of leg next to him. He reaches a hand out to touch, cupping the back of her leg and running it from her ankle all the way up to her knee and back down again.

"Looks like I'll have plenty of work to do then...," he murmurs, his hand slowly sliding back up her leg as he spoke, "...touching, and kissing, and tasting every last inch of you until you're a quivering mess for me."

Miri's lips tip up with a sharp smile, even as her breath catches again, gazing down at him with hooded eyes. "So you do," she murmurs back.

"I want to know everywhere you're most sensitive," Gale muses, his hands continuing to wander over her body, "Which parts of you make you shudder and moan. You know how much I love those sounds...”

He reaches up to grip her hips again, looking up at her as he speaks and taking in the dark expanse of her pupils in those bright eyes. Gale thrills, feeling heat pool in his stomach at the knowledge he’s affecting her so.

“Once I know exactly where they all are, I'll spend hours just learning exactly how much I can tease and please you." Gale gives her a wicked grin before planting a soft kiss to her stomach. "And I'll spend all that time calling you a good girl while I do it."

Her pupils dilate further as she looks at him - hears his promises. Miri exhales a long stuttering breath, before a low growl rumbles up from in her chest. Gale tightened his grip on her hips, fingers pressing into her skin possessively.

"Such a good girl, growling for me like that," he breathes, giving her hips a hard squeeze before he pulls her closer still. Her hips are just before his face like this. "And such a perfect height. I can reach just where I want to on you from here."

His hands move to grip the backs of her thighs, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh of her legs. Miri bites her lower lip, unable to tear her gaze away.

"There is so much I can do from here." Gale leans forward, moving to press his mouth against the front of her hip. His voice a low murmur, his breath ghosting over her skin, "So very, very much..."

He can see her watching him, those sharp green eyes darkened with lust. He meets holds those eyes with his own as he slowly presses a kiss to her hip - just the barest exposed sliver above her trousers.

"Miri," he murmurs her name reverently, his hot breath dancing over her skin, "Be a good girl and hold on for me. This is just the beginning."

"Hold on...?"

"Yes, hold on to something.” He smirks up at her, his eyes locked on hers. “You're going to need it."

Without pause, his fingers wrap around her thighs and he pushes them apart to give him better access, his mouth moving up the line of her hip. Miri yelps a soft moan in surprise.

"Now be a good girl and do what I told you to."

She quickly complies, clutching tight to his shoulders with both hands. Gale chuckles darkly, enjoying how she obeys him so readily. He has her wrapped around his finger - his good girl. He gives her thighs a slight squeeze and grins up at her.

"Such a good girl, you followed my directions so quickly... I think you deserve a reward for that."

Miri stutters a soft sound in response, but it's cut off by a gasp as Gale's fingers make quick work of the lacing of her trousers.

He chuckles again. "Oh, Miri. So responsive..."

He pulls her pants down just far enough to get his hands on her bare thighs, taking a moment to run his hands over the soft, smooth skin. His mouth moved to press another kiss to the apex of her thighs, over her smalls, as his thumbs gently caress her skin. Her answering gasp is delicious.

Gale pushes the fabric, slowly pulling her trousers down her legs and allowing his hands to trace over the supple skin as he went. Miri, without being asked, obediently lifts one foot and then the other so he can pull the fabric off.

He took in the sight before him: her toned legs, strong and sinewy, but soft to the touch. The delicate arching green lines of her tattoos that trail over the sides of her hips and down both legs before curving over the tops of her feet.

"Such perfect legs... and all for me to touch..."

"Yes..." she breathes back softly. He hums low in approval, running his hands up her thighs again in a slow, firm caress.

"For only me to touch... I'm the only one who sees you like this. The only one who gets to put their hands on you like this, who gets you all nice and needy and obedient..."

Gale nips softly at her sensitive skin. “Mine,” he growls.

"Yours," she answers easily.

"That's right, my love," he murmurs, his hands running over her thighs, "You're going to be a good girl for me, aren't you?"

She whines softly before answering with, "Yes."

"That's my good girl," he murmurs in a dark, rough tone, his thumbs slowly moving in a circular motion on her inner thighs.

His hands move up, hooking his fingers into the waistband and achingly slowly he slides her smalls down her legs in much the same manner as before.

“You are so terrifically good. So strong, and capable, and fierce, and resilient.” He’s getting so worked up by the sounds she makes, every soft gasp and breathy moan as she was responds to him. A rush of desire shot through him and he feels himself twitch hard again, desperate to feel and touch more of her. “Not only does it drive me to absolute insanity with how desperately I want you, but I admire you so...”

When Gale slides his hands back up, his thumbs trace across the smooth junction of her legs. Her skin is soft and warm, and he feels himself twitch at the thought of being able to taste her.

“You put blood, sweat, and tears into protecting our party. Protecting me,” Gale starts, pausing to press kisses across her hips, from one side to the other. He emphasizes his words with kiss and lick and nip.

Miri’s fingers clutch tighter to him, the tips of her sharp nails pressing in just so - enough to make him groan appreciatively at the sensation through his shirt. He can see the way his simple heart felt praises are breaking her apart, line by line.

“But if this is what remains for me...” he growls, his mouth hovering just over her wet core, “Then I am a happy, grateful man.”

Miri shivers at the feel of his breath ghosting over her sensitive flesh, at the sight of him so tantalizingly close to where she desperately needs him.

“Would you like me to show you how grateful?”

Miri moans low before she manages a soft, “Please.”

“Good girl,” he purrs. And then his mouth is on her, licking a long stripe along her desire. Miri’s head tips back with a soft moan as he reverently tastes her, moaning himself.

“Parting your legs is sweeter than being welcomed into Elysium,” he groans against her, “I would die a happy man if you were the last thing I ever tasted.”

“Gale,” Miri gasps, her legs starting to tremble.

“Come here, my love,” Gale breathes, unrelenting. He threads his arms between her legs to curl around and hold her hips. Keeping her legs parted and pulling her hips in against his mouth. There’s a steady stream of sound from him as he works. Appreciative moans and gasping sighs. Absolutely luxuriating in her.

“You taste so good,” he groans against her, barely pausing for air. “All I want to do is worship you, my good girl.”

