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vanesycho · 2 months ago

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kinktober day 9 [age gap]

|masterlist|

warning:age gap,smut, fingering, p in v

wc:2,3k

“Someone's not in the mood.” Seungcheol turned to him, who was pulled out of his thoughts by Jeonghan’s words, “Huh? Oh- no I’m fine, I just got distracted.” Minghao’s hysterical laughter caught everyone’s attention, while he sipped his drink in a relaxed manner and spoke, “Is that the bartender girl who distracted you?” The others had mocking smiles on their faces, and Seungcheol rolled his eyes, poured himself another shot. “Ooh, you like her?” He ignored Mingyu’s question, not missing your gaze as he drank his drink, and slammed his glass down on the table. “Nothing like that, I just found it strange that such a young girl would be working in such an environment.”

Even though he didn’t know your age, it was obvious that you looked young, yet you smiled politely at the customers and seemed happy to be working here, and that caught Seungcheol’s attention. Weren’t you afraid of what would happen to you? Your checkout time must have been late, and how were you able to get home alone? Or were you alone? Was there someone with you? You had been distracting him all night long in a way he didn’t understand, and he wasn’t happy about it. His eyebrows furrowed to themselves. “Dude, instead of looking at her like you’re going to eat her, how about you talk?” He kept Minghao’s suggestion in mind, but he didn’t rush and waited for the clock to tick down.

Everything was the same as it was 3 in the morning. The customers inside the bar were starting to go as it was almost time to close. Seungcheol turned to his friends, Soonyoung was already napping with Dokyeom, Minghao was sitting quietly in a corner listening to Mingyu. When he saw that the others were doing their own thing, he stood up. “Where are you going?” Mingyu asked in a tired tone. “I’ll be right back.” was all he said, and he was already walking towards you.

With the decrease in customers, the orders had also decreased, and just as you were about to be grateful that you finally had some time to catch your breath, the person who had pulled you from your thoughts sat down in front of you. You put on a tired smile. “What would you like to drink?” he just looked at you for a while "I don't want anything but..." you put the glass you cleaned back in its place and listened to him "Aren't you a little young to work here?" The question didn't surprise you, you heard it quite often so you had an answer ready "Being young might be misleading, I'm very good at my job and I have no complaints about working here." he nodded, it was obvious that you were mature for your age. Despite how delicate and small you looked... Normally, if he saw you, he wouldn't have guessed that you would be working in a place like this.

"So, doesn't it bother you to work in a place like this?" You took a deep breath. "No, on the contrary, I like standing on my own two feet. If something bothered me, I wouldn't be here." He remained silent in the face of your self-confidence and determination, you looked at him for a while and smiled and poured him a drink, after all, since it was almost time to leave, you poured yourself a glass and handed him the other. He smiled at the glass you held out to him and took a sip. "How long have you worked here?" You leaned your head on your palm, supporting yourself with your elbow. "I'm almost done with my first year." He examined your face carefully, staring into your eyes illuminated by the bar light for a while, then followed a path from your cheek to your neck, finally his gaze moved up to your lips and he swallowed. When he noticed the corners of your lips curling up, he looked up to your eyes. "Don't you embarrassed when you're examining someone?"

He laughed at your sarcastic sentence, tilting his head. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." You were pleased to see such a gentle person behind such a stern and serious appearance, and you knew it you like it. "I didn't say I was uncomfortable." The sentence you said made him frown slightly, it was an answer he didn't expect, but he wasn't complaining, his expression softened. "I'm glad to hear it then." A slight smile appeared on his face. You could both feel the tension between you growing. Nothing had happened yet, but it was obvious that you both had a hunger for each other. "Tell me, what do you do?"

"I run a company, I own it." Your eyebrows widened in surprise. "So... You're a CEO?" He shrugged as if it was the easiest job in the world and took a sip of his drink. You blinked a few times. "Well, I didn't expect that." He let out a small chuckle. "Why?" This time, you were the one to shrug. "I don't know, I don't know what answer I was expecting, to be honest, but it definitely wasn't this." you took a deep breath "But I have no complaints, after all I managed to catch the attention of a CEO." he raised an eyebrow and grinned, moving a little closer to you from across the table "So you like this attention?" you looked at him challengingly, not backing away "Oh I mean... You've been watching me for hours, you'd have to be blind not to notice your gaze. Still, I admired you for having the courage to come to me, yes." Playing with him like this and heating things up only intensified his interest in you even more. His eyes locked on you, you noticed the change in his gaze.

"Tell me your name." His commanding tone without asking made you laugh, you leaned closer to his lips. "Y/n." His eyes immediately dropped to your lips. "Y/n.." he mumbled your name. "A name that suits a beautiful and young girl like you. Seungcheol." Seungcheol You repeated his name in your mind. "Y/n! It's closing time, are you still here?" Your friend's voice interrupted the two of you. You stepped back. "Ah.. It's done already? Didn't notice." Your friend glanced at the two of you and rolled his eyes. "Sure.. I wonder why."

You went to the back room to get your stuff, Seungcheol was waiting for you at the bar's exit. "Aren't you coming?" He shook his head in response to the Jeonghan's question. "No, you go, I have something I need to do." Minghao opened the car door, trying to get the dozing Soonyoung inside and muttered. "Sure, or you have 'someone' to do." "I heard you." Minghao ignored what Seungcheol said and got behind the wheel. Soon everyone had set off and only he was left. "What are you doing here?" He turned to you at the sound of the voice. "It's late, I thought I could drop you off, it might be dangerous to go alone."

You raised your eyebrows questioningly. "Is that so? Because I've been going home so easily so far." He put his hands in his pockets and leaned towards you slightly. "Still, is it worth risking it?" You crossed your arms. "If you ask me, it's more dangerous to get into a car with a guy I don't know." He laughed. "Oh, really? You didn't seem to care when you were teasing me earlier." You walked past him without saying anything and headed towards his car. His smile continued as he followed behind you. "That's what I thought."

The road was silent for a while. You were standing in the car waiting at a red light. He turned his gaze to you. You noticed this but didn't say anything. You looked at the green light that was on. "Look at the road." Your laugh reached his ears as he continued driving. "Are you always like this with your mind somewhere else?" he turned to you for a short moment "No. That's the weird part. I like you, I'm drawn to you and I don't know why. But I have no intention of stopping unless you reject." It made your heart beat faster that he was someone who could show his feelings so openly, it was obvious that he was a mature and thoughtful person, you licked your dry lips. When you noticed that the car had stopped, you looked out the window for a while "Thanks for the ride." He didn't answer, he just nodded. You stopped when you were about to open the car door "Would you like to come in?" Seungcheol didn't know what to say at first, finding the offer unexpected "Are you sure?" You grinned "Well...You brought me all this way, I thought I should give you something in return, you know?"

“I didn’t think you meant that when you said 'something in return'.” You started unbuttoning Seungcheol’s shirt. “Oh please don’t pretend, you’d have to be stupid not to guess what was on your mind.” He laughed and quickly laid you down on the bed. He quickly unbuttoned the remaining buttons, watching him take off his clothes, admiring his body. “Are you just going to stand there or…” You reached out your hand and gently brushed his body, slowly reaching up, coming to his neck and pulling him closer to you. He pressed his lips to yours without waiting, kissing you while he worked on removing your clothes, you helped him by slightly lifting your hips. He pulled back to take off your shirt and soon you were both completely naked.

He watched you lying underneath him, looking you up and down, muttering a curse under his breath. “Fuck you look so beautiful.” You giggled in response to his compliment. He spread your legs and got in between them, his fingers starting to caress your pussy without taking his eyes off you. Your mouth remained slightly open, breathing slowly quickened, he watched your chest rise and fall. Seungcheol's finger circled your clit and then he easily slid his middle finger inside your hole, you let out a loud moan "You're so.. warm, oh you feel so good even with just one finger." Then he inserted his second finger, the moan coming from you reaching his ears again "Cheol..." His name came out of your mouth with a whimper, his already hard cock aching.

He leaned in and kissed your lips "Are you okay, baby?" You looked into his eyes, wrapping your arms around his shoulders "I'm okay, please continue." He didn't hesitate. His fingers were shamelessly moving in and out of your pussy, the wetness easily wrapped around his fingers, he curled them inside you and started to speed up. The pleasure made your voice get louder, "Cheol..More.. Please..Want you inside me.." he paused between the kisses he started to place on your neck, whispering into your ear, "Naughty girl...You were challenging me and now you're begging for my dick? I thought a young girl like you was completely innocent. Tch, how pathetic." His fingers hitting your pleasure point made your eyes blur with pleasure, "Yes- don't stop, please, I-" before you could finish your sentence, the fingers came out of you, you whined, eyes narrowed at him.

He laughed at your reaction and grabbed his cock and positioned it in your pussy. “Be patient. I need to see how you cum around my cock, can you do that, baby?” You nodded, and he pushed the tip of his cock inside you. “Good girl.” Even though you only had half of his big, veiny cock inside you, you already felt full. “Too much…Cheol, I can’t take any more-” You let out a groan of pain when he quickly pushed the rest of it inside you. He moved closer to you, pressing small kisses to your cheek and waiting for you to get used to it. “Come on, you can do it. You’re so good for me, hm? I’ll make you feel good.” He started to move inside you slowly, the fullness inside you was too much, his cock stretching your pussy felt like it was already destroying you. He was putting more in with each movement. “Good job, you’re so good, just- fuck- a little more.”

The pain was replaced by pleasure, and Seungcheol, realizing that you were getting used to it, started to speed up. He was ramming his entire length into your pussy with each movement, without mercy. He moaned deeply, his breathing becoming ragged. Soon he was already hitting your pleasure point, from the increase in your moans he knew he was hitting the right spot and didn’t slow down his movements. You watched as drops of sweat started to run down his neck, “I’m c-close..” he kissed your neck. “I know baby, cum for me hm? I know you can.” the words he whispered in your ear made you swallow hard. Your pussy clenched around his cock, your breathing was ragged and the pleasure was too much. You were already cumming when Seungcheol let out a deep moan in your ear. He pulled back and spread your legs, watching your fluids drip down around his cock and down your pussy. He pulled out of you and came onto the covers, throwing himself next to you and trying to catch his breath. “Are you feeling okay?” you smiled at how worried he was and moved closer to him, without waiting he pulled you into his arms and kissed your head. “Do you want me to clean you up? I’m sure you don’t want to sleep like this.” you lifted your head to look at him. “Oh you don’t have to do this, you can go, I’ll handle it myself.” he frowned. “Who said I was leaving?” now you were the one who frowned. “What?” he stood up and quickly picked you up and started walking towards the bathroom. “If you think I’m going to have a one-night stand and leave you, you’re wrong, young lady.”

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen smut #svt x reader #svt smut #scoups imagines #seventeen scoups #scoups smut #choi seungcheol x reader #seungcheol imagines #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol smut #svt scoups #svt hard hours #svt hard thoughts #seventeen hard thoughts #seventeen hard hours #scoups

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houserautha · 8 months ago

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These Destined Ends

Part 7

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Word Count: 6.7k

Warnings: depictions of killing/death, a blood oath, oral sex f receiving, fingering, edging, dirty talk, p in v, no protection, breeding/pregnancy kink, creampie kind of

A/N: I hear wedding bells🎉 This took me a hot second to write up and edit, but it's also a little bit longer than I usually post. I hope you enjoy💕

Sleep evades you. The day of your wedding slips in uninvited, a wash of sunlight to chase away the shadows from your room. The bed is empty. Feyd-Rautha hasn’t returned or, at least, hasn’t visited you since.

You convince yourself that you don’t care.

But still your thoughts stray traitorously to him — where he is, what he’s doing, what he’s thinking and if it’s of you.

You stare out at the Grand Arena. It’s more or less attached to the Harkonnen fortress and, to your understanding, typically reserved for political rallies. It’s the only place large enough to host a wedding where the entire planet is invited, though, plus the added benefits of its close proximity.

A platform has been erected and already citizens are filing into their stadium-style seats despite the early hour. They will wait all day to sit front row at the marriage between House Atreides and House Harkonnen. A historic event, you realize with detached clarity. To be remembered for generations to come.

This does nothing to quell your roiling stomach.

You turn at the sound of your bedroom doors opening, hope lifting stupidly in your chest. Because it is not Feyd-Rautha who enters, but Lady Jessica.

She looks more radiant than ever, though you suspect this partially has to do with the time apart that you’ve spent.

“Mother?”

Perhaps your lack of rest has warped your vision.

Jessica smiles softly, confirming both your deepest fear and most shameful want. “Daughter.”

For the first time in your life, you run to her. She embraces you, cradling your face into her neck. She smells like home and the memory of Caladan has you blinking back tears. “Why are you here?”

“Did you really think we would miss your wedding?” Jessica brushes your hair back. “They are treating you well? You haven’t responded to any of our correspondences.”

“They are treating me well,” you tell her. You can’t help but think of Feyd-Rautha’s lips on your skin, between your legs, but quickly dismiss it. “And I haven’t received any correspondences.”

“Mm, as I suspected. Your father thought that you might be too busy to write but I knew better.”

“He’s here, too?”

“Of course.” Your mother presses something cold and metallic into your palm, curls your fingers around it. “I wanted to give you this.”

You frown. After closer inspection, you realize that it’s a necklace. Simple, elegant, with a thin silver chain and delicate pendant. “What is this?”

“I wore it when I first met your father. Although we are not married, our relationship has obviously grown past that of an arranged partnership. I can only hope you find similar happiness.” She pauses then, examining you. “I know you are aware that your birth was…orchestrated. But that does not change our love for you. You are our greatest treasure, Y/N.”

Your mood falters, slipping from between your fingers and shattering on the ground like glass. “This is a fertility necklace.”

“Yes,” Jessica says, dipping her chin.

You have the overwhelming sense to grind the necklace under your heel. The tears in your eyes now belong there for an entirely different reason.