“Gale-”

“You are divine.” Lips and tongue and teeth laving her, drinking every drop of her like sweet ambrosia. “Perfection embodied.” He hums a moan against her every time he feels her grow inexplicably wetter against his mouth. “Truly exceptional beyond imagining.”

Miri whines a long sound, legs tremoring as her back curls over him. Her fingers dig ever tighter into his shoulders as she uses him to support herself.

“Nnh- Gale-” she cries out raggedly, a low growl echoing in her chest. One he recognizes of deep desire and need.

“No need for words, my love,” Gale returns with hot breaths against her. “Your moans and growls tell me everything I need to know.”

“That’s nnh- you-” Miri stutters and stumbles over words, “Fenedhis- how?”

Gale hums with a deep self-satisfied pride, taking utter delight in the way she can hardly form a coherent thought under his attentions. His own need aches where it presses against the straining fabric of his pants. But it hardly matters when he can draw such delightful music from her lips with his tongue.

“You have different sounds for every feeling, my love,” Gale gasps between swirling motions of his tongue, panting into the heat of her. “And I am quite dedicated to learning every one... I do so love making you moan and growl.”

“You are...” Miri pants, “Memorizing these sounds?”

Gale chuckles against her flesh, barely pausing to answer. “You know I’m exceptionally interested in learning the finer details of things I’m passionate about. You, my love, are no exception.”

When Miri lets out another long, keening moan as he sucks at her clit greedily, Gale can’t help his grin. There’s nothing more satisfying than having her leaning her weight on his shoulders, trembling.

“Gods I am so fortunate,” Gale breaths between languid strokes if his tongue, “Truly to be yours,” he gasps, “To have the chance to be yours, my good girl.”

Miri growls again, a sound he knows means she’s getting close. And he can tell by the way her muscles tremble and her breath grows increasingly short.

“I would do anything for you, Miri,” he continues, eyes locked on hers as he works her to the brink with his mouth. “I’m yours.”

“All yours, my good girl.” Gale’s voice is rough with his own need. Her hips buck gently against his mouth and he rewards her with a low moan. Miri whines and gasps, her legs hardly able to stand - likely wouldn’t be if he weren’t supporting her. “And you’re mine.”

“Come for me, my love.”

@lanafofana @lastlight-inn @waterdeep-weavemoss

@crimson-and-lavender @feedthepheasants @spooky-lil-bee

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #galemance #gale x miri #primalweave #oc: miri #kiss that wizard with tongue #dr d's blurbapalooza #my writing #kinktober #flufftober #bg3 fanfic

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anonymousewrites · 8 months ago

Text

Burden of Truth (Book 1) Chapter Eleven

Father Figure! Marc Spector x Teen! Reader

Father Figure! Steven Grant x Teen! Reader

Mother Figure! Layla El-Faouly x Teen! Reader

Chapter Eleven: At the Sarcophagus

Summary: (Y/N) and Steven find the Sarcophagus of Ammit's Avatar, but Harrow finds it, too.

Mouse Note: Listen...I can't say I'm sorry, but, uh, yeah.

(Y/N) and Steven continued on their way through the new tunnel. It was a bit caved in with bits of rock fallen in their way, but nothing impeded them severely. Finally, they rounded a corner, and another chamber opened up.

“Oh my stars,” said Steven.

“My god,” said (Y/N).

They stared at the room, lit by a ray of sunshine reflected off pools and trickles of water. Stepping over rocks, they approached the burial chamber of the pharaoh. Statues and murals lined the walls, and the sarcophagus itself stood on a dais in the center of the room.

Steven stared at the artifacts. “Thutmose III. Nefertiti. It’s gotta be one of the big ones.”

“You nearly kissed her,” said Marc, and Steven stumbled.

“Steven?” asked (Y/N).

“Just Marc talking,” said Steven, trying to ignore him as they continued.

(Y/N) frowned and looked at his reflection in the water. They wished they could still hear Marc. It was lonelier without him. They wished they could be with Layla, Steven, and Marc all together again.

“I should try to drown you or punch you again,” said Marc. “But you also told her the truth about why I’ve been pushing her away. And that was unexpected. And you protected (Y/N).” So he wouldn’t try to hit Steven.

“Are these Macedonian?” said (Y/N), unknowingly interrupting the conversation. They knelt by the relics and murals. “I can’t remember these symbols or translate them, but these are Macedonian, aren’t they?”

Steven knelt next to them. “No way. That’s impossible. Only one pharaoh…But he called himself Egyptian.”

(Y/N)’s eyes widened. “No way. No way. Is this really…?”

“I think we’re looking at the long-lost tomb of Alexander the Great,” breathed Steven, giddy and reverent all at once.

(Y/N) stared at it. “…Oh god. We have to open the sarcophagus.” It felt wrong to disturb the tomb, but this was Ammit’s tomb. Alexander the Great had been her Avatar. She needed to be stopped. Harrow needed to be stopped.

“That just feels wrong,” groaned Steven. “Everything inside of me is screaming not to open this thing.”

“You want Harrow to get to Ammit first?” said Marc.

“Of course I don’t want him to get to Ammit,” said Steven.

“Marc again?” said (Y/N).

“Yeah,” said Steven. He looked at (Y/N). “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” said (Y/N).

Steven nodded. Together, they put their hands on the lid of the sarcophagus and pushed. It was tough going, but they managed to shit the top end of the lid off enough so that they could see the mummy within. This was the Alexander the Great. In the flesh (literally, since he was a mummy).

“Where’s the ushabti?” said Marc.

“He’s not holding the ushabti,” said (Y/N) at the same moment, frowning.

Steven nearly smiled at the coincidence and answered both at once. “If you’re gonna hide it for all eternity, you’d probably put it in a place where the average looter wouldn’t think to look.”

(Y/N) coughed and pulled up their sleeves. “Um, I think I know where.”

“Where?” said Steven and Marc at the same time, though (Y/N) could only hear one.

“It’s the voice symbolism again,” said (Y/N), grimacing and gesturing to the wrapped head and throat of Alexander the Great.

“Oh. Oh, gross,” said Steven.

(Y/N) steeled themself, reached out, and pulled away the wrappings around Alexander the Great’s face. “I am so sorry,” they muttered to the mummy and the memory of their parents. They shouldn’t be disturbing a resting place like this. But it needed to be done.

“Oh…” Steven grimaced as (Y/N) slipped their hand into Alexander the Great’s mouth and reached into his throat.

Forcing themself not to retch, (Y/N) felt a wave of relief as they felt a stone sculpture. Grabbing it, they pulled it out. The sunlight illuminated the return of Ammit’s ushabti to the world.

“We found it,” breathed Steven.

“Good job, kid,” said Marc, unable to hold back the pride. He deflated as he remembered (Y/N) couldn’t hear him now.

(Y/N) nodded and smiled at Steven in relief.

Footsteps approached, and they tensed, whirling toward the passage. They relaxed as they saw it was Layla. She had made it.

“Layla, look!” said Steven proudly, gesturing to the ushabti in (Y/N)’s hands. “We won!” He laughed.

(Y/N) frowned. Layla’s eyes were narrowed, and her body was tense as she came closer. Something was off.

“(Y/N) had to reach down Alexander the Great’s throat, but we found it,” said Steven. He frowned as he finally saw Layla’s furious gaze. “You alright, love?”

“Can he hear me?” she snapped.

“Alexander? No, I don’t think so. God, I hope not,” chuckled Steven, trying to keep the good energy going.

Layla kept going. “What happened to my father?”

(Y/N) frowned and flinched. They didn’t like the feeling that was appearing in the room. Everything had been going fine. And now, now, something was wrong. (Y/N) stepped back.

Layla walked up to Steven. “I’m talking to you.”

“What?” asked Steven.

“I’m talking to you, Marc,” snapped Layla, trying to get him to come out and speak to her.

Steven frowned, his eyes rolled up, and when Layla had him looking at her again, it was Marc staring out. He had gotten control of the body.

“Come on, come on, let’s go,” said Marc, trying to take control of the situation and avoid the conversation. He took (Y/N)’s arm and Layla’s hand, but Layla pulled back.

“No,” she said forcefully.

“We need to go right now,” said Marc.

“What’s going on?” said (Y/N), pulling the end of their sleeves.

“Marc, no. No,” repeated Layla, refusing to go with him. “What happened to my father?!”

“Listen to me. We need to leave right now,” said Marc. “I will explain everything, I swear. But we have to go.”

“He’s telling the truth,” said (Y/N), trying to help but unsure of themself.

“No, I want to know now,” said Layla. She glared at Marc. “Did you kill Abdullah El Faouly?!”

(Y/N)’s eyes widened, and their gaze snapped to Marc. Their chest constricted as the terrible question was left in the air.

“Of course not. Of course I didn’t!” said Marc.

“He’s…He’s telling the truth,” said (Y/N). “He didn’t kill him, Layla.”

“But he was there,” said Layla, seeing that Marc was evading the whole truth. “Weren’t you?”

“Marc?” asked (Y/N), looking at him.

“I—” Marc couldn’t answer. Lying was impossible, but the truth was painful. It would destroy everything he’d built with Layla and whatever had started to grow between (Y/N) and Marc.

“Yeah, you were there,” said Layla. She could read him clearly.

Marc swallowed. Softly, he admitted the terrible truth. “I was there. Yeah. I was there.”

“Yeah. And how did he die?” snapped Layla.

(Y/N) covered their mouth and stepped back. “The mercenaries and the archaeologists.” What Fitzgerald and Kennedy had said in the car.

“Kid—” Marc reached out to them, but he let his hand drop. “I—My partner got greedy.” He spoke quietly, tiredly, as everything he’d never wanted to admit forced itself to the surface and destroyed what he’d built. “He executed everyone at the dig site. I tried to save your father, Layla, but I couldn’t. And I—”

Layla glared at him. “No. But you brought a killer right to him. Right?” She shoved him back, and Marc just took it.

He nodded helplessly, willing to take any abuse to make up for the terrible things he’d done. “Yeah. He shot me, too. I was supposed to die that night. But I didn’t die that night. And I should have.” Marc gazed at Layla with so much emotion as she wiped tears from her cheeks. “I’ve tried to tell you since the moment we met. But I just didn’t know how.”

Layla sobbed. Then, she froze. “Oh my god.”

“I’m sorry,” said Marc.

Layla turned on him. “That’s the reason we met.”

(Y/N)’s eyes widened, and they clutched the ushabti tightly.

“You just had a guilty conscience?” said Layla incredulously, and the way Marc stared back at her was answer enough.

“Layla—”

The sound of a rolling stone broke through the moment, and they all turned towards the passageway. The rustle of footsteps grew louder.

“They’re here,” said Marc in alarm.

“There must be another way out,” said Layla, wanting to stay alive to keep being angry.

“Okay, go, find it. Take (Y/N). I’ll hold them off,” said Marc, grabbing an ornamental axe from the sarcophagus.

At the same time, (Y/N) took their moment to go with Layla to stuff the ushabti into the backpack to hide it from sight. The moment that Layla darted to grab (Y/N), though, Harrow and his numerous armed men stepped into the room. Layla had to hide behind a column, and as (Y/N) tried to scramble back, a guard that had snuck around the side grabbed them. (Y/N) yelped. Marc’s eyes widened, and he took a step towards (Y/N) but froze as the guard held (Y/N) tightly and raised his gun. They kicked at him, but the man was stronger, and (Y/N) was stuck staring fearfully at Marc.

“Be gentle with them. They’re just misguided,” said Harrow to the guard.

(Y/N) and Marc’s eyes went to Harrow as he stood in the tomb with them. The scarab that had guided him there fell into his hand, the magic having done its job.

“Just you two, isn’t it?” said Harrow. “The rest is silence.” He strolled closer. “I remember the first morning I woke up knowing that Khonshu was gone. The quiet was liberating. You’re both free. And, of course, with that freedom comes choice. And right now, you both have a very important decision to make.”

Harrow walked towards (Y/N), and Marc tensed. He smiled at them, and (Y/N) flinched. “I know it’s been hard.” (Y/N) fought to avoid his gaze. “Being used by the gods. Pushed so far. Being so alone. But you can be alright, now.” They shook their head furiously. “You have nothing to worry about. You can let go of all the pain you feel. All the blame you feel.” He smiled kindly. “I know you think your parents’ death is your fault.” (Y/N)’s eyes widened, and they let out a sound akin to a whimper, a desperate plea for him to stop. “You asked for them to show you Egypt. You begged them to take you to the place they’d met, fallen in love, worked and learned. And then they died.” Harrow reached out and put a hand on (Y/N)’s head, and they winced back. “That’s alright.” He removed his hand and took theirs into his.