“I thought you came here today to support me but instead you’re just carrying out your Bene Gesserit schemes,” you hiss. A dry laugh rattles in your throat. “I’m such a fool! You don’t care for me. You only care about what I can provide. My whole life, everything has been for them. Everything.”

Jessica’s jaw clenches. “That’s not true.”

Aggravated, you spin on her, teeth bared. “Then tell me you came here today of your volition.”

Jessica holds your gaze but does not reply.

“I knew it,” you all but snarl at her.

“I thought these past few months would’ve opened your eyes to your potential, the importance of your duty,” Jessica snarls back, matching your viciousness. “But still you are blind to the truth. You blatantly refuse to accept a plan that has been in effect for centuries. Ten thousand years of deliberate planning and you act as if you are here as punishment. You are living proof of the Bene Gesserit’s power, Y/N.”

Chest heaving, you shutter your raging emotions. “Leave me.”

“That’s no way to speak to your mother.”

“I speak to you not as a daughter,” you retort, “but as the na-Baroness of House Harkonnen. And seeing that you are nothing but a concubine to the Duke, I demand that you leave.”

You know that with The Voice, Jessica could force you to bend to her will, to do any inexplicable amount of things. But she does not. She stands there, wavering, before striding back from which she came from without another word.

You hide the fertility necklace in the pot of a synthetic plant, and no one is the wiser when they come to prepare you. For the servants this is a joyous occasion and you do not want to dampen their enthusiasm. You mask your growing unease, laughing and joking with the girls as they recreate you into the image of na-Baroness.

“You look stunning,” Asha tells you privately. There’s quite some time before the ceremony starts, and she’s pulled you into a quiet corner of the room. “The na-Baron isn’t going to know what to do with himself.”

Oh, you very much doubt that. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror.

Your wedding dress is a subtle combination of both Atreides and Harkonnen culture, a blend of elegance and functionality.

The dress itself is made from a lightweight, flexible material that mimics the look of metallic plates. Featuring overlapping panels that creates a segmented, scale-like effect, the bodice gives the illusion of Harkonnen armor. But the skirt, full and flowing, is entirely Atreides — layers of fabric cascading to the floor. Small, metallic accents line the hem that shimmer with your every step.

And, completing the look, a headpiece that forms a sort of M over your forehead and down your cheeks, adorn with jewels.

You bite down on the inside of your cheek. “Have you seen him today? The na-Baron.”

“No, I haven’t. Why?”

“No reason.”

Asha’s mouth quirks teasingly. “Are you nervous?”

“No,” you say, too quickly, “well, yes. But not because of him, because of the ceremony. This will be my first time in front of Giedi Prime.”

“They will adore you,” Asha says. She waves a hand flippantly. “And if not, then your husband will have their heads.”

You grin. “I suppose that’s comforting.”

“Of course it is.” She squeezes your hand.

Your moment with Asha passes as you’re both pulled back into the revelries — spice-laden champagne, food that looks suspiciously like harvested organs, and the pounding, ear-splitting music that’s popular among the Harkonnens. By the time you’re called for the ceremony, your mood has lifted significantly, almost enough to make you forget that you’re the reason for celebration. It’s a sobering reminder.

Your heart threatens to burst from your chest. From inside the walls of the fortress, the roar of the crowd crests and falls like a tidal wave sent to sweep you away. The corridor is alive with mumbled conversation. A procession will precede you to the altar — noblemen and the likes, your parents, who you avoid — along with your betrothed, who is nowhere in sight. The gathered members of your bridal party shift and part, panic seizing you with white-knuckled fingers as the Baron maneuvers toward you.

He greets you with a saying repeated to you many times that day, one that after several iterations you’ve come to understand means, “May your death be swift in battle”.

How it relates to marriage, you are too nervous to inquire about.

“What a wonderful day,” he muses in a rasping lilt. “It would be a pity for someone to ruin it.”

“Indeed,” you reply, eyes narrowing.

“You understand the importance of the ceremony, don’t you?” You don’t respond, sensing that he will tell you nevertheless. “This is just one more step for Feyd-Rautha toward taking my place as Baron. How the ceremony goes will influence his standing with his people.”

You suppress the urge to roll your eyes. Of course this was just another political move. What did he think you would do, riot in the middle of the ceremony? You retort, “I understand.”

“Welcome to the family, Y/N.”

The chill that brushes down your spine, seeping into your bones, is deterred by the sudden clash of a gong. War drums erupt in tumultuous exalt. The very sound of them resonates deep within you, invoking a primal response of adrenaline, as if your body is preparing you for battle.

Which, you suppose is fitting.

And who else to be summoned by the promise of war then Feyd-Rautha.

He enters the room as he always does, commanding the attention of everyone in it. The effect is only amplified today, though, in his polished ceremonial armor and resolute intensity, a heady combination of brutality and valiancy.

Gazing at him us purifying fire, searing you from the inside out, and you take your time charting the unholy beauty of his face, gazing back at you with terrifying reverence.

In that moment, you possess no past or future — there is only him. An eternal now.

And then he steps past you and into the black sun, exultant, thrusting the knife above his head.

A championing cheer follows, impossibly louder than the thunder of the drums. Feyd-Rautha lingers and something in your chest expands at the sight of him dwelling in their approval, their admiration, somehow transcendent of any humanity he manages to have.

He truly is a god.

From your secretive position, you peer at him as he strides down the aisle to the platform where the officiant is waiting for him. At the top of the stairs, he turns and faces his people. In an act that surprises you, everyone who isn’t already on their feet rises, and in sync pound their fists to their chests. One two three.

Their utter devotion to him is staggering.

Feyd-Rautha raises his chin, simultaneously moved and expectant of this. He then takes his place at the altar.

Which means it’s your turn.

You loathe having to follow such a devastating display of power and love. There’s no telling how Giedi Prime will react to you, after all, considering that you are technically the enemy. Asha’s words come to you, emboldening you, and you lift your gaze. You will not falter.

A shushed quiet falls over the arena as you stride out, then enormous applause. You can only imagine what you look like to them, your people, but the only one who matters looks upon you with such unwavering devoutness that it nearly brings you to your knees. As you climb the steps to the altar, Feyd-Rautha’s hands clench into fists, a gesture you interpret as a sign of restraint.

Oh, if only he could touch you with those hands.

The officiant, a representative of the Imperium, begins to recite the traditional Harkonnen wedding script. A translator repeats the words to you, but you let the harsh language wash over you as you focus instead on the row of guests at the base of the altar. Your parents — looking fiercely protective, Leto smiling somewhat reluctantly; Jessica maintaining her cool demeanor — the Baron, emotionless, and beside him Rabban.

Did he wish it was him on the stage?

He catches you staring and flashes you a sickening smile. You look pointedly away, a fist forming in your stomach.

The beginning of the ceremony is tediously long and drenched in tradition, most of which you don’t understand even with the translator’s help. Marriage is not generally a romantic affair for Harkonnens, and the proof can be found in their strangely clinical rites. Again it’s impressed upon you that you are preparing for battle, one in which you would reside besides the most fearsome of its participants.

A pause on the officiant’s part draws you back to the present. You know what comes next, and the thought repulses you — Harkonnens of the Imperial House do not get married with the weight of enemies on their shoulders, pursuing a clean slate of sorts. You watch as a row of prisoners are led before the altar, hooded and bound and forced to their knees by a Harkonnen guard. You shiver despite the insurmountable heat.

You are familiar with war, with combat, the knife-thin edge upon which each fight balances. Life or death. But you can hardly stomach the idea of executing a helpless opponent, even if they are an enemy of your House.

Your throat thickens as Feyd-Rautha is bestowed a ceremonial blade.

Each hood of the prisoner is removed except for one, a man at the end who wavers to stay upright. Feyd-Rautha ignores this man, starting at the opposite end. His grin is apparent as he slashes through the throats of the prisoners, the blade his brush and the bodies his canvas, painting them both with ink-colored blood.

When Feyd-Rautha makes it to the still-hooded man, he pauses, shoulders heaving with the exertion of his wicked precision. Rivulets of blood stream down his armor. He says something unintelligible to the man, then removes his hood.

Your blood runs cold as you recognize him.

Ze’ev.

Now that you know who it is, you inspect him closer. There’s hardly any traces of the man you briefly knew. He is emaciated, bones lining his scarred flesh, clearly beaten within an inch of his life. After your encounter with Feyd-Rautha, you know that Harkonnens heal quickly, and the scars on his body indicate to you that he had been torn open again and again.

Feyd-Rautha turns. When he approaches you, his face is full of such naked adoration that it causes you to take a step back. He offers you the bloodied blade.

“For you,” he rasps.

You whisper fiercely, “What are you doing?”

“He is a gift, for you. On the day of our wedding.”

Every fiber of your being is screaming at you to refuse him. But to do so would be to decline your husband, shame him in front of his people — bile rises in your throat as you accept the blade, your fingers wrapping around the handle.

You breeze past him, refusing to meet his eye.

Ze’ev trembles as you advance on him. Though from his delicate condition or fear, you can’t be sure. His lips form a sneer. “You won’t do it.”

“It’s nice to see you, too,” you say dryly. “I thought you were dead.”

“I should be. Your husband certainly brought me to the brink of it and back, telling me that he was saving me. For you.” Ze’ev spits at your feet then, a dark and bloody glob.

On Arrakis, this would’ve been a sign of respect.

But this wasn’t Arrakis.

You raise your arm in an upward swing, then across your body with exuberance, his blood hissing as it splatters the ground. Splatters you.

The crowd applauds your demonstration, and the sound of their approval echoes in your ears as you take the stage once more, the prisoners’ bodies carted away quickly. You feel numb. Bewildered.

But also deliciously righteous.

You face the man who put you in this position, who put the blade in your hand as a gift without considering the consequences. And he smiles because he knows — he knows that you are delighted, that the freckles of drying blood elicit an indisputable, terrifying delirium in you.

He coaxed this from you, what was better left in the dark.

And you don’t know if you should thank him.

The officiant switches to the common tongue. “The time has come to bind these lives together in the sight of their people. As na-Baron and na-Baroness, they pledge their loyalty and protection to one another, their flesh and blood now shared in duty and alliance.”

A second blade is brought out on a satin cushion.

“na-Baron Feyd-Rautha, do you swear to protect and defend na-Baroness Y/N, to uphold her honor and safeguard her well-being, as your duty demands?”

“I swear.”

“na-Baroness Y/N, do you swear to protect and defend na-Baron Feyd-Rautha, to uphold his honor and safeguard his well-being, as your duty demands?”

You dip your chin. “I swear.”

“Then, as symbol of your shared duty and alliance, I ask you to exchange your blood.”

Feyd-Rautha takes the blade and, with surprising gentleness, turns your palm over and kisses it before gliding the tip of the blade over it. Your blood wells, bright red.

You take his own hand — large, scarred and calloused — and repeat the action.

Before he can heal, the officiant wraps a white cloth around your now joined hands, red blood mingling with black.

“You are my body, an extension of myself,” Feyd-Rautha rasps.

You tense. This isn’t part of the ceremony.

Feyd-Rautha, one hand still clasped in yours, uses the other to beat his chest. One two three. You watch as the crowd responds in kind: the same gesture, reverberating throughout Giedi Prime.

It’s incredibly intoxicating, to be the focus of such a powerful gesture. You let it wash over your skin and infiltrate your bloodstream, alter something inside you, rearranging your very cells into what it takes to be a fearless ruler. You would do anything to garner such a response again.

The officiant waits until the last thump can be heard before he declares, “May your bond be as unbreakable as the strongest fortress. United by duty and alliance, I present to you — the na-Baron and na-Baroness!”

Having spent so much time dreading the ceremony, you never stopped to think about what would happen after it. Currently you sit atop the dais in the throne room, accepting an endless line of Harkonnens who want to congratulate you on your feat of an arranged marriage. Your palm that the blade cut stings with every hand you shake.

After what seems like a small eternity, it’s time for you to join the nobles at the reception. Memories of the last time you sat at the table trickle in through your exhaustion — which you promptly shove away.

The feast passes in a blur. You don’t have the appetite for any of it, but hopefully do a convincing job of moving your food around on your plate.

And then: it’s time for your first dance.

Reluctantly you let Feyd-Rautha sweep you into the center of the room, the usual security you feel in his presence succumbing to your own fears. He holds you tight against him. His tone is clipped, political, plush lips on the shell of your ear, “You had never killed before.”

Ah, your first words as husband and wife.

“No I had never killed before,” you snap at him. “Not everyone goes around just slaughtering whoever they feel like.”

Feyd-Rautha is a surprisingly agile dancer, though you figure that it isn’t all that removed from fighting. “I didn’t intend to upset you.”

“Perhaps, but you did.” Your throat thickens. “What I did is irreversible.”

“You told me you wanted him to pay for what he did.”

“I-I did. I just didn’t think —”

“If you let someone who crosses you live, then others will try,” Feyd-Rautha says, incensed. “You must strangle the serpent while it’s a hatchling, for once it grows, it will seek you out while you lay in your bed and slip around your neck.”

You can’t suppress your shudder. What a lovely metaphor. Apparently Giedi Prime has loads of fun phrases alluding to death.

“You could’ve told me,” you mutter in lieu of a response.

“It was a gift.”

You bite down on the inside of your cheek. Was that all it was? Another part of your game?

“Most people give jewelry as gifts,” you retort.

Feyd-Rautha’s lips twitch. “I am not most people.”

“I know.” To prove your point, you coast your fingers over his side where the dagger went in.

He pulls you tighter against him. “I would have you right here in front of everyone if you’d let me.”

You can’t help but smirk. “I know.”

He opens his mouth to continue but he’s interrupted — by Rabban, nonetheless. “na-Baron, I request a dance with my sister in-law.”

Feyd-Rautha’s grip on you tightens. “No.”

“Yes,” you say, loosening his fingers from around your waist. “It won’t be long.”

Feyd-Rautha stares after you unhappily as his brother leads you away. Other couples have now taken to the floor in an elaborate dance that you don’t know. It doesn’t matter anyway, seeing that Rabban just drags you after him for each step.

“I suppose congratulations are in order,” he says finally.

“You suppose?”

“If it was up to me, Feyd-Rautha would be the one extending his congratulations.” Rabban’s small, dark eyes examine you. “Though the Bene Gesserits have chosen well for a Harkonnen bride. You are a formidable force.”

“Thank you,” you reply, sensing more.

“There are…things…in order that will happen because you will not submit to me,” Rabban says.

Your jaw sets. “Like what?”

“You’ve made your choice.” There’s a twinge of pity in his voice. Not for him. For you? “I thought I should forewarn you.”

“Rabban, what are you talking about? You never said anything about —”

“The day of the Crucible. I told you my wishes and you denied me them.”

“You said nothing that would warrant a warning. I thought you just envious of your brother for obtaining something else that you can’t have.”

“Envious? No. More deserving? Perhaps.”

Behind Rabban, a soldier materializes from the crowd. Sardaukar. You stiffen — it hadn’t come to your attention that anyone from the Imperium had attended your wedding.

“Excuse my interruption,” the soldier says. “I wanted to congratulate you on your union on behalf of the Emperor. He extends his deepest apologies that he isn’t t able to be here himself.”

You nod curtly.

The soldier’s gaze slides to Rabban. “May I have a word with you?”

Begrudgingly, Rabban releases you with a final look. You watch his retreating form, mind reeling with confusion. What did the Sardaukar want with Rabban? And why did the soldier look so familiar to you? Idly, you wonder if the violent nature of the Sardaukar soldiers remind you of the Harkonnens.

No, that isn’t it. That soldier had been here before, at the dinner a few weeks before. He had been the one to call the Baron away, you recall. But he had been dressed as a Harkonnen soldier then, not a soldier of the Imperial army.

The revelation creeps over you uneasily.

Before you can give it much thought, however, someone whisks you away into the next dance. A protest forms on your tongue before you realize it’s Asha — cheeks pink and beaming at you.

“Asha!” You can’t help but laugh, partly out of relief. “I thought you were another terrible admirer.”

“I am an admirer,” she says, “though I would hardly consider myself terrible.”

“Terrible for taking so long to get to me.”

“My apologies, but the na-Baroness is in high demand.” You settle into a comfortable rhythm as the music plays and Asha leads you in the unfamiliar dance. After some time, she grows uncharacteristically serious. “I know your feelings for the na-Baron are…complicated…but your ceremony was beautiful.”

You raise a brow. “Really?”

“The way he saluted you…” Asha trails off, waving her hand as if to ward off tears. This reaction spurns your curiosity.

Trying not to sound too interested, you ask, “What does it even mean?”

A slightly dreamy expression crosses Asha’s face. “Generally it’s reserved for military generals as a sign of respect, something that soldiers do to show their loyalty.”

“So when he did it to me…?”

“He was signaling that he sees you as someone superior to himself, someone to respect. That he is your willing soldier.” Asha grins. “Everyone has been talking about it.”

“Oh.” It’s all you can think to say. “Should I have done it back?”

Asha shakes her head. “Definitely not. It would’ve been an insult to him. His judgement. You did the right thing.”

You’re not sure what the right thing was, but you let the subject go. It lingers in your mind, however, to the point that you over-analyze the moment during the ceremony, replaying Feyd-Rautha’s expression as he saluted you.

You want to confront him about it, but apparently your first dance is all you will see of your new husband on the eve of your wedding. Even trying to catch his eye is impossible as you are both continuously pulled in different directions.

“Is this a bad time?”

At first you bristle, afraid that you’ve been caught sneaking away from the festivities. You have no idea of the time but it has to be well into the morning now, and you just wanted a moment to collect your thoughts. The spot you’ve chosen in a darken alcove gave you a perfect vantage point of Feyd-Rautha, infuriatingly charming as he speaks to a pair of nobles out of earshot.

You tear your gaze from him.

“Father!” You run into the arms of Leto, Duke of Arrakis, who ambles down the hall to you. It’s reflective of your greeting with Jessica this morning, but he inspires only warmth and fond memories. The brush of his beard across your cheek fills you with longing. “Oh, how I’ve missed you.”

“I apologize for not going this morning to visit you. Your mother insisted she go alone.” A frown tugs on his handsome features but disappears as quick as it appeared. “You look breathtaking.”

“Thank you,” you sigh. It’s as if you are a child again, the light of your father’s attention basking you in a sunny glow.

“I…” Leto pauses, deliberates. Your father is usually not someone to be lost for words. “I wish I had done something to prevent this.”

You touch his arm. “It’s not your fault.”

“I blame myself, it’s true. What kind of father willingly hands his daughter over to that…monster?”

“You had no choice. Neither of us did.”

“Listen, Y/N, your mother regrets how your conversation went this morning. She has only wanted the best for you,” he adds softly.

His words prick at you, and suddenly the warmth of his light diminishes. “We both know that’s not true.”

“Her intentions can be…muddled by her Bene Gesserit training. But that doesn’t change the love she feels for you.”

“Her love.” You chuckle bitterly. “All that she loves is what others can do to forward the Bene Gesserit agenda. You. Me. Don’t you realize?”

Leto’s expression softens. “Just come with me. She’s waiting for us. She wants to try again.”

Anger seizes you with white-knuckles and stifling heat, blooming in your chest. “I’ve given her too many opportunities to make things right. You just told me that you wish you could’ve prevented this. She could’ve prevented this. I do not wish to speak another word to someone who has orchestrated my entire life since conception.”

Perhaps you can blame the time that you’ve spent apart, the exhaustive events the day has presented you, but there is a side to Leto that you have forgotten — his frightening, unwavering loyalty to Jessica. A loyalty that not even you, his daughter, can temper.

His voice is that of a diplomat, detached and commanding as he says, “You will not speak of your mother in such a way.”

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but jumping to the defense of your mother cuts you deeper than any knife can. You swallow your disappointment.

“You’re fooled by her just like everyone else.”

Leto’s mouth tightens into an angry slash. “You are not the daughter I remember.”

“No.” You tilt your chin. “She is gone.”

“Then I have no business with you.”

Your tongue rolls in your cheek, over your teeth, carefully selecting your next words. “So be it. I won’t inconvenience you with my company.”

You can’t stand to witness his expression, or let him see the grimace of pain that graces yours, so you turn from him before either happens. You go, not back towards the party, but away — you can’t be here any longer. It feels as if your bones are trying to flee from your skeleton, your skin suddenly stretched too tightly.

Truthfully you have no destination in mind but your feet carry you to the one place that you know will guarantee silence.

Feyd-Rautha’s strategy room.

In the dark your fingers find the seam of the door and you ease it open, slinking inside. For the first time since this morning, you’re alone, and there’s no auditory assault of voices or music.

Back against the wall, you slide down to the ground and pull your knees to your chest. You will tears to your eyes but there are none to summon, lost to the icy numbness claiming you. Any other feeling is cast adrift.

Could it have only been three months ago that you were on Arrakis, sparring with Gurney?

You no longer recognize yourself.

The closest identifying factor is when the door open and Feyd-Rautha appears. There’s a resemblance there, a call of darkness in him that something within you answers. Your mouth twists in distaste. How did he find you?

“Go away.”

“No.”

“I don’t want you here.”

“I don’t care. This is my strategy room, and I can come and go as I please.” Cast in shadows, you can barely make out his face, but the scorch of his gaze is telling of his scrutiny. “Get up off the floor.”

“No.”

“Get up or I’ll make you.”

You weigh his words. Then you reluctantly rise to your feet, unable to look at him.

“This…attitude is unbecoming of you.”

“You’re a prick,” you fire back.

“A na-Baroness, brooding alone — and on the floor, nonetheless, like a common stray. I won’t tolerate this kind of behavior.”

“Or what?”

A muscle feathers in his jaw. “I will have to remind you who you are.”

Heat flickers in your belly, a weak flame. “And what is that? A whore, a womb? I am nothing but what others have made me to be.”

Feyd-Rautha laughs.

He actually laughs.

The sound of which is so unnatural, so unnerving, that your muscles tense like they’re anticipating a fight. You flush with shame — anger — and raise your hand to strike him but Feyd-Rautha catches your wrist. His words lilt with ill-timed amusement.

“Surely you don’t believe that.”

You struggle to wrest yourself from his grasp, but the effort is futile. “Let go of me.”

“No. Never.”

Feyd-Rautha’s lips crash into yours. He steers your back to the wall, colliding with your spine. He swallows your cry of pain with his mouth, slanting it over yours, hands bracketing either side of your face. His fingers delve into your hair, pads of his thumbs pressing against your cheeks. The weak flame inside you ignites into a raging inferno.

He kisses you with a fierce, concentrated energy, as if his sole purpose is to bruise your mouth with his own. His tongue flickers across your bottom lip, behind your teeth. You moan at the same time Feyd-Rautha chooses to coast his hands down your sides and your head lolls back, neck bared.

He grabs onto you as his mouth flies to your exposed throat, hands greedily clutching at your waist. Feyd-Rautha presses a series of kisses that turn swiftly into nibbles, bites. He sucks and licks at your neck, no doubt creating a necklace of love marks, eagerly staking his claim on the sensitive skin. Each bite and lick winds you closer and closer to an orgasm, the idea of his lips marking you wickedly delightful.

Feyd-Rautha moves his hands to your ass, to the underside of your thighs, and hikes you up. Without thinking, you lock your legs around him. The action brings his hardened length nudging against your center and you whimper, grinding into him, desperate for friction.

“I want you so fucking bad,” you pant. “Please.”

He hums against your neck. “What did you say you were — a whore?” His hips roll with yours, the memory of him inside you inciting a moan from your lips. “The na-Baron doesn’t bother fucking whores.”

“Please,” you say again.

In response, Feyd-Rautha bites down on the juncture of your neck and shoulder. You wince even as pleasure floods over you. “Beg all you want but I won’t fuck a whore.”

You fail to conjure a response as he pins you to the wall with his hips, your arms thrown around his neck, and effectively loosens his hands in order to hoist your dress up. Your flesh pimples as it’s exposed to the cool air of the strategy room.

Feyd-Rautha’s hands skim over you, brush over your center. You whimper, “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to tell me who you are,” he rasps.

Feyd-Rautha teases your clit through your panties, drawing lazy circles with his fingers. You buck your hips in an effort to gain reprieve but he denies you this.

Your voice pitches nearly into a whine. “I-I don’t know.”

And you don’t — not after the sequence of your day, not with Feyd-Rautha unraveling you with his his hands and his mouth. You are infinitesimal, insignificant, clay waiting to be shaped in his capable touch.

“Then I will remind you,” Feyd-Rautha says. He pushes your panties to the side, ghosting his digits over your entrance so that you writhe in desperation. “You are my wife, the na-Baroness of the House Harkonnen. You will raze cities to the ground and bring men to their knees. I will fuck you often and fill you with my seed, keep you pregnant so that you bear my children. You are not nothing, you are magnificent.”

His words are punctuated by his short, breathy pants, fingers pressing to your cunt without giving you any of the pleasure that you seek.

“Now — tell me who you are.”

“I-I am the na-Baroness. I am your wife.”

A wail looses from you as Feyd-Rautha plunges his fingers inside you, relieved from your aching by his careful ministrations. Each pump of his hand brings his palm to your sex, quick and authoritative. A hand that had killed six men today, saluted you, bled with you, and the severity of the situation has your walls clenching around him — he is Feyd-Rautha, and he is fucking you with his fingers, littering your body with bites and kisses and mumbled, appreciative praises.

It’s not surprising that this drives you to orgasm with record speed, to alleviating the pressure building between your legs —

Feyd-Rautha removes his fingers, depriving you of your release. You almost howl in frustration.

“Close,” he says. “But I’m not convinced.”

“No, please —”

“You can cum once you’ve convinced me that you remember who you are. Until then — your pleasure will be withheld.”

Again, he punishes you with his fingers, splitting you open as he inserts them. Your back bows.

“Now,” he pants, “tell. Me. Again.”

“I am the na-Baroness. I am your wife,” you repeat, mustering as much conviction as you can. You would tell him anything if it meant cumming on his fingers.

Harder, faster, wrist snapping: “And?”

“And…I am magnificent.”

Feyd-Rautha’s satisfaction is evident even in the dark, judging only by the pulse of his fingers, the breathy laugh fanning into your neck. He removes his fingers again, though, to your chagrin, trading positions for one that allows him to see your face. “Oh, you are,” he purrs. “And I bet you taste even better.”

You hitch your legs around his shoulders at his prompting. Feyd-Rautha sinking to his knees while applying enough weight to keep you trapped against the wall. You suppress another whimper. Your thighs are nearly flush with your chest as Feyd-Rautha dips his head to greet your cunt, driving you higher up the wall and forcing you to grab onto his armor for support.

You can’t see him with the skirt of your dress in the way, but you feel his mouth hovering your entrance.

Feyd-Rautha presses a kiss to you. He flicks his tongue over your clit, then licks a stripe up your center back to it, lapping eagerly between your thighs. His mouth works in tandem with his tongue, his teeth, treating you to the same nipping and sucking that he administered to your neck. Your hips buck to meet his every stroke.

And then, there it is again, your orgasm fighting for completion, raking claws of molten lava through your belly, your pelvis.

From between your legs, Feyd-Rautha rasps, “Convince me and I’ll let you cum.”

You swallow down a cry of protest. If you don’t get your release, you might actually implode. You do your best to summon his words from before, “I am the na-Baroness. I am your wife. And I am magnificent.”

“And how will I fuck you?”

Your teeth grind as you recall, “Often.”

“Why?”

“To-To keep me pregnant,” you stammer out. You rarely allow yourself to imagine your body in such a state, afraid of what it will invoke, but you do now: belly swollen with Feyd-Rautha’s child, breasts full, a physical manifestation of the vigorous fucking he regularly bestows.