Marc and Layla’s eyes widened as the cane began to swing back and forth. (Y/N)’s soul was being judged.

“Stop it,” shouted Marc, taking a step forward, but the guns raised and pointed at him.

(Y/N) was tempted to shut their eyes as the scales tattoo weighed back and forth. Unable to avert their eyes, though, (Y/N) watched as it settled. Their eyes widened. The scales were green. Their soul had been deemed worthy.

Harrow smiled. “I knew I had a good feeling about you.” He took back his cane and gazed at (Y/N). They reluctantly looked up at him. “Now the choice lies before you. You have been deemed worthy. Ammit wants you on her side. You can help relieve the pain of so many. You can have a purpose.”

(Y/N) stared at him, that word pulling at them, twisted around their heart and lungs. Their eyes flicked to Marc, staring at them with such worry that they felt their heart stir despite the pressure on it. (Y/N) looked back at Harrow evenly.

“I will never join you or Ammit,” said (Y/N), the words as honest as could be.

Harrow sighed. “I’m disappointed. Nonetheless, I’m afraid I can’t let you and live freely just yet.” He smiled. “We need the ritual to release Ammit.”

(Y/N) froze, and their eyes widened. Long ago, Ma’at had taught them different rituals, bits of ancient magic that might one day be needed. One was to release the gods from ushabtis. (Y/N) hadn’t understood the significance then, nor had they questioned why Ma’at wanted them to learn it, but now that Ma’at was imprisoned, (Y/N) understood. Ma’at had known her actions in the mortal world could get her imprisoned. She had made sure the Avatar she had basically raised would be able to come and free her.

Unfortunately, now, that meant (Y/N) could also free Ammit.

“Leave them alone,” said Marc forcefully.

Harrow turned to him with a smile. “After I bring Ammit to this world and allow her to create a better one, (Y/N) can live a life free of danger and worry. I just need them for a little while longer.” Harrow gestured to them. “And you could be a part of that world, too. You just need to do the right thing.”

Marc looked at (Y/N) and then at all the armed men. He knew how to answer. He grabbed the gun of one man and dragged him closer. The man stumbled, and Marc slammed the axe onto his arm before he could shoot. He slashed at the next closest man, and then he threw the axe at Harrow.

One of his guards stepped it front and took the blow, loyal until death. The man fell, and Harrow pulled something from the man’s belt as the guard fell. Harrow looked evenly at Marc, raised the pistol, and shot.

Bang!

(Y/N) screamed as Marc stumbled back, blood pooling on his white shirt.

“Marc!” they cried, trying to pull away from the guard. “No! Marc, Steven!” They screamed for both desperately, tears burning at their eyes.

Harrow stepped up and raised the pistol again.

“Please, please, please, no!” shouted (Y/N).

Bang!

Behind the column, Layla covered her mouth as tears spilled down her cheeks. (Y/N) let out another agonized scream. The second wound bled instantly, and Marc fell back. He collapsed off the dais of the sarcophagus and landed in the pool of water.

“I can’t save anyone who won’t save themselves,” said Harrow, daring enough to be saddened.

(Y/N) let out a sob as Marc’s body lay in the water, unmoving. He was gone. Steven was gone. The tiny bit of good and warmth and connection (Y/N) had gathered in their life had been ripped away once again.

(Y/N) was alone.

Taglist:

@jaytheaceenby

@severussimp

@dmitrytherat

@slytherinroyalty16

@grippleback-galaxy

@alexpangender

@thewittyfanficreader

@aew-kun-age-regression

@oscarissac2099

@amberforest08

@kyalov

@yyourmotherr

@im-making-an-effort

@the-toskaverse

@wra-1-th

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sancyber · 11 months ago

Text

game over

pairing jeong yunho x gn!reader x choi san | genre smut, roommates au | summary your roommates lost their game and they need to relieve some stress. | word count 2.2k

warnings soft dom!yunho, hard dom!san, sub!reader, threesome, mentions of voyeurism, nipple play, fingering, marking, praise, orgasm denial, kind of long foreplay, spanking, masturbation, hair pulling, degradation, rough sex, unprotected sex, objectification, spit roasting, creampie, facial

note thank you for tuning into my first work on here.

the sounds of keyboard smashing and mouse clicking were impossible to miss despite it only happening one room away from yours. your flatmates were enjoying a pleasant — or should i say, rather an unpleasant evening spending their time chatting on discord with their other friends and also playing games. unpleasant evening in terms of the two men losing their tempers over a game on the verge of defeat.

immediately you were met with the sound of one of them smashing his headset onto the keyboard followed by angry steps that were made toward your room. you expected them to come to you to rage about their loss as usual but today it seemed a little different.

"y/n" your name rolled off yunho's tongue sternly as walked towards your room and sat down on your own bed. before you were able to reply you noticed something about the taller male. in between his lazy grey sweatpants, you found yourself eyeing his half-hard tent.

yunho followed your eyes and realized what your sight was at that moment. little did you know you immediately and unbeknownst to you you got straight to his point.

"what are you—" your words quickly got interrupted by him.

"can you do us a little favor? you know… as a relief. that game really pissed us off. especially san. right, sannie?" his gaze moved across the room to his teammate who was standing in front of your doorframe as he nodded in agreement.

"what do you think, y/n? let‘s have a little fun tonight, shall we?" san asked with a hint of playfulness in his sweet yet husky voice. your eyes widened. unsure what to do you continued turning your head to face each of them.

"i… i really don't know what you guys are talking about…" you slowly said despite being fully aware of what they were referring to. it just hasn't struck you yet that they are willing to go this way with you.

"oh pretty please… do you really think in all those years of living together we haven't noticed you touching yourself in your room thinking we wouldn't be able to hear you?" the moment you processed san's words, your eyes widened in shock and embarrassment.