And just like that, like the snapping of a rubberband, he returns his mouth to your cunt and laps at you until you finally, finally, reach your orgasm. Feyd-Rautha holds you steady as the prolonged release cleaves you in half, shuddering against his mouth, your vision swimming with stars. Tears wet your cheeks with your relief.

You sag into him, and he effortlessly lifts you back to your feet, still trapping you to the wall, one hand lazily skimming your hip.

“Do not, ever again, think so lowly of yourself. Do you understand?”

Your head bobbles stupidly. “I understand.”

“Good.” He brushes hair back from your face, runs his finger along the scattering of angry welts he’s left on your neck. “Now, my jewel, how do you want me to fuck you?”

You commit him to memory, this renegade angel, a contrast of darkness and your own personal deliverance. “I’ll let you choose.”

Without missing a beat, Feyd-Rautha carries you to the strategy table and lays you flat on your back, maneuvering to grab your ankles, one in each hand and spreading you wide. He takes his straining cock from his pants and strokes it as he admires you. “Mm, my beautiful wife, so eager for me to fuck her.”

He traces your entrance with his fingers, then notches his cock there, sliding the tip of it between your slick folds. You ache to take him but with your ankles in his grip, he keeps you firmly in place. Like a silly, wanton thing, you try desperately to grind against him as he drags himself, up and down, teasing you.

“Please, Feyd,” you beg, “please fuck me.”

“Say it again.”

“Fuck me, Feyd. Please.”

The ridges and crests of the strategy table bite into your back as he drives into you. The ecstasy of finally having him inside you is almost too much to bear — hips snapping, groans rumbling through his chest. He is inspired like this, immersed in the feel of your walls clamping down on his cock, pupils blown, plush lips parted with each panting breath.

If you only you could bottle up this moment, savor the way you both rise to meet the other like waves upon the shores of Caladan.

He pounds into you in a borderline frenzy, each near-violent thrust surging your orgasm higher.

Then Feyd-Rautha releases your ankles, your legs returning around his waist, and he captures your wrists instead, holding them over your head. The angle allows him to press himself to you, spearing you deeper, winding your desire tighter and tighter.

“My wife,” he rasps, “my jewel. Look at me.”

You meet his gaze. Feyd-Rautha smirks, pleased with himself, with you, and thrusts into you with swift finality. Your orgasm peaks and suddenly you’re shuddering and convulsing beneath him, pleasure wrought from every fiber of your being.

Distantly, you feel your cunt draw out Feyd-Rautha’s own orgasm, hips rolling against you as he spills himself inside you. He collapses on top of you, both of you panting, greedily drinking in lungfuls of air. Ostensibly, he recovers first and peels himself from you, tucking his cock back into his pants.

He helps you to your feet and you thank him breathlessly, thighs quivering as you stand, the wrinkled skirt of your dress cascading back to the ground.

“I suppose no one will question whether or not we’ve consummated our marriage,” he says.

Your cheeks burn. “Does it matter?”

“It’s typical for someone to watch to confirm,” he tells you, lifting a shoulder. “I said that it would be obvious enough.”

You gasp and swat his chest. “You didn’t.”

“The alternative was some noble peeking in on our fucking. Would you have preferred that? I do know you like to watch.”

“I suppose I wouldn’t,” you admit.

“Precisely.”

Feyd-Rautha’s eyes flicker over your face, and you can only guess what he sees there — you’re coated in a thin sheen of sweat and, undoubtedly, love marks, hair tangled and headpiece askew.

You shy away from him. “Do we have to go back to the reception?”

“No,” he nearly snorts, affronted that you would even suggest such a thing. “I fully intend on taking you to my bed and fucking you until you’re a mewling, quivering mess.”

Your cunt, still full with his cum, dripping with it down your thighs, clenches in anticipation.

“Then what are we still doing here?”

Part 8

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charmandabear · 7 months ago

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11. Astarion x Reader 👀

We're not going to worry about how long it'll take me to answer these. We're not going to talk about it. Listen, I'm trying so hard to not make these into whole things, I just want to treat them like writing exercises, but I physically can't not finish smut once it's started.

From @astarionfreak's smut ask game ~ other entries

11. "I touched myself last night thinking about you." "I know."

Tags/Warnings: reader isn't gendered but has a vulva, blood/blood drinking, p in v sex, somewhat rough sex (reader gets a little feral in this one)

You're not subtle about it at all.

Every time he catches you staring, you quickly turn your head. At one point you even just shift your eyes, trying to pretend you're looking at something behind him. But there's no way he isn't at least a little suspicious.

Since the night you let Astarion bite you, the tension between the two of you has been palpable. Something about having him pressed down on top of you, his lips on your neck and his hand cradling your neck in a way that was disproportionately gentle set something on fire inside you. You really thought that you could just get over your little crush if you got it out of your system. Sate the need and you could go back to just being friends... Or whatever you are with him.

But it had the opposite effect. Now, his very presence turns you on. The wind catches his scent and you instinctively press your thighs together. He grins after making some sassy remark to Gale, and the glint of his fangs in the light makes your mouth go dry. You even need to suppress a moan when he gets a particularly impressive kill. You really hope no one heard that one.

So now, sitting around the campfire with the rest of your companions, you're just trying desperately to appear normal. You laugh absentmindedly at whatever joke Karlach just made while in your mind, Astarion's railing you up against a tree. It's only when you realize that Wyll has been trying to ask you a question for the past 90 seconds that you know you're too far gone to be in polite company.

"Sorry, I'm just a little out of it, long day," you make the excuse lamely. "I'm going to turn in a little early, I've got a bit of a headache."

"Do you want something for it?" Shadowheart asks with a frown. "I've got some herbal remedies that might help."

"I'm fine, I think I just need some rest." You force a smile onto your face. "'Night, all." You walk back to your tent stiffly, speeding up to cover the last few meters quickly. Your breath wracks through your body and your blood pounds in your ears. You've never - never - gotten this worked up over another person, never mind a man. Honestly, he's not even really your usual type, you'd normally be much more likely to pursue someone like Shadowheart. But she so clearly has a thing for Karlach, and that's not something you'd want to get in the way of.

But this pale, devastatingly handsome vampire elf has your desire in a chokehold.

You light a lantern inside your tent and take out your journal to sketch. You try to conjure some of the imagery you saw today to keep your brain off Astarion. Scratch and the owlbear cub playing. The terrifying harpies that almost lured one of the tiefling children. Astarion's blade dripping with harpy blood while his bright red eyes sparkle with mischief and the thrill of he kill.

Fucking hells.

You eventually put your journal away and lay down on your bedroll, staring at the ceiling of your tent while the others continue to chat and laugh outside. You listen to their conversation die down, their goodnights, and finally the distant sound of crickets and other nighttime fauna. Your eyes start to grow heavy, or at the very least bored of looking at the support rods in your tent.

You only realize that you've drifted to sleep when you're startled awake by a soft tapping on the canvas flap that separates you from the rest of camp.

"Y-yes?" Your voice is shakier than you'd like, although it's not like a vicious creature would politely knock on your makeshift door. The flap lifts up to reveal the literal last person you'd like to see right now.

"Hello, darling," Astarion grins in that irresistible way that he does. "I wanted to check in on our fearless leader. You've seemed dreadfully jumpy all day."

"Oh! Um." You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks. "I'm.. fine. Thank you, Astarion." You nod your head in a gesture of dismissal, but he doesn't move.

"Are you sure? You're positively flushed." His smile suggests he knows more than he's letting on. You chew on your lower lip to distract you from the growing ache between your legs.

"I'm perfectly fine, Astarion, thank you. Good night." You reach to close the tent flap but he holds onto it. Your fingers brush against his and it's like a jolt of lightning passes between your hands.

"I'm not buying it," he hums, dropping his voice. He pushes his way into your tent and you scramble backwards. The last thing you need is for him to touch you - you might not be able to control yourself if he does. "Now tell me, what's had you so hot and bothered all day?"

"N-nothing," you stammer, wishing you could just disappear on the spot. He raises an eyebrow and you backpedal. "Well, fine, I think something Gale cooked isn't sitting quite right with me. I was... embarrassed." The lie rings hollow even to you.

"Come now, love, we both know you're a terrible liar." He crawls towards you on his knees, a predator stalking his prey. Your breath catches in your throat. "Do you have something you need to confess?"

You're trapped. You've run out of room in the tent to back away, and Astarion has all but crawled on top of you. His scent is intoxicating and his eyes gleam in the low light. The words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them.

"I touched myself last night thinking about you."

"I know." The grin that curls across his face is fiendish. Your heart threatens to beat out of your chest.

"You know?" Then you gasp suddenly. "The tadpole..."

Astarion lets out a bark of a laugh, loud enough that you're worried it might wake your other companions. "Darling, I didn't need a tadpole to figure that one out. Like I said, you're a terrible liar." He nudges his knee closer to the apex of your legs and you can feel your arousal making your underclothes wet. "What I want to know is, how did you picture me? My head between your legs? Did I have you on all fours in the forest? Or..." His lips ghost against yours now and your head feels dizzy with lust. "Or perhaps I had you pinned down in this very tent, taking my time as I had my way with you?"

Your instincts take over and you close the minimal distance between you, pulling him down on top of you as you ravage his lips. You claw at his clothing, no longer interested in maintaining decorum. He tears at the laces of your breeches, pulling them down below your hips and exposing your dripping cunt to the open air. A cry rips through your throat as he licks a thick stripe up your slit, and his chuckle rumbles deep in his chest. He pulls up on his knees and grins down at you, open and wanton, as he slips out of his pants.

"So very eager," he hums as he frees his cock, engorged and already dripping. A shudder runs through you as you see it, and you yank on his shirt and pull him down to meet you. You kiss him roughly, catching his lower lip in your teeth as you hook your leg around his waist.

"Shut the fuck up and fuck me, Astarion," you hiss through gritted teeth, and you groan loudly when he easily sinks in up to his base.

"Someone wants the whole of camp to hear," he growls in your ear as he begins to slowly thrust into you.

"Then you better make it quick so we don't wake them," you snarl in response, all pretenses having vanished. You tangle your fingers into his hair and press his face to your neck. You feel his lips stretch into a smile just before he sinks his fangs into you, the icy shard of pain melting into the heat of his mouth warming with your blood.

You jut your hips up into him, desperately chasing your release as he drinks his fill. He fucks into you, hard and messy, and before long you're feeling the pressure building in your core.

"Gods, Astarion, don't stop," you gasp hungrily in his ear, and he increases his pace to a punishing rhythm. You're starting to grow faint from blood loss just as your orgasm comes crashing down on you. Your walls clench and shudder around his length and he tears his mouth away from your neck, his expression wild and bloody. A few more broken ruts and you can feel him spilling inside you, the feeling his pulsing cock prolonging your own climax.

The two of you eventually still, covered in a sheen of sweat and panting heavily. Your ears strain to hear if there has been any disturbance in camp to indicate that your other companions heard anything. Outside your tent remains, thankfully, silent.

"Well then," Astarion exhales quickly as he slides out of you. "Darling, if it's going to be like that, then you just need to invite me next time."

#smut ask game #astarion x reader #astarion smut #bg3 smut #smutty fanfiction #smutty one shot #bg3 astarion x reader #bg3 astarion fanfic

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bigsillyclown · 3 months ago

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First of all fuck jack black I do not like him considering his wishy washy take on politics especially regarding his lack of support for Palestine

But what the fuck is this clothing choice? It’s a turtle neck and a v neck that are the same color stacked on top of eachother. I’m no fucking movie maker but couldn’t they of just had him wear a turtle neck to cover up any exposed skin? Why have him wear a under garment at all though? His neck and upper chest skin will not kill people i promise.

It’s just a weird design choice

#minecraft #a Minecraft movie #Minecraft movie #jack black 🤝 cris pratt : taking jobs from voice actors to play themselves in kids movies because starpower ig

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deathblacksmoke · 1 year ago

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two way vision

pairing: noah sebastian x nick ruffilo x fem reader

cw: polyamorous relationship, dom!nick, brief name calling, belt spanking, threesome, unprotected p in v sex, oral sex (m receiving), boyfriends calling each other dude hehe, mid-sex bickering, ABSOLUTELY FILTHY but don’t worry i think it’s still very sweet 🩵

word count: 3.2K

taglist: @concretenoah / @ladyveronikawrites / @circle-with-me / @darksigns-exe / @xxrainstorm /@agravemisstake / @monotoniscreaming

let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future fics!

author’s note: ruffilo wore a belt and i immediately got all twisty about it? and this happened. enjoy 🤍

**************************************************************

You hadn’t meant to misbehave tonight.

You had put on your pretty dress and gotten all done up with the intention of getting comfortably tipsy and remaining on your best behavior, but things don’t always work out as planned.

Apparently it’s a very important night, with very important people. Apparently the future of the band could ride on this very event. This could mean big things for them. Apparently.

While Nick and Noah are schmoozing, paying you no mind whatsoever, the boredom gets to you. You hate this party. You’re the only girlfriend here and the alcohol sucks—no liquor, just champagne. You’ll regret the morning after blinding champagne headache tomorrow.

You were well aware that they wouldn’t be able to pay much attention to you, but you couldn’t have predicted just how bored you’d be and how out of place you’d feel. You love spending time with them, you love supporting them, but you almost wish you’d stayed at home tonight.

You just wish they’d pay attention to you for a moment. You wish you’d stayed by Nick’s side instead of heading for the bar, but shaking hands and smiling politely at men in suits didn’t sound like fun to you. It still doesn’t.

Being next to them, no matter how boring the conversations may be, seems a lot better than this—sitting at the table alone, sipping on shitty champagne and sulking.

You know that Noah would be more receptive to the games you feel like playing. You know you’re not allowed. It was discussed extensively—in public, you’re Nick’s fiancée and Noah’s friend, for now. Playing with Noah would pose a lot of questions that none of you are quite ready to answer.