"moaning both yunho's name and mine as you cum over all those pretty fingers of yours? did you really think you were alone at home or we were too immersed in our games? no, we weren't. we were enjoying every single bit of your lovely sounds"

if it wasn't just idiomatic, your jaw would be undoubtedly on the floor at what san just said to you.

yunho and san were not just some random people you happened to share a flat with to split costs and save money. over the years you got to know them and eventually recalled them sharing their personal stories and adventures with you, from quick one-night-stands with people in the buzzing and lively club downtown to unsuccessful situationships, you heard everything from them. yet you never expected yourself in this situation and assumed the relationship with both of them to be fairly platonic.

but there was no doubt that each of them was extremely and uniquely attractive in their own way. yunho was ridiculously tall in a way you always wondered how he didn't end up pursuing a modeling career along with his puppy-like facial features and his big slender hands whereas you accidentally found yourself daydreaming about having his fingers grace over your body when you thought there was no chance to even have him act this way towards you.

meanwhile, san was something else. shaped like adonis himself he has a body where you just knew, god took his time with san. it wasn‘t very uncommon for you to drool over to your smaller flatmate in height but definitely broader one in frame. having the two of them in your room right at this exact moment unaware of their plans that they had with you. you were in for a long ride.

after being able to process what was just offered to you, you simply just nodded and yunho smiled wide. an endearing smile yet with a little hint of perversity behind it.

"come here"

yunho gestured to his lap where he was manspreading on your bed already, anticipating his next moves with you as you did what you were asked to. your back hit yunho's toned chest as you plopped down on his thighs. a slight blush creeping across your face as you grew aware of the taller male‘s lasting gaze on your so much smaller figure in comparison to his. your eyes traveled from yunho's face down to his fingers across the room until your gaze eventually met san's eyes which were still attentively watching and leaning onto the doorframe with one hand. an even deeper shade of red spreading across your face as you could feel your arousal growing from being watched by these two ridiculously attractive men.

yunho shifted in his seat before slowly leaning in. his lips meeting yours as the kiss grew more heated and passionate with every second while he brought his long digits down to your abdomen, slowly creeping up your chest and toying with your sensitive nipple. his other hand slid down your upper body past your sweatpants as he was teasing you through your underwear by touching you everywhere except where you needed his fingers the most. you moaned into the kiss at the touch as you broke the kiss to pout at the man and he couldn't help but smile at you.

"what‘s the matter, sweetheart? already growing impatient? let me take my time with you because…"

he looked over to san who was watching the indecent scene unfolding with a less sweet gaze than yunho.

"the moment he gets started with you, you will be a mess… i need to enjoy you while i still can. will you allow me to, sweet thing?"

you, on the other hand, were still pouting but accepted yunho's proposal regardless and nodded in understanding.

"that‘s my baby" is all he said before his lips started to attack the sensitive skin on your neck, biting and sucking marks that are not gonna go unnoticed.

your breath hitched when you realize that yunho has slid his hand past your soaked underwear.

"oh my, you're already so wet. i knew you wanted this all along. this is exciting for you, isn't it?" was all he said before slipping in his index finger and soon bringing another one, fingering you open.

realizing that you could take a third digit before you clenched around his fingers, he abruptly started pumping them in and out of you, earning sweet whimpers from you as he quickly found your sweet spot, hitting it over and over again.

"y-yunho… so— so fucking good…"

waves of pleasure striking you as you chased your release at a speed that you never thought you would be able to do so all thanks to yunho's skillful hands. he knew exactly how to work with you and turn you into an utter mess by just using his fingers at a frequency beyond your imagination alone.

"you are taking it so well. you look so hot like this."

deeply absorbed in your own stimulation you were hardly able to notice that yunho had watched every move, every squirm, every twitch of yours attentively so he knew exactly when to stop before you could even reach your high. realization hitting you as you purposefully missed out on your own orgasm, resulting in you letting out a very disappointed whine.

"don't worry, baby. i just prepared you for the real fun." yunho noted, pitying you for the mess he just has caused you.

you were so far gone in your own misery that you have yet to notice san walking over the two of you, standing in front of you. he didn't waste a single second to get rid of his sweatpants and boxers, freeing his hard and of pre-cum leaking cock, giving it a few strokes. there was no surprise yunho had to prep you for your other roommate, as he was massive in girth.

"get on your knees. show me your pretty ass," san ordered and you complied with your needy endeavor, moving towards the edge of your bed, lifting your hips for him to grab, giving it a harsh smack before digging his nails into your flesh as he aligned his length with your entrance and pushed in rapidly that you bottomed out within seconds.

completely lost in the pleasure of being stuffed again, you were shaking with your entire being. your core happened to be so drenched that san slipped in with ease despite his size. the moment san started thrusting with an unmatched force, you already knew you would be a mess. he showed you no mercy, no remorse, no time to just get used to feeling so full. his hands grabbing a fistful of your hair so he could increase his pace. the way his hips crashed into yours, burying his cock so deep into you that it felt like it might come out the other end, the sensational feeling of having your hole obliterated left your mouth hung open with loud moans leaving.

"look at you" san groaned so deeply full of pure lust. "what a nasty whore you are. having your brain fucked out by me" he left no chance to breathe properly. "and you're being watched too. you like that, don't you? having other people witness how much of a dirty slut you are. being a mere object for our pleasure."

san's filthy words rang through your head as he referred to the taller roommate, who managed to pull his sweatpants and his boxers down to his knees, having his own cock in a fist as he jerked himself off to the sight of you completely falling apart on san's cock.

"god, s-san… i'm so clo– ah… you f-feel so good- oh! around me…" unable to contain your voice you were slowly losing yourself, chasing your high once again.

"that's right, you cockslut. you were made to be fucked by us. your holes' only purpose was to satisfy us" san said in heavy breathing.

yunho, on the other hand, got onto his knees in front of you, holding his dick in one, pumping it a few times before he shoved it down your mouth, tears swelling up in your eyes as his length easily hit the back of your throat not long after entering, the sweet taste lingering on your tongue, the veins that adorned his cock brushing against your tongue.

"your mouth feels so good, y/n. let me fuck it, will you?"

both of your roommates were thrusting into you simultaneously on both ends. your room was filled with sounds full of filth from the three of you, the air smelling like pure sex. feeling so overwhelmed as you were fucked within an inch of your life by the two men, it didn't take long for you to reach your own high. you closed your eyes as you moaned so loud that you sent vibrations down yunho's body while he was penetrating your mouth. taking your last bit of strength to tap yunho's thigh signaling that your climax was near.