That doesn’t mean you have to like it, especially tonight when they’re all dressed up, looking like that. You’ve been aching since the moment Nick stepped out of the bedroom, doing up his belt, asking if the two of you were about ready to go. It’s not often you get to see them like this. Having to keep your legs crossed, squeezing together to chase away that familiar buzz, feels a little silly. You just want to have a little fun.

You’ve been here for so long and want them to take you home.

Walking up behind Nick, notching your finger in his belt and pulling him back towards you, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck, you know it’s not your best idea.

You recognize the guy he and Noah are talking to as someone in another band, not an exec—you don’t know who he is but you don’t really care.

“You want to introduce me to your friend, Nicky?” you ask, and he looks back at you with a sour expression. He doesn’t want you to be doing this, not here. Not tonight, not now. It’s just so fun to push his buttons. You slide your hand around to his front, resting over his belly and rubbing. “I’m bored.”

He narrows his eyes at you but he turns back around and introduces you—you don’t listen for a name. You shake his hand and place a kiss behind Nick’s ear. You catch Noah from the corner of your eye, softly amused with an overcurrent of concern. He knows where this lands you.

“Go sit back down,” Nick bites as he turns to face you. He kisses you but it’s short. You’re in trouble. Your intent hadn’t necessarily been to embarrass him, but tease him, a little fun to take the edge off just how much you don’t want to be here. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

His tone is dark in a way you don’t get often. The ache is unbearable. You go to sit back down and hope you don’t regret what you’ve done, waiting for Nick and Noah to come and join you.

**************************************************************

You don’t speak on the ride home. With Nick’s hand gripping you, you can feel exactly where the marks will be on your inner thigh, where his fingers press in painfully. He’s angry. Noah holds your hand, rubbing a thumb along the back, a comfort.

You’re ushered inside with a hand on the small of your back when the car pulls up out front. Possessive.

The door slams shut behind you, making you flinch. Not fear, necessarily—uncertainty. It’s been a while since you’ve done this and you’re not sure exactly what to expect. He hangs his jacket on the rack, not used to wearing it, muscle memory of the hook by the door.

“Go to the bedroom. Both of you,” Nick orders, voice stern but gentle at once. You share a glance with Noah but do what he says. “I’ll be right in.”

You close the door behind you, leave your clothes on and wait for Nick’s instructions, though you think you know what they’ll be.

Noah kisses you with a gentle hand on your face, thumb grazing your cheek. It’s gentle and you need it, though you’re buzzing with the anticipation of what you know is to come.

“You think maybe you shouldn’t have done that, love?” Noah asks when he pulls away, breath on your lips. He’s smirking but his voice is laced with a bit of concern.

You smile, settling him. You almost want to laugh, because he must have forgotten.

“I wanted to do it,” you assure him, placing a kiss on his cheek. “I appreciate your concern, sweet boy, but I wanted this. You think I don’t know exactly what I’m doing?”

You freeze when the bedroom door opens, slamming back shut. Noah backs away from you quickly like he’s been burned, like being near you will get him in trouble, too. He’s definitely forgotten.

Nick comes up behind you, wrapping his arms tight around your middle. It’s almost like normal, if not for his teeth grazing your neck, then biting down in a way that hurts you, feels primal and angry.

“You were very bad tonight, baby. You know that, right?” Nick asks. You nod, his hand sliding its way around your throat, grip tight enough to make you short of breath but loose enough that you don’t fear it. You never do—not with Nicholas. Even angry, he’s always careful, always has an edge of softness in his every move. “I know you didn’t mean to embarrass me, but they know now. They know my girl is a desperate little slut.”

You moan, cut off when he clamps his hand down over your mouth. The ache gets deeper—you’re dripping for him.

“Noah, go get on the bed, baby,” Nick says, and Noah scrambles to do it, eager. He props himself up against the pillows how Nick normally likes him at the start and it makes you chuckle, seeing him so ready to do whatever he’s asked to do. Nick’s hand trails back down to your throat, just resting there, not squeezing. With his mouth at your ear, he shushes you. “You,” he whispers in your ear, making you shiver. “I want you to undress and get on all fours on the bed for me. Okay?”

You nod, moving to undress and do what’s asked of you, but he catches you by the hand and pulls you to him again, your back pressed to his chest.

“Uh uh, sweetheart,” he whispers, a hand trailing delicately down your side. “I need you to be good and use your words. I need a yes or no from you. Do you want to do this?”

“Yes, Nicky,” you say, moving to turn around in his arms and hoping he’ll let you. He allows it and you feel a wave of relief, especially when you see the expression painted on his face, patient and gentle for a moment. “I want this. Please.”

“Good girl,” he says, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. You feel yourself relax completely, reminded that you’re safe here with them. He gives you a slap on your ass when you turn around and you gasp, hearing him laugh behind you. “Dress off. Hands and knees, please.”

You unzip your dress and let it fall to your feet, watch as Noah’s eyes glaze over with want. You unclasp your bra and hear Nick’s breath hitch as it falls to the floor. Dipping your fingers into the band of your lace panties, he tsks behind you. “Those stay on,” he orders—your cheeks heat. You leave them and crawl onto the bed. “Thank you, baby.”

“Keep your eyes on Noah,” Nick says, coming up behind you, hand on the small of your back. You shift your eyes up to Noah, looking back at you with a soft expression, small smile. You smile back. You can hear as Nick unbuckles his belt, but don’t hear the familiar sound of his zipper being pulled down. You hear it sliding from the loops, and feel as the belt, folded over, grazes your ass. You shiver. “How many do you think you deserve, baby?”

“I—I don’t know,” you say. You don’t know just how bad you were tonight. You know you shouldn’t have done what you did, but you were so bored. Lonely. “Maybe ten, Nicky? Is that good?”

“I think ten is just fine, sweetheart,” Nick says, running his hand up your back, leaning over to press a kiss to your shoulder blade. “Do you remember my rules?”

“Um—yeah. ‘Red’ if I need to stop, or if I make a really pained noise, you’ll check. And I count the hits,” you say. Nick places a slap to your ass, gentle. You’ve forgotten something. “And I keep my eyes on Noah.”

“Yes, good girl,” Nick says. “You take care of her, baby,” he tells Noah, who nods up at him, then focuses back on you, reaching out. “Hold her hand, okay? Tell me if anything seems off,” the belt grazes your ass again. “Are you ready?”

You nod before hearing him sigh behind you. Your words. You forgot again. You’re so nervous, or excited, or a little bit of both. “Yes, I’m ready, Nicky.”

The first blow stings, surprises you—you yelp and squeeze Noah’s hand. “One,” you gasp. Another. “Fuck. Two,” Noah grazes his thumb against the back of your hand, brings it up to his mouth, whispers good, baby. Another. You’re getting used to it. Feeling nicer. “Three,” The fourth hits a little low, below the meat of your ass, high on the back of your thigh. You hiss and Nick pulls back, soothing with his hand. “Four.”

“Hold on. Are you okay?” Nick asks.

“Mmhmm, just—” you start, thinking of what to say. “That one was a little low. It felt bad, kind of. Can you try to stay higher?”

“Of course, baby. I’m sorry,” he says. You relax. You know he didn’t mean it—he always tries his best to be careful. “Thank you for using your words. Are you good to continue?”

“Yes, please,” you say, reaching for Noah’s hand again, who offers it readily. The fifth feels nicer, your responding groan breaking off into a sigh. “Five,” The next two come in quick succession, one on each cheek. You feel yourself dripping for him, Noah’s eyes glazed over as he watches you. “Eight,” you gasp, thinking you should misbehave more often. It was all thanks to that fucking belt. “Nine,” you whine. The last one stings worse than the others and you’re glad you didn’t pick a higher number. “Ten.”

“Good girl,” Nick says, leaning down to pepper kisses along your back, soothing a hand over your ass. Noah leans down to kiss you on the mouth and you smile into it. “You did such a good job for us.”

“I want—” you start, gasping into Noah’s mouth when Nick’s fingers graze your folds over your panties, pressing in slightly. “I want you. Both. Please.”

“I know, you want to be full, huh?” Nick asks and you nod. “How do you want us?”

“I want Noah in my mouth,” you say, and Noah gasps, grazing a hand over your face. “You inside me, Nicky. Please.”

It’s been a while since you’ve had them like this, full from both ends, complete center of attention. You wiggle your ass back and Nick groans when you make contact with his front, cock hard and insistent, pressing against his zipper.

“Remember, two taps on Noah’s leg if you need to stop,” Nick says, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. You hear them fall to the floor. You’re not sure when Noah got undressed, but when you look, he’s naked and waiting for you. Your mouth waters. “Do you care about these?” Nick asks, fingers grazing the fabric of your panties.

“No, Nicky,” you say, just before his hand presses over the band against the small of your back, his other dipping beneath the gusset and yanking, fabric tearing. The shock of the cold in the room on your lips makes you shiver.

“Look at you,” Nick marvels, fingers dipping inside. “Look at this pretty pussy, baby, all wet and dripping for us.”

Noah presses his cock to the seam of your lips, swipes a thumb along your cheek. You stick your tongue out to taste him, bask in the weight of it as he lays it on your tongue. You close your mouth around the tip, swirl your tongue and sink further. You never tire of his little gasps when he’s in your mouth or in your cunt.

You feel Nick at your entrance, sliding inside easily, bottoming out and forcing you further on Noah’s cock. “Oh, fuck,” you hear him gasp and your eyes flutter closed. You’ll let them do the work for you—that’s your favorite part. “Fuck, you always feel so good.”

You force down a choke as you’re forced further onto Noah’s cock, swallowing around him. You grasp Noah’s leg for purchase and his gasp is dizzying.

“How’s she feel, baby?” Noah asks, and Nick groans from the back of his throat. God, you love listening to them while they’re using you. “Her mouth is—” he breaks off into a gasp as you swallow around him, the slightest graze of your teeth, just how he likes it. “Fuck.”

“You know, dude,” Nick says, fucking you harder. You feel split open and can’t control the gag this time, as you’re forced down further on Noah’s cock, who pulls back a bit to give you a reprieve. You squeeze his leg gratefully but move yourself back down further, needing it—the gag, the choke, the overwhelming fullness of it all. “You know she feels fucking perfect. You wish you were back here, huh?”

“No, dude, her mouth,” Noah counters, a hand running over your cheek, into your hair, tugging and making you gag. Noah’s groan is fucking pornographic, Nick’s even more so. “You know how her throat tightens around you when you pull on her hair?” Noah asks him. You feel overwhelmingly full when they both lean forward. You hear the wet, sloppy sounds of their kissing and you bask in them. Noah tightens his hand in your hair while Nick’s hands move from your hips up to your sides, gripping tight. They chuckle into each other’s mouths when you choke again. “Did her pussy do it, too, Nicky?”

Nick moves his hands from your sides. If Noah’s whine is anything to go off, Nick’s hands have tangled in his hair just how he likes it. You wish so badly you could watch them—you love them like this.

“Are you smoking again?” Nick asks Noah, and you’re surprised it took him so long tonight to notice the smell, the taste of them. “You taste like shitty cigarettes. Stale. Menthol ones.”

“It’s her, man,” Noah says, and you pinch his leg to hear his yelp, payback for being a snitch. “She bummed a few during the party, snuck out front. She was gone for ages,” he continues, unfortunately not deterred, determined to throw you under the bus so he can remain Nick’s perfect boy. “I taste like her, Nicky. You would have noticed if you’d been paying any attention to her. I’m not allowed,” he snarks. You laugh—apparently Noah likes the vibration of it, muffling a moan into Nick’s skin. “Don’t you know never to leave a pretty girl like this alone?”

“I’m gathering that. Fucking smartass,” Nick says, fucking you slower, thrusting deeper and harder. A hand comes back down to grip your hips, thumb grazing over your skin. “Kiss me again, Noah,” Nick orders and he doesn’t hesitate—you quickly readjust as he moves forward again, meeting Nick’s mouth. “Honey, you’re shaking. You’re about to cum, huh?”

Noah doesn’t answer, not that you can hear, just thrusts faster and deeper into your mouth. You power through it, swallow around the gag, blink away the tears and let your eyes slip closed. “I’m gonna cum,” Noah gasps into Nick’s mouth. You double your efforts, sliding your head down as far as you can, swallowing around him. He groans, gathering your hair in a fist and stilling. “Oh, fuck.”

Noah’s barely pulled out before Nick is, too, flipping you over onto your back and slipping back in. You swallow, Noah’s cum sliding down your throat. He’s leaning over you again, licking into your mouth, tasting himself on your tongue. It’s filthy and makes you ache, tighten around Nick.

Nick slaps a tit, kneading it and pinching the pebbled nipple between his index finger and thumb. You let out a desperate moan as he grabs the other, fucking you deeper. “Touch yourself, sweetheart,” Nick tells you, right hand moving from your chest to your throat, tightening just slightly. “Keep your eyes on me.”

You reach between your bodies, middle finger sliding over your clit. You had already been so close and the first touch of your finger sets your body alight. Nick’s eyes are so focused on you—you’re short of breath and so fucking close.

“Nicky,” you gasp, reaching out for him with a free hand. He leans down to kiss you, the most gentle thing you’ve felt all night. Throwing your head back, you feel your orgasm reaching its peak. Your eyes meet Nick’s again. “Cum on my cock, sweet girl. Cum for me,” he says as it washes over you.

Nick is pulling out, then, jerking his cock once, twice, three times before his cum is covering your tummy. You always love the way it feels.

They bracket your body. Noah gathers some of Nick’s cum on his fingers, sucking them into his mouth. Nick’s eyes unfocus before he leans over you, licking into Noah’s mouth.

They focus back on you, Nick speaking up. “I’m sorry you felt neglected tonight, sweetheart. I shouldn’t have done that to you,” Nick starts, thumb grazing over your cheek. “If it happens again, you can just tell me, all right? You don’t need to act out.”

“I’m sorry I embarrassed you, Nicky,” you respond, but he smiles and shakes his head, letting you know that you didn’t.

“Can I run you a bath?” he asks, and a bath does sound so nice right now, the warm water on your stinging and aching body.

“Can Noah come?” you ask, and Noah smiles into the skin of your neck, snorting. You’re glad you’d decided to go for the bigger tub.

“Of course he can,” Nick responds. “Noah always comes.”

#bad omens fic #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens rpf #nick ruffilo fic #nick ruffilo fanfiction #nick ruffilo rpf #nicholas ruffilo fic #nicholas ruffilo fanfiction #nicholas ruffilo rpf #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian rpf #nick ruffilo x reader #nicholas ruffilo x reader #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian x nicholas ruffilo x reader #deathblacksmoke works

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charlottecutepie · 10 months ago

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☥ Bunny meat (William Afton x fem!reader x Michael Afton)

Summary: He was a likeable middle-aged man who had wonderful children, his dream job and a beautiful wife. He never blamed himself for his own actions, or to be more exact, he never thought about their consequences.

author notes: thank u so much guys for supporting my story, means a lot to me! <3 have some Michael in this chap, we get closer to some spicy things :)

tags: darkfic, unhealthy relationship, angst, smut with plot, p in v, dubcon, oral sex, rough and gentle sex, daddy kink, blood play, knife play, fear play, hurt/comfort, violence, gore/murders, child abuse, follows fnaf lore, moral and physical abuse, virginity kink, anxiety disorder, age gap, daddy issues, unreliable narrator, hallucinations, hidden pairing, William is sick, psychopathy, unhealthy narcissism

Chapter 4

Chapter 3. Carelessness

“But isn't Mrs. Afton waiting for you at home?” you asked awkwardly, swaying from one foot to the other.

“I warned her that I would be late,” he went into the kitchen of the house, looking around. “she's used to it.”

What's wrong with him? Why is he so cold towards his own wife?

“As i understand, after the death of your father, your mother still found a job?” he asked, brazenly sitting down at the table, as if it was his house. “I always knew she was a strong woman.”

You nodded nervously and smiled, still standing in the hallway. You wanted to show your hospitality, as your mother raised you, but for some reason you movements were hampered by annoying anxiety. In fact, you were also terribly tired after a such evening, but somehow you didn't want to leave Afton alone, and besides, that's not how your mother taught you, you need to show politeness.

“Maybe tea?” you blurted out.

William immediately turned his head at you, surprised at such cute initiative.

“I wouldn't mind.” overcoming fear, you went into the kitchen, pouring water into the kettle. You put it on the stove. Time passed agonizingly long, the silence between the two of you was horrible. “How are you doing with school? How are the exams?”

“Everything's fine, I passed the exams perfectly.” finally the kettle boiled. “What kind of tea will you have?”

“Green, please.” you nodded and put the tea to brew. When everything was ready, you served a hot drink on the table, sitting down opposite Afton. He continued to ask questions related to your studies and further plans for the future. To some extent, you were grateful to him, his voice, questions, moralizing about the future, all this helped to distract from unnecessary thoughts. “You know, Y/n… you are a very beautiful girl.”

“Thank you, Mr. Afton.” hot tea scalded your throat, just like his words.

“No need for such formalities. Just call me William.” Afton smiled slightly, getting up from the table, heading in your direction. You don't know what drove you, but all the fear and anxiety were replaced by curiosity about his next actions, maybe it was alcohol you drank at your bday? “It's so nice to see how you turned from a cute little girl into a beautiful young lady.” the kitchen became stuffy, unbearably hot. You felt dizzy, but not because of the high temperature of the air, no. Because of his compliments. “Such… Silky hair, delicate features…”

His words don't cause disgust or antipathy, on the contrary — you want him to continue praising you. You want to lose myself in this gentle flattery.

“I appreciate your words.” you answered timidly, getting up from the table and going to the sink. William was standing next to you all this time, leaning on the kitchen counter, watching you wash the mugs.

“Surprises don't end there.” he purred, already behind your back. His voice sent goosebumps all over your body. “I wanted to give you this one personally.” with these words, he put a cute necklace on your neck.

…

Around five in the morning, Mr. Afton returned to his house. Getting out of the car, he looked at the seat where you was sitting and smiled.

Mrs. Afton was in the living room, she was sitting on the couch watching TV, the woman's eyes were sleepy, and she herself was falling into a doze. From the sound of the open front door, she instantly cheered up and went out into the hallway to her husband.

“Hi, you're a little late this time.” Clara spoke.

“Sorry,” he muttered, not even looking at her. He walked into the living room, falling wearily onto the sofa. “just some problems with animatronics.”

The blonde woman sat down next to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Michael and Elizabeth are sleeping…” she whispered softly, looking up at her husband. William put his arm around her, his gaze going somewhere past the TV. The woman's arms wrapped around his neck and she reached out for a kiss. Afton behaved insensitively, doing almost nothing in response and showing no initiative. Clara pulled away, her lips going down to the man's chin and neck.

“Clara, not now.” he was off and rude, Afton removed his wife's hands from his neck and got up from the sofa. “I'm going to rest, I'm pretty exhausted, it's been a long day.” he said dryly and disappeared from her field of vision.

…

July 16.

Finally, you and Michael got to hang out. However, Elizabeth wanted to go with you too, she tearfully asked her brother to take her with him. Gritting his teeth, he did it, otherwise he would have received a scolding from his mother.

“Y/n, did you bring a swimsuit?” Michael asked, spreading a blanket on the bank of the river.

“Mmm… no, you didn't say we were going to swim.” you answered, taking out some fruits and a bottle of orange juice from your backpack.

“Well, that's even better.” Michael grinned, you only rolled your eyes at him. Yeah, now it's clear why they say that girls are smarter than boys.

You sat down next to the river, enjoying the beauty around. The singing of birds and buzzing of bees, boundless blue sky, bright sun and green forest nearby created an incredibly cozy atmosphere. You lay on your stomach, trying to finish reading your favorite book, while Michael was telling you about his adventures again. You and him are absolute opposites. He is a sunny, active, curious guy, who loves to skip school and cheat on school tests. And you're a quiet, shadow girl who always gets A's. But something about this guy interested you, no, it wasn't a crush, but he was always so lively, so positive that it couldn't help but cause a smile.

Elizabeth was somewhere nearby, playing in the water.

Michael called your name, but it looks like you were too immersed in the plot of the story.

“Hey!” he playfully took the book away from you, showing you his tongue in a teasing manner. “Give it back!”

“Catch me!” with a laugh, he rushed away to the river.

Michael had nothing to lose, because he wasn't interested in such a hobby as reading, and he was dressed in a t-shirt and shorts, and it was so hot outside that his clothes would have dried in literally an hour.

“Michael, give me the book!”

“And where is the magic word?” he kept teasing you.

You got angry when you realized that you could play with him like that for an eternity, and it wouldn't do any good. Michael was already knee-deep in water, you took off your sneakers, throwing them and socks somewhere to the side. A little more, and you will take away your book, but at some point everything went wrong, the bottom of the river was slippery because of the clay, you couldn't stand on your feet as you fell into the water. The whole situation was so absurd that it didn't cause anger, but on the contrary — laughter and fun. You pulled Michael's leg, and he fell into the water after you. Elizabeth laughed watching you.

Teenage foolishness knows no bounds, you and Michael were carelessly splashing in warm water. You completely forgot about the raw book that was floating somewhere on the surface next to you.

“Mikey, it's getting dark, I'm cold.”

All wet, cold, but happy, you were sitting on a blanket, enjoying a bright summer sunset. The sun was sinking smoothly below the horizon, dusk was approaching.

“Take my hoodie,” Michael took clothes out of his backpack, handing them to Elizabeth. “Y/n, and what time do you need to be home?”

“I don't know, but definitely not by one o'clock in the morning.” you laughed, Michael jokingly pushed you in the shoulder. “What are your plans for the rest of the summer?”

“Spend it with you, of course.” he giggled, but when he saw your serious look, he froze. “Oh, well, actually none. Only to help father in the pizzeria…”

You sighed, watching the last warm rays of the sun. With the onset of darkness, the wind and cold came. You hugged your shoulders to keep warm.

Michael's gaze by accident fell on the halo of your nipples, which hardened from the cold air. He blushed, scolding himself for his own stupid thoughts, but his hormones are boiling like mad.

“Y/n, I …” Michael began, but immediately regretted, because of the embarrassment his voice sounded so ridiculous. He moved closer to you. Elizabeth was snoring sweetly, wrapped up in his hoodie. “I wanted to say that…”

“Michael? Henry told me you were at the pizzeria with him.”

Michael's eyes widened with fear, Elizabeth instantly woke up, turning her head to her father. Afton was standing right behind you with his hands on his hips. How could you not hear the sounds of his footsteps and car?

#william afton smut #fnaf x reader #steve raglan x reader #fnaf william afton #fnaf x y/n #michael afton x reader #michael afton #fnaf smut #william afton x reader #william afton imagines

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heyhilana · 1 year ago

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Yoga (Agent Whiskey)

Summary: The day before your mission, you go to the workout room for a stretching session. But when Jack follows behind you, he alters those plans faster than you can wrap your head around.

A/N: Hi lovelies! Sorry for no stories in a while, but I had to unplug for a little bit and not think about writing so much since it was becoming a little stressful. I appreciate all the support you guys gave me while I took my time, and I hope to stay more consistent for the fall/winter season. <3 As always, I hope you enjoy and make sure to drink water! :)

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x !f reader

Warnings: Squirting, p in v (unprotected, but hey, we don't encourage non-safe sex around here), mentions of titty fucking, mentions of male masturbation, blowjob, cunnilingus, fingering, overstimulation (like...a lot, so sue me), use of the word daddy (look the man is fine it slips).

Word Count: 5.2k (I'm not gonna even explain myself this time)

1 day left.

It rang in your head constantly as you walked down the hallway with your yoga mat and bag, gearing up for another session to prepare for your mission. While most of it was routine, the part that required more expertise was flexibility in getting through all the lasered areas. That scared you more than anything, knowing that one trip on the laser would result in a lost limb and a botched mission.

You knew this as the political official was paranoid, to say the least, and made every room lined with lasers that were not able to be disabled unless the official’s phone was cloned and decrypted or you were able to get to the control panel to disable them all. Getting ahold of his phone would be impossible given it was his lifeline in his corrupt work, which left the route of accessing the control panel as you possessed more flexibility out of everybody in your division, making you perfect for the job.

So, while everyone in your field told you that you would be fine, it did nothing to calm your nerves and allow you a day of rest before the mission, leading you to make a right to the next hallway, the workout room straight ahead with enough space for you to practice your flexibility training. One of your colleagues, Nicari, came up behind you as she was headed in a similar direction.

“Going to do some yoga?” She asked, her eyes drifting down to what was in your hand.

“Yeah. I can’t go on this mission if I can’t work my way through the laser rooms. From what Ginger says, there’s at least five, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the control panel area had an extra set of lasers, too.” You answered.

“But you’ve been doing it for a month now. At this rate you’re going to be our contortionist around here.” She joked, hand running through her hair.

“Isn’t that the goal?” You half questioned and joked, with Nicari laughing in response. “But this is necessary for me to do. You know I like to be 1000% ready for anything that may be thrown my way.”

“That’s one of the traits I hope the newcomers have around here. But have a good session.” Nicari wished for you.

“Good luck with your training.” You wished her well as she walked past you, and you walked down the hall. You reached and opened the door, and you saw that it was completely empty, a sigh of relief escaping your lips as you had at least an hour before the rush of agents would come in for their training. You laid your mat on the ground near the mirrored area of the room and placed your bag in the corner.

You did your quick stretches, rolling your neck and getting the blood flowing through your arms and legs before sitting on your mat to work more on your leg stretches. You moved your legs up, bringing them into a butterfly position to start off. You heard the door open, but your eyes were closed as you fluttered your legs.

“Hey. I have this room all to myself until 2.” You spoke, trying to determine who it was based on the boots creaking against the floor.

“Does that mean I can’t join you, sweetheart?” The honeyed voice that you loved echoed through the room.

You opened your eyes and saw Jack in a casual outfit, the grey sweatpants surprising you. Loose yet form-fitting enough to make your eyes wander more than you should’ve. Given how cold it was in the Statesman building, he also had a jacket on. Jack didn’t comment on your staring, but you knew he noticed it.

“You can join me. More than enough space in here,” You responded, albeit trying to keep your tone even.

“I won’t distract you.” Jack promised, but knowing how you were when you were around him, a distraction was inevitable.

Jack closed the door behind him, and you closed your eyes again, trying to center yourself while you felt goosebumps rise along your arms. You attempted to clear your mind, but it was to no avail, a sign that the rest of your session would be filled with an inability to focus on the tasks at hand. Before switching to a tabletop pose, you fluttered your legs to get the blood going. You were rounding and arching your back in fluid motion until you looked up and saw Jack taking off his jacket, revealing his white short-sleeve shirt that was form-fitting, tight around his biceps.

“How are you doing over there?” Jack asked, discarding his jacket near his bag and looking at you in a compromising position.

“I’m doing good. Just getting started.” You watched Jack start his dynamic stretches as you leaned back into a half split, feeling your hamstrings loosen up and the stretch burning. But the burn in your leg was nothing compared to the burn in your core as Jack’s shirt lifted up, a glimpse of what lay underneath it and a happy trail that quickly burned into your memory.

“If you need my help, just ask.” You could ask for his help in a few ways that would lead to your flexibility being used. But you pushed those thoughts into the back of your mind since it was not the time to let your fantasies run wild.

“I appreciate it, and the same goes for me.”