"aw, oh you're close? then cum for us. make a mess." the faux sympathy was evident in his voice as he was taking in every single bit of you.

the sounds of san's raspy groans were echoing throughout your room at the same time. all sorts of juices running down your leg and dripping on your bed sheets as the man behind you buried his length into your warm walls. your nerves were tingling, your body was twitching as you were being stimulated into your own high. as your loud sobs echoed throughout the space, you were most likely to be heard by any outsiders.

yet san didn't seem to stop here as he continued to abuse your hole, hitting your spot again and again while yunho also kept shoving his dick down your mouth. somehow the two of them managed to cum roughly at the same time. the taller man pulled out, past your messed up lips and your tear-stained face as jerked himself off, white spurts landing all over your face. simultaneously san was shooting his load inside you, the warm liquid dripping down your already-soaked bed. yunho was panting hard, his mouth hanging open, his eyes focusing on the grotesque picture of you being covered in his semen that unfolded in front of him. the one behind you groaned loudly before he took his cock out, allowing more of his cum to flow out of your pulsating hole.

"ah… you look so sexy like this… all messy with my cum all over your face", was all yunho said as he leaned down to stroke your face, smearing the fluid even more.

san grabbed a handful of your ass and spread your cheeks apart to get a perfect glimpse of your hole as he bent down to get a bit of his own taste and also brought another hand to your ass with a harsh smack. you could feel him smirking as you whimpered at the sudden contact while still shaking from your shattering orgasm.

another smack.

"did you really think we were done with you?"

the lost game was long forgotten.

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shootybangbang · 11 months ago

Text

In which the part meets the whole [Part 5]

[Ao3 link]

[Pairing]: Arthur Morgan/Reader

[Rating]: Explicit

[Content Advisory]: this has omegaverse (alpha/beta/omega) dynamics, elements of psychological dissociation, and light dubcon (see note at end)

[Part 1][Part 2][Part 3][Part 4]

------

Something in this feels like fracturing. A ramifying split between the you who’d woken up this morning fevered and dizzy with the assumption that you were simply sick— and the you now, with her thighs wrapped around an alpha’s hips and his seed pooled impossibly deep. An irreparable divide, unnavigable.

But there’s nothing at all conflicted in Arthur’s expression. He looks more content now than you’ve ever seen him. Some essential bitterness carved out of him, at least for the time being. You hadn’t known that he could look so gentle, and it tightens a strange, sweet twinge in your chest to see him like this. Girlhood hopes, the ones you’d drowned inside of yourself the moment you’d realized the truth of your condition, come swimming to the surface now like starved fish. Rippling, flashing a mockingly bright fin here and there through the water.

You comb back the dark blond hair falling into his eyes with your fingers, then greet him with a quiet, hoarse, “Hey.”

He smiles. “Hey,” he answers— casually, as though he weren’t currently hilted inside of you.

“How, uh… how long do you usually…”

“‘Bout twenty minutes. Sometimes thirty.”

“Thirty minutes,�� you echo. “Good.”

His weary chuckle carries in it a familiar hint of self-deprecation. “That’s good? Means you’re stuck with me like this for the next half hour.”

It’s as though a barrier has fallen away, nothing left to trap what you’d otherwise be too shy to put to words. Sincerity bleeding through that you know you’ll regret in the grey dawn of rationality. “Of course it’s good. Because I like this,” you flatten your palm over the stretch of skin beneath your navel. “Having you right here.”

Arthur breathes in sharply. “Gonna be forty minutes if you keep talkin’ like that.”

“So I should keep at it, then? I should tell you how much I like having your come inside me, h-how warm it is, and—”

“Omega,” he growls. and the word strikes a forlorn chord in you, those three syllables previously a curse, but they sound so fucking good when he says them now, as certain and right as your own name. And you vaguely register that you ought to be horrified by the power this gives him over you: that submission tied by blood, the ruling of your own body to his will. But with the dizzying sensation of being tied, the worry is shoved away in pursuit of pleasure.

Arthur presses his hand against the back of your neck and loosely cups it there like he’s going to scruff you. “You want me to take you again, omega?” He grinds himself against you as he speaks, and the sparking friction of it has you whimpering helplessly, shamelessly. “D’you want me to… ah…” he pauses and seems almost embarrassed to say it. But the same delirious lack of inhibition must have him in its grasp as well, because he continues, “D’you want me to fuck another load into you?”

The unprecedented crudeness of his speech shocks you into silence, and it’s all you can do to nod.

“Then you best stop rilin’ me up, because the longer I’m like this, the longer you’re gonna have to wait.”

You nod again, suddenly docile and obedient as a church mouse.

“You gonna be good for me then, omega?”

“Yes,” you whisper. God, that word. Makes you a captive through your own pleasure. Lashes you to him like leather cords passed through your bones.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

His mouth grazing your own feels like a seal as absolute as red wax dripped on an envelope. Your own fate folded inside, its destination set. No way out. Not now. Maybe not ever.

But as long as it’s Arthur— the fucking asshole who’d made you scream yesterday when he’d feigned falling off a bridge, the man who’d foraged for and forced you to drink a disgusting concoction of yarrow and meadowsweet when you’d run a temperature this morning— you can bear it, you think. The damnation of being owned.

You ain’t just a thing for me to use, he’d said. A pretty thing to hear, and something you’d have agreed with once, back when you still had notions of egalitarianism. Before you’d seen firsthand the near universal hell others of your kind inevitably find themselves bound to, all the fire ground out of them, only the grey-ashed cinders of their past selves any indication of any life they might have lived outside captivity.

And yet he treats you like a person. Would have left you untouched if you hadn’t begged him to fuck you, you’ve no doubt about that. Even went so far as to decouple completely when you’d flinched beneath him, prioritizing your own useless comfort over the dictate of his rut.

Arthur smooths his hand over your shoulder, following the curve all the way down to your forearm. He peers into your face like he’s searching for something lost beneath clouded water, and asks “You alright?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just had a feeling.”

He’ll be angry if you tell him. Not with you, but with himself. The slow decay of regret will sink into all this and take away this peaceable surrender. “Thinking about what happens after,” you reply, and it’s not a lie, not really. Only an omission.

It’s an unwelcome intrusion of the reality beyond the quiet pocket of reprieve this isolated outcrop has become. His thumb finds the inside of your wrist and swipes gentle arcs against the tendon ridged there, and after a brief silence during which you can’t meet his eyes, he says, “Things’re comin’ to a head soon, I reckon. Dutch said after one last score, we’ll be able to—”

“Don’t talk about Dutch when you’ve got your cock in me,” you grumble.