You switched legs and felt the burn intensify in your tighter leg, finding yourself stopping short in your extension as you could only go so far. But then the thought of Jack’s hands wrapped around your legs, helping you stretch but inching closer to your thigh, spreading you a bit, was etched into your mind. It would be instinctive to spread more for him, explore your canvas, and draw with his fingers on the areas he loved the most. His touch would be forever ingrained into your memory longer than you would admit. But it didn’t sound all that bad. In fact, the thought of his big hands splayed on your body, finding your pressure points to make you melt, eliciting short gasps. Wanton sounds from deep in your belly, and your desire growing deep in your core all sounded wonderful, even if it led down a road that would make you cut your yoga session short.

And while you were having a war with self-control, Jack was having the same battle, only he was losing more than you were. Oh, how he couldn’t take seeing your soft, supple body in such angles that he wished to put you in. When you laid down on your back, and Jack saw you spread your legs wide with your hands holding your feet to stretch further, it took everything in him to not walk over there and push your legs behind your head. Jack was well aware of your flexibility, which proved to further his imagination on the nights with a tight grip around his dick, jutting his hips up into his hand, perspiration glistening his skin, and the slip of your name escaping his lips with ease as he got closer with each stroke. Dreaming about you in every way, Jack was sure that if you heard one of his ideas, you would turn red in the face. But all Jack wanted to see was your flushed face underneath him, legs pinned on your sides, and him buried deep inside you, intertwining his fingers with yours as he praised you repeatedly for taking him so well. And while Jack was sure that he would be coming on too strong if he walked over to you now, you were convinced that if you heard that phrase from him, you would come undone in mere seconds following.

“Do you need some help?” Jack asked, seeing that you had now switched to downward dog and struggled to get a deeper stretch.

“Y-Yeah, I wouldn’t mind.” Your voice was strained as you tried moving your heels down to the ground but to no avail.

Jack walked over and was near your side, unsure where to go. “Do you want me to guide you down this way?”

“You can try, but if you need to be behind me, it's okay.” Jack hummed in response, placing his hands around your stomach.

He pulled you down slowly as your heart began to race, trying to ignore how it felt to have him touch your exposed skin. Your heels gently touched the ground, but you knew the pull from behind would be better.

“I think it would be better if you were behind me. I might be able to get my heels down to the ground that way.”

Your heels would be off the ground by now, Jack thought to himself. But he moved to the back, and his hands drifted down to your hips, pulling you in more. The pull made you gasp, and his grip felt like heaven. Still, you were determined to get out of this alive despite your decisions that brought you into this situation.

Jack pulled you towards him, ensuring he moved back so you would not feel his sweatpants. He looked away to try to save himself from looking at you from above, but the view in the mirror across the room proved to be better, making him want to pull you in more than he should.

Fuck, I shouldn’t be doing this. But she’s so pretty like this. So pretty for me. Jack’s thoughts were making his self-control disappear by the minute. But he returned to reality when your ass brushed against his crotch.

“Oh! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.” You didn’t realize how far you were moving until you felt him on you. And what pressed back onto you was unmistakable, making you want to do it repeatedly until you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Y-You’re all good, sweetheart.” He cursed at himself for having a hard-on now, leading him to think about the best excuse and relieve himself in his office. But then he caught a glance of your core, the little wet patch giving him all the confirmation he needed.

He moved closer to you ever so slightly, bringing your hips back to where he could press up on you. You weren’t sure what Jack was doing, but when you felt him brush against you again, you bit your lip hard to avoid a small whimper from escaping you.

“Is this a good enough stretch, darlin’?” Jack asked, and you could hear his voice change from a lighter tone to velvet, becoming music to your ears.

“It is, Jack. It feels really good.” You answered, the slight quiver in your voice making Jack smirk.

“You look so pretty like this, doll.” Jack was bold, fully pressing his hard-on against your core, making you struggle.

“T-Thank you, Jack.” Speaking seemed to take all your effort, especially when you would be moaning his name instead.

“And I just realized something about you,” He trailed off as his hand trailed down to grab your ponytail and bring you up from your position. You gasped, seeing both of you in the mirror as he grinded against your ass.

“What is it?”

“That you want me just as much as I want you, and if I were to fuck you right here on this mat, you wouldn’t stop me.” Jack looked at you in the mirror, and you saw he looked different from when he first walked in. The controlled, confident aura he had spiraled into lust because Jack couldn’t wait any longer. He was leaving kisses down your jaw and neck that made the hairs on your neck stand up, and chills run down your spine.

“Jack,” You couldn’t get the words out, and the look he gave you in the mirror was knee-buckling. “I need you right now. Please.”

You were unraveling for him with your breathless words and how you rubbed up against him like you always wanted to. With each brush of his dick up against you, you were soaking through your underwear when you wished you would be soaking him from tip to base.

“And I’m sure I need you more.” He mumbled against your neck. Each kiss was electrifying, his soft lips against your skin proving to be better than the last. But you needed his lips on yours desperately.

“Baby, I need your lips on mine.”

You were going into a daze and were confident that you would let Jack kiss you all over for an eternity if possible. But Jack obliged, letting go of you for you to turn around and kiss him without a second to spare. Haste, desire, and need were entwined in the kiss, with your hands going up to his neck to play with the ends of his hair and going down to pull you flush. You nibbled on his lip, earning a playful groan from him.

“And here I thought you were innocent,” Jack mumbled against his lips.

You smiled into the kiss, but you gasped shortly after when he gripped your ass and smacked it. It felt good to have Jack on you like this, grasping, pulling, and touching you in obscene ways that made their way into your daydreams with each passing minute. All you needed was to feel his bare skin against yours, and it seemed that Jack had the same idea as he let go of you to pull off his shirt. You did the same, following with your sports bra. Jack kissed down your chest, finding his way to your nipples with ease. He enjoyed seeing how swollen they were already, and the minute he licked your left, you squeezed your thighs together. Jack flicked and darted, taking his time teasing you, which frustrated yet excited you simultaneously. But the more you whined in frustration, the more it turned him on, with his hard-on growing more than when he daydreamed about you.

“Jack, please don’t tease me.” You begged, your hands moving to his hair to tug, gripping his locks and pulling, which made Jack grunt. It was strange, as he preferred pulling hair rather than his hair being pulled. But it was hot, your usual calm demeanor around him winding down to a needy state. Jack needed this, pushing him to suck and twirl his tongue around your raised nipple to elicit a savory sound from your lips that would make him throb. But he couldn’t help himself when he looked you in the eye as he lightly nipped, the unexpected sensation causing you to drip. With how soft your breasts were to the touch and taste, the thought of titty fucking you burned into his imagination. Seeing his dick slide in between your breasts, softness enveloping him, and you sucking the tip with your soft lips looking up at him. Fuck, he thought. Don’t wanna cum before I can feel her.

“Daddy-“ You gasped yet covered your mouth in embarrassment.

It slipped.

It fucking slipped.

Jack stopped immediately, eyes darkening more than before. Did he hear you right? That name, pure sin, slipped before you could catch yourself, yet he wanted to listen to it again.

“Say it again.”

“Daddy,” You tugged on his hair, bringing him dangerously close to cumming.

“That’s my good girl.” Jack praised as he got on his knees, which was a sight for sore eyes for you, given that he looked perfect down there. His eyes were locked on you, making you shy as his stare was intimidating. But as he kissed your stomach, adoring every roll and stretch mark with kisses and tenderness, you began to relax. Nothing felt out of place, him roughly pulling down your bottoms along with your panties, kissing your hips, inching closer to your dripping pussy only to move away to kiss your thighs. It was perfect, and as you stepped out of your bottoms with Jack’s help, you knew it would get better from here.

Jack tapped your thighs for you to spread them, and with his head slotted right between them, he could finally see what he did to you. From there, you realized that his lips were not just good for kissing when he reached your slit and kissed your clit gently, with enough pressure to make you clench your thighs. Jack pried them open with his hands, ensuring he was perfectly between pillowy softness and wasting no time tasting you. It was as if he was hungry, trying to gather as much of your slick on his tongue since he couldn’t get enough of you. Jack was convinced your taste was intoxicating as he enjoyed your sweetness. It only pushed him to suck on your clit and have you gush on his face, the added pleasure weakening your knees.

Your thighs were pressed against his head, tugging on his hair harder than before, whimpering his name along with a string of other profanities you prayed could not be heard through the walls. But Jack pulled off you, sensing you were struggling to stay upright. He helped you down, your back on your mat and your legs spread wide for him.

“You’re so soft, sweetheart. I could spend all day touching you, spending more time between these pretty thighs.”

Jack positioned his left hand on your stomach and his right hand right at your dripping hole, pushing two fingers in as he went back to sucking on your clit. The new sensation made you curl your toes, moving your hand up to your breast to cup it, twirling the nipple he sucked on as your head tilted back. But Jack didn’t take his eyes off of you. No, he wouldn’t dare miss the sight of you in pure ecstasy, hearing you whimper as he began his come hither motion with his fingers or the way you bit your lip to suppress a loud sound when he desperately wanted to hear it in his bedroom. Seeing you get off was a new drug Jack couldn’t get enough of even if he tried.

But while you tried to wrap your head around how you were on your mat soaking Jack’s face and fingers, you felt a familiar build-up that made you see stars. Yet, it was stronger than before. The more Jack’s fingers rubbed up on your g-spot, the more you felt the urge to soak him.

Jack popped his head up from your thighs. “You a squirter, baby?”

“H-Haven’t tried yet.”

Your first time.

It rang in his ears as he picked up his pace, diving down again to suck on your clit. He wanted to give you every experience you never had, which would be the first of many. With the curl of his fingers one last time, you felt something gush out of you and land on his face and between your thighs. It was intense, making you feel lighter than air despite your labored breathing. Your thighs were firmly pressed against him, but it didn’t deter Jack from lapping up everything as much as possible, drowning himself in it because if that were a way to go, he would gladly take it.

Jack's tongue overstimulated you the more he was down there, whimpers free falling from your mouth and your legs shaking, but it was electrifying. He was undoubtedly skilled in this area, making you wonder how good it would feel to have him deep inside you. But once you started to move away, Jack finally came up for air, his face glistening in your elixir. He quickly pulled down his sweats and boxers, and when you saw what was poking you earlier, you had to take a breath. It was thick. His pink tip was throbbing uncontrollably with little pebbles of precum adoring it, a prominent vein running down the shaft, heavy balls that clearly needed to be drained, but most importantly, there was a curve to it. It was perfect, and despite your sensitivity down there, you needed to feel him.

“You like what you see?” He leaned down to where he was hovering over you by mere inches.

“I like it a lot, actually.”

Jack smiled at your honesty before kissing you, allowing you to glide your hands to his back. His hands trailed to your legs again, pushing them apart so he could slot himself between you. But you decided to surprise him with a special move you had been working on during your leisure. You pulled away from his intoxicating kiss to lift your legs up and behind your head. The move surprised yet excited Jack more than he could explain. He knew you were flexible but never dreamed you could do that.

“You’re just full of tricks, huh?” He asked, and you smiled innocently at him.

“Maybe, but you’re just gonna have to see what else I have in store.”

“I can’t fucking wait.” Jack rubbed the tip of his dick on your glistening pussy, precum mixing with your juices to gather enough for him to slide in easily. But each brush of the tip on your clit made you jump, given how sensitive you were. But it didn’t deter Jack, rather, it encouraged him to keep doing it, and when he started to slap the tip on your clit, you knew he was being a tease.

“Please fuck me already. I can’t take anymore teasing.” You begged.

“I’m gonna need you to ask correctly, darlin’.” Jack dragged the tip down to your hole but didn’t inch forward.

“Daddy, please fuck me.”

“That’s my good princess,” He mumbled before pushing in slowly. You gasped as he pushed the tip in, and with each inch that followed, you could feel the stretch intensify. It was a little too much, but Jack kissed your forehead to calm you down. “I promise to go slow, baby.”

“It’s okay.” You told him and tried to relax while he pushed in further. But for him, he was trying to not cum early based on how tight and wet you were. You were perfect in how you felt, and it took everything in him to not move in and out of you until you were ready. He kissed as a distraction, getting the last inch in to make you moan in his mouth. You felt impossibly full, the tip curved right against your spot, and your walls began to flutter around him. The discomfort subsided after a moment passed, with you getting lost in the kiss since if there was one thing you enjoyed from what you learned today, it was finally knowing that Jack lived up to his persona in every way imaginable.

You pulled away and brushed the hair out of his face. “You can move.”

He obliged, pulling out a little faster than how he pushed in and going back in, the stretch feeling better the second go around. But his strokes stayed intentionally slow yet deep, with Jack losing himself in how it felt to be inside you. Heaven would be one word to put it in his mind and coupled with the view he had of you, eyes looking up at him, your breasts bouncing, and a perfect view of how your pussy opened up for him, there wasn’t much else he could ask for.

“Baby, you’re taking me so well. Such a pretty girl for me.” Jack praised, and you loved every word that flew out of his mouth. It went straight to your head, and the fullness you felt in each stroke was stoking the fire that was building inside you the moment he touched you.

“That’s it, baby. Hold your legs up for me, just like that.” He leaned back up to get a better view, and a muttered curse followed as he almost came from that sight, making him thrust faster and tilt you up so he could see your spot perfectly. You enjoyed the new angle, feeling yourself pulse around him and slowly going over the edge with each deep stroke Jack gave you. It was riveting; your mind focused on nothing but this moment, and only were you brought back into reality when you felt the need to let go.

“You gonna squirt again on my dick, baby? Make another mess for me on the mat.” Jack cooed, and when he thrusted inside you again, you were in pure ecstasy. You couldn’t hold it, squirting again for him, which encouraged him to fuck you through it, making your eyes roll back as it felt like you were going forever.

“That’s it. Love it when you let go for me.” He lowered you back on the mat and moved his hand up to move the hair out of your forehead to kiss it. You came down, and you could look at him as he moved back up, and you couldn’t get enough of the sight. You loved how he looked at you, how turned on he was by you. It was even hotter to see how much he was enjoying you, his grunts and moans making you throb. But the moment you looked down and saw how he slid in and out of you, you fluttered around him more.