He dashes an apologetic kiss against your forehead. “When,” he says. “And I mean when, not if… when we’re both clear of all this, where d’you want to go?”

“What, with you?”

“No, I meant just you by yourself— ‘course I mean with me, dumbass.”

With him. With Arthur. The dismal, eager leap of your heart at the very thought of it. “I dunno.” You have to fight to keep your voice level. “It’s a big country, and I haven’t seen hardly any of it yet.”

“Yeah? Where to first, then?”

You begin rattling off a litany of destinations previously relegated to daydreams and wishful thinking. The canyonlands, those redstone basins sliced and worn smooth by centuries of water and wind. Or maybe the desert with its white dunes glinting like hills of heaped snow. Or the Grizzlies, all its bleak crags that come alive with greenery in the spring, when meltwater runs bright through the pines…

“Christ, woman,” he groans. “You askin’ me to take you on a goddamn tour from West Elizabeth to California?”

“Well, you don’t have to take me to see all of them…”

“Should start with the Grizzlies. ‘Cause it’ll be slow goin’ for a while, else the altitude’s gonna make you real sick.” He says this quiet with the burden of thought, plotting out a future like twining the fraying filaments of your lives together. “Stop in near Denver for supplies, and from there we can go Southwest, towards Painted Desert.”

As he sketches out that tenuous path, you close your eyes and press your cheek against his chest, counting out the low thrum of his heart. You listen drowsily as he lists possible routes and puzzles over hunting locales and difficult terrain, and you interrupt him periodically with idle and ignorant observations that he gently derides you for. The weight of his palm at your back is like a centering stone, anchoring.

He’s in the middle of dissuading you from visiting the Great Salt Lake (“nothin but brine flies and buzzards out there”) when he pauses and braces your hip with his hand. “Hold on,” he says. “Think my knot’s gone down enough that I can…”

Arthur grimaces as he slides his softening cock from between your thighs, and the ensuing ache of withdrawal is tempered somewhat by the warm drip of his release, the quiet reminder of what you’re for. An omega: just a thing to be fucked and used and bred. There’s no denying it now— not with the baptism you’ve just been given, this induction into an existence marked by your own inescapable submission.

He’s hard again from just beholding it, and regards the beading precome at the tip of his cock like a ripening curse. Hastily, he says, “We don’t have to… I mean, you gotta be sore from…”

“Again,” you demand.

The look on his face, the raw adoration— you’d wrap the leash around your neck yourself to have this every day. Let it choke you to an inch of your life. You can feel it closing in now, as he kisses you and slips his hand between your thighs to feel the flow of seed and slick coating his fingers.

He’s less cautious this time, now that you’ve taken him once without breaking. When he pushes himself back inside, he fills you with a single, drawn out stroke, every second of that renewed penetration a sweet agony of anticipation. And when he fucks into you, he seems to be entranced by the view of his previous release still glistening at your slit, the new smoothness of his thrusts with his own come to ease the burn.

That first time had all the careful tending of observation, his own pleasure set aside in worry of what the simple force of him might do to you. But if not gone wholly, it is diminished now. There is a self-indulgence in his movements now, a roughness that you had but caught glimpses of before.

It’s indescribable, the intensity of having him this second time. The drip of what he’d given you before spilling down the backs of your thighs, each thrust weighted with eager anticipation of what he’ll soon replace it with. He groans when you brace a hand against his shoulder and hold his torso at arm’s length, all the better to watch the pumping of his hips, the shine of mingled release on his shaft that disappears and renews with each thrust— and oh, the silver fire of his eyes as he takes in the sight of you beneath him. You grin to have caught him off guard, and he echoes it as he shifts your hips up and mounts you in such a willful, dominant way that all your smug satisfaction dissolves into weak, fervent whimpers. He presses the backs of your thighs against your chest and drives into you as if the fluid friction of fucking was the purpose of his creation.

“You take me so well,” he says, so sweetly that it makes you servile, and draws out a depth of devotion antithetical to your temperament. Like pulling up a line from an ocean lure, coaxing from that unexplored territory something strange and sharp-toothed and possessed of an unknown trepidation. God, right now you would expose to him even the bright red jewel of the heart beating in your chest, give him every bit of yourself until there were nothing left to use.

Arthur hooks both your knees over his shoulders and pauses a second to press a kiss to your calf. His stubble scrapes against the delicate skin there, and you feel the gentle curve of him smiling against you.

What can you do but give in?

The position that he takes you with now is one you’ve never experienced before. He keeps you on your back, near immobile and trapped by both the weight of his body and the unmitigated affection in his expression. There is a domination in it that you would have refused anyone else, but that you offer willingly to him, knowing that he’d free you up if you should so much as frown at him. And it really is absurd, the kind of power he’s allowed you over him. Contrary to natural law, building up a tenuous new order in its place.

“Look at you,” he croons. “All soft and sweet for once. Didn’t think you’d ever let me see you like this.”

You turn a luminary shade of crimson heretofore seen only in the plumage of certain exotic birds.

“And so fuckin’ cute.” Arthur slides your legs down from his shoulders, straddles your thighs round his hips as he leans forward. Skin to skin again, a growl rising up in his chest with a tenor like longing, as though the act of kneeling before you had been one of deprivation. A sacrifice that he’d been forced to make, choosing between the view of you desperate for him, or the twine of your arms around his neck. “That noise you make whenever I call you ‘omega’.”

It catches in your throat, the responsive little whimper that you let out like an animal yipping in eager response to her master.

“The way you tighten up when I say it. It makes me— christ, it makes me…”

“Arthur—”

He bucks into you hard and kisses you near violently, as if in substitute to some deep-seated urge. A kiss almost like a bite. “Makes me want you all to myself,” he says hoarsely.

You nearly present your throat to him right then and there, and only manage to stop yourself by the last grasping thread of your diminishing self control. But he senses that conflict in you somehow, raises his workworn palm to your neck and wordlessly shields it from the threat of himself. Gentle, even in the harshness of his thrusts now, the jumping pulse of his pleasure approaching fast, and the swell of his knot heavy against your slit.

It takes him just three staggered thrusts to lock into you this time, and with each one he whispers reassurance amidst that brief sting of pain, his own teeth clenched from the sheer intensity of his high before he fits himself completely and gives you that beautiful, helpless moan of his— a sound that is new to you still, and that you would gladly learn by heart. Arthur ruts a few short and jerky strokes that do little more than shift the length of him to a tight and aching friction, and it takes less than a minute of that priming before he shivers and gasps, the muscles of his hips and thighs taut as he fills you with the sudden warmth of his spend. The thick pulse of his seed like the frantic beat of his own blood, the liquidsmooth heat of it trickling deep, the guttural gasp that he muffles against your skin as he presses his mouth to your shoulder, as if the sinful force of his pleasure was such that he could not stand to face the eyes of its source— christ, it’s enough to seize at the core of you, plunge you headlong over the edge of your own vertiginous fall.

After, when your ears have stopped ringing and the soft abatement rests quiet over you both, he turns red and awkward when you ask him coyly what exactly “all to himself” entails. Arthur clears his throat, changes the subject. “You, uh. You hungry at all?”

“Probably.”

“After this, we should both eat somethin’. Figure out what we should do ‘bout provisions.”

“Or we can go for round three.”

“Food first,” he says sternly. “Then fucking.”

The firm underpinning of authority in his voice winds a current of unease in you as tight and hard as a dead man’s knot. And it’s stupid; he often takes this tone with you when he thinks you’re being unreasonable, but you can’t help but blurt out, “So now that you know I’m an omega, you think you can boss me?”

“What? No.” Judging by his naked bewilderment at the accusation, it wasn’t a line of thought he’d come remotely close to. “That don’t matter none to me. You bein’ an omega, that is. In my eyes, you’re still the same little fool I rode out with this morning.”

Ah christ. He looks like he really means it. His eyes full silver, his cock still holstered full and tight inside you, the well of your body slick and warm with two loads of his seed— every conquering sign plain to see, and still he persists in maintaining this false veneer of equality. When he touches the tips of his fingers to your cheek and directs you to look him full in the face, you turn your head slightly to brush your lips against his palm.

“Which means I can boss you because you still got barely a clue how to set up camp, let alone get along by yourself out here.” He kisses your forehead; you go as weak as if it were a bullet he had planted there instead.

When he withdraws this time, he pointedly keeps his head turned away from you and pulls up his trousers with a businesslike yank of his waistband, all the while pretending that he isn’t struggling to button his fly over the stiff and eager jut of his cock. You’re too exhausted to do more than whine out a few wheedling complaints in an attempt to lure him back. It’s cold without him there, you pout, and he’s too goddamned honorable to do anything more than retrieve his leather jacket from his saddlebags and chuck it in your general direction.

There isn’t much to eat. He’d been planning on hitting town this evening to restock, he admits, splitting two loaves of sourdough and a few strips of dried venison between you both, and says he’ll lay the hoop net in the river before sundown.

“I’ll help you,” you tell him through a mouthful of crusty bread.

“Like hell you will. You’re stayin’ right here.”

“What, why not?”

“Because if you come with, that net’s gonna end up floating away downstream while we fuck on the bank.”

The fabric of his trousers is strained tight over his erection, and though he makes every effort to look away, every contour of his body seems to tug in your direction. He is a conduit of compulsion, the current of his blood surely as vocal as your own, whispering in inverse. So it’s not hard to sway him— a clumsy bit of flirtation, the wheedle of your voice soft and sad— the kind of performance that yesterday’s you would have turned her nose up at, but she fades now sure as sunlight in the face of your own setting fate.

You trudge behind him through bramble and pine as he clears a way through the underbrush, with his spare shirt wrapped around yourself like an oversized tunic and your inner thighs swiped to gleaming with every step, wet with the steady drip of his come. Each unsteady footfall is an admonishment, the slickness of seed at your center as insistent as a new wound, as arousal itself.

The river is not cold. Its shallows are sunwarmed, silt bottomed and soft. Shoals of silver-sided fry fragment and dart when you shuck off your boots and wade in calf deep, wisping through the water like swirls of bright dust. You bend to pick up rocks to weigh down the net with, and catch him staring at the pale streak of him that runs down your leg, swerving at the hollow behind your knee.

He swallows hard, red-faced, standing there on the shore with his hands untangling the net. The bottom of his pant leg soaks dark as he takes a sudden step into the water, and his pupils are dilated so wide that the silver of his iris is an emaciated ring of hunger. And will he take you like this, with the mark of his release gleaming on your skin, and ought you let him, ought you present yourself like a doe with wolves’ teeth ringed gentle in her open throat, like a good omega, like a proper omega—

But he blinks. Busies himself with work, though his fingers are shaking and the muscles of his arms and back tight. When you splash over to help anchor the net with foraged sticks and stones, your submerged hand brushes his; he touches the cupped cradle of your palm, but lets his momentary touch trail away with the parting current, and says nothing. Only when the task is complete does he smile at you with the angle of his mouth still somewhat bashful, gesturing with his thumb towards the camp in which he’s fucked you twice in as many hours, and in the end you can’t even make it halfway back before pressing your heat sodden body against a high-branched oak and dragging him into you by the buckle of his belt.

Rough scrape of bark along your back, a strew of monarch butterflies startles and scatters through the air in a shiver of orange and black wings, and it’s transfiguration that is on your mind as he pulls you flush. A worm will spin her bed of silk, sleep through the liquefaction of her body and the slow crystallization of poisoned wings. When she wakes, does she mourn what she has shed? And when Arthur inevitably puts his teeth to your neck and clamps down, will you grieve the unbonded past?

Omega like any other. Little breeding bitch with your heart on a rope.

But it’ll be alright, so long as it’s him. It always is.

------

Author's note: I've always thought that being an omega was a horrifying concept in many ways, given the potential loss of personhood involved. Here, the reader is having an EXTREMELY intense heat, and her thoughts are spiraling out of control in ways that are not at all obvious to Arthur right now. Not entirely sure where I'm going with this, very much testing the waters, but I'll state up front that though this may touch on darker territory, I'm very much intending this to stay consensual. It's a delicate topic though, and feedback/criticism is very much welcomed.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan/reader #arthur morgan/oc #omegaverse #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #fic #my work #smut #in which the part meets the whole #also sorry again for how much this showcases my personal kinks i am pressing the publish button with extreme shame and possible regret...

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