“You like watching me slide in and out of you?” He asked as he moved his hand to your clit, rubbing light circles. “Watching me fuck this pretty pussy of yours makes you so wet that you can’t help yourself.”

“Please don’t stop.”

“Oh, I’m not gonna stop,” He promised as he rubbed faster circles. “In fact, you can give me one more right? I know you can, princess. Just one more for me.”

You were overstimulated for sure, but there was something about the low tone in Jack’s voice, the pet name, or maybe a combination of today’s events that pushed you to keep going. It was a chant in your mind one more time. One more time of making a mess for him, one more time of finally getting what you wanted. That thought set you off, your legs shaking, so you had to move them from behind your head. It washed over you from head to toe, and your moans that brushed upon becoming screams would stay in Jack’s mind forever.

Jack was amazed by it all. To experience this with you and bring you to this point of ecstasy and overstimulation was a dream that he thought was too far-fetched until now. But seeing you like that only convinced him he had to do this again with you for as long as possible.

“Fuck, baby. You’re so tight.” He grunted as he thrusted into you sloppily, his orgasm nearing by the second.

“Please cum for me. Please, daddy.” You could feel he was holding on by a thread, and you wanted to set him off as he did for you.

“Baby, where can I cum?”

“You seem to like these a lot,” You grabbed your breasts to give him a show with a smirk on your face.

Jack didn’t think twice before pulling out and stroking himself right over your breasts. He came within a few strokes, and the thick ropes of cum that followed you wished were deep inside you to fill you up to the brim. It was a mess, and when you swiped some of his cum on your finger to taste it, you swore you saw another drop of cum drip from the tip as he was fixated on you tasting him. The taste was salty, as expected, but you wanted more.

You took another swipe on your chest, licking and sucking to torture him further until it was all up; all the while, Jack’s chest was heaving from cumming so hard. But what made him overstimulated was when you leaned up to kiss and then suck the tip. His hand moved to grab your hair, him biting his lip so hard he could draw blood. You weren’t sure how far you could take it before you needed to stop, but Jack didn’t seem to mind when you took more of him in your mouth, the stretching tugging at your lips, but you paid no mind.

“F-Fuck, baby. You feel incredible everywhere.” His tone wavered from confident and dominant to inching closer to whimpering, and you had him right where you wanted him. It pushed you to take more, testing your limits given his fortunate size. But when your hands reached his balls, playing with them as you deepthroated him, there was no going back. Jack’s grip on your hair tightened, and he thrusted into your mouth as he was sure you could take him.

“Such a pretty slut on your knees for me.” Jack looked down to see you, smiling at how pretty you looked. You knew he was close when he began to tense up, prompting you to suck faster and swirl your tongue when you could, humming and making him twitch in your mouth. Jack couldn’t take it anymore, spilling down your throat and holding you there to take it. More ropes of cum painted your throat, and when Jack finally let go of your head and pulled out of your mouth, you swallowed it while looking at him.

“You want to put me in an early grave I suppose?” He jokingly asked.

“Maybe. But I want to wait before I do that.” You answered as Jack got back on his feet. You tried to do the same, but you wobbled, earning a laugh from him.

“Seems like it’ll be a while before you can do that.” He teased as he put his hand out to help you up. You took it, and he guided you off the floor so you could get dressed.

“I think you need my towel considering what I did to your breasts.” Jack wiped you down gently to ensure you were clean, and when he saw a dribble on your bottom lip, he kissed it off you. You wanted more, but he pulled away, finding his clothes to put them back on.

“Well I didn’t get my routine in but I think you helped me for tomorrow.” You put on your clothes slowly, trying to keep your balance.

“I think this was better than any stretching routine you had in mind.”

“Yeah, but now my legs are jelly.” You told him as you struggled to get your pants on. Jack was halfway dressed when he helped you, getting you dressed in record time before you heard the knock on the door.

“It’s time already?” Jack asked.

“Yeah. I better get out of here before I hear Bourbon’s god awful playlist.”

“It’s not that bad.”

You shot a look at him. “It is definitely that bad. There’s a reason why they don’t allow him to play his music at the Christmas party.”

“Point taken.”

You both grabbed your things and walked out, but Jack grabbed your hand and didn’t look back at the men who were whistling. Ginger Ale was walking down the hall when she saw you both, and the smile on her face was indeed causing trouble.

“Done playing hard to get?” Ginger asked you.

“I was not.” You answered and acted as though you were offended.

“You were, but it’s okay.” Jack interjected.

You turned your head to look at him. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because I got you and that’s all I wanted.”

#lanawrites #pedro pascal #pedropascal #lana things #pedro pascal fanfiction #agent whiskey smut #agent whiskey x reader #agentwhiskey #agent whiskey #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels #jack whiskey daniels

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bimbos-are-angels · 4 months ago

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Scream for me? pt. 2

AN: Hey guys! Back with the part 2, thank you all for your continued support! If you enjoy, consider reblogging please!

Pt. 1 Here: https://www.tumblr.com/bimbos-are-angels/758029823922880512/scream-for-me?source=share

CW: Dead Dove, Obvs MDNI, Kidnapping, Mentions of toxic behavior, Kidnapping, P in V, BJ, Unprotected Sex.

With labored breaths, you walked backward towards the stairs to make a quick escape.

“Darling- Don’t run away from me now… That’s just not polite” Your intruder slowly muttered, words getting muffled behind his white mask.

“Get the fuck away from me you freak” You spat back.

In a flash, he had you knocked to the floor, and stood above you. He had such a proud stance it was difficult for you not to feel scared.

“You’re smart-” He knelt. “- A clever girl like you has to be rewarded for figuring out my little game.”

After having the wind knocked out of you and coughing for a bit, you finally were able to get on your knees to look up at him.

“Who the hell are you? What the hell is going on?”

“Shh- You’ll find out soon enough.”

He grabbed you by your hair, and then yanked you to your feet. Feeling a cold object hit your lower back, you had to listen to his every request and command. “Walk” You quickly scurried to match this intruder's speed. He opened the door to his car, and pushed you into the passenger's side. The man got into the driver's side, turned on the car, and drove away in a flurry. After an hour of driving, you had fallen asleep because of how late it was. However, you woke up quickly to the sound of a car door slamming shut, and the man opening yours to guide you into a small cabin. Unaware of your surroundings, you shook with fear and intrigue.

“Do you recognize me?”

“You’ve got a mask on dumbass.” You snarkily replied. You heard a muffled chuckle. Taking his mask off, you did recognize him. You had worked with this guy.

Dan… Danny.

He was a quiet guy, kept to himself. You would be lying if you didn’t have a small work crush on him. He was so dedicated to his work. You would find yourself staring at him as he rolled up his sleeves and wrote with such devotion. The way he would push back the hair in his face as he intently stared at his work. The one time you two worked on a case together, he brought you coffee every morning. You wish you had gotten to know him better, but you assumed that he was the type to care more about his work than any woman he would be with.

“Danny… Right?”

You finally saw his face, and you were met with a small smile that crept from his lips. He slowly trudged up to where you were standing and cupped your face with his large hands.

“Nice job. I wouldn’t expect any less from you, you still have that smart brain and witty mouth I love.” You felt your face get hot.

“I’m sorry it had to come down to this my darling- I couldn’t get you out of my head and I wanted to see you work your sweet little head off one last time.” Every word he said to you trickled out of his mouth like honey. It felt real and genuine. He kissed you and you felt yourself kissing him back. Moaning when his hands traveled down to your hips and ass, he groaned and moved down to kiss your neck and collarbones. Danny stopped for a second to see your reaction- and he nearly lost it when he saw your slack face and seductive eyes staring up back at him. Pushing you down to your knees and unbuckling his belt, he groaned

“Suck me off."

You were shocked by his dick, it was...huge. You struggled to fit his whole length into your mouth, but you slowly were mesmerized by the fluid motion of sucking him off. He began to twitch and grab your hair with one hand to 'comfort you' and he covered his mouth with the other hand. When he finished, he was a whimpering mess. You took off your pants, thinking that if he was going to use you, you wanted to finish what he had started. Sitting in his lap, you slowly took in his length. As you bottomed out, you let out the most gorgeous moan that he had ever heard. He needed you... he had killed for you... and he would do everything in his power to keep you in his life forever. Fucking into him- you rocked your hips up and down in an erratic motion. When your hips started to hurt, he took over and began to pump into you over and over. Before he came, he looked into your eyes- your bloodshot and tired eyes. Gripping your ass, he finished inside and then collapsed beside you. The exhaustion had finally taken you as you fell asleep next to him. He made a promise that night, that he would always protect you... even from a distance ♡

#slasher fucker #danny johnson #ghostface x reader #ghostface smut #ghostface

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mariamariquinha · 1 year ago

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Chilean, Camembert (Jonathan Levy x f!reader) - one shot

Summary: He was pathetic. Hot, but pathetic.

Word count: 8.225.

Warnings: Mentions about divorce, bad words, a few academic terms, alcohol (it's wine), p in v sex, rough sex, a little bit of angst, Jonathan is quite toxic but for the optimists he is trying, oral sex (female receiving) and... Yeah, guess that's it.

Author’s Note: I finished writing this and thought 'I should be taking care of two long fanfics I'm writing here', but this shit had been in my head for MONTHS and, just like Dave's, I had to write it just now because that's when I felt fit. It's my way. I love writing for characters that almost no one gives a shit about.

Enjoy!

(If there are any grammar mistakes, I'm sorry, but I'm lazy, tired and needed to post it).

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

****

He still had her scent on his neck and chest and face. It was an obvious realization, but one he didn't make until he was standing in front of that restaurant looking at your seated figure, one hand supporting your visibly tired face. He was late. Very late. And in a way, Jonathan could make an excuse over the phone and feel bad about it, but he still went there because he thought he could just be honest.

But her fucking scent was there. Probing, making explicit what had happened.

He stood motionless beside the car, coat tight between his fingers and a lump in his throat. You had asked the waiter for the bill, for the only glass of wine you must have sipped all night because you weren't a big fan of the drink. He knew that, but not because he asked – you said. You always said everything and did everything. You were the one who also asked him out for the first time, who kissed him for the first time, who led the whole exchange between you two. And the two of you weren't in a relationship, it hadn't even gone beyond an expected kiss after the third date, because you were patient and understood the moment he was going through. Still, Jonathan knew it was the last straw.

With more of that bitter feeling, he also saw you picking up your things and heading towards the exit. His phone vibrated at the same time you put yours to your ear, trying to talk to him for the fifth or sixth time. Jonathan didn't answer.

It was like a slap in the face, the way you lost the polite smile you'd given the hostess when you walked out the door and saw him there, in front of you, a street away. Your face wore a frown, a colder, more rational look, as you measured him from head to toe with a reticent step in that direction. It felt like you were figuring out where he'd been, what every detail of him meant; it scared him a little.

“Are you-”

There, after a few firmer, closer steps, Jonathan instinctively dodged your proximity, raising his hand just high enough for you to understand his reaction. Then, with a breeze, you became aware of the sweet aroma, the strange perfume that had an owner. From cold and rational, your eyes turned sad. You blinked a few times, swallowed hard. He kept that hand up and you stared at it, as if a wave of brutal realization had coursed through you. Jonathan was left to watch the scene in silence, relishing that bad feeling of having hurt you.

“I-”

“Nn-nn,” You interrupted, closing your eyes for a second and raising a single finger to stop him. He obliged. And then you opened them again, wet from tears you were holding back, looking right at him in a moment of braveness – one he could admire if it wasn’t for the circumstances. “Don't take it away from me. Don’t take… You don't have the right to reject me twice.”

There wasn’t a single part of him that felt strong enough to fight it, to say he could make it better, that Mira was a person from his past, that she hurted him enough for him to leave. But he couldn’t. He… couldn’t do it.

You recovered with a sigh and avoided looking at him as much as possible.

“I’ll go home. Forget my number, I don’t wanna be your friend, yada, yada, yada. You know, the usual.”

“We could talk about it.”

“We could? We could, Jonathan?”

Jonathan shut his mouth again.

“Just… Leave me alone, okay? For good.”

He didn't react when he saw you walking, steps slow as you kicked off your heels and walked the rest of the way to your car in bare feet. You looked back, just to watch the traffic on the street, and in that movement the two of you exchanged glances. You cried. Far from him, with distance, like stubborn tears that insisted on coming out. Tears Mira hadn't cried for him.

And he let it be.

****

The problem was in the details. He had the same gray hairs, the messily organized curls, the sweaters, the briefcase and the glasses, as if the last two years hadn't passed him by. There was Christmas, New Years, holidays; the same. You didn't hear if he was really divorced, if he was still with Mira, what Ava's custody rules were, how it affected him – Jonathan was the same.

Like before everything, you had fragments of him. That was a problem because these fragments made you fall in love before.

You had a boyfriend after him, a real one, who didn't have problems with an ex. His name was Charles. Honestly speaking, maybe Charles would have been a comfortable blanket and a hot cup of tea during a rainstorm, which was what you thought you had with Jonathan. And he was good. Indeed, a nice guy. He made you forget Jonathan, put a stone on what had happened and move on with your life.

But you were far away from that mess geographically and emotionally when it happened. In London, more precisely, participating in an important research group for your academic career, and Charles happened at that time. It was an incredible six months. When you came back, he just said that it wouldn't be ideal to maintain a long-distance relationship and you broke up. You had a good opportunity in Boston as a substitute teacher, a place on the Anthropological research team at Suffolk University and you stayed there without missing Charles much.

A year and a few months later, a friend from Columbia said they were putting together a new research team on Ancient Latin American communities, which was your area of expertise, and he had a good letter of recommendation if you were interested. Rahul, that very good and very necessary friend. One that could put you at the best and worst things of your life.

You couldn’t say you were in discomfort because of the lack of female researchers in the group except you, not even when, during a campus tour, someone asked you where you came from (which meant where you studied) and when you said you graduated from a public university. Rahul commented that it was better to say you were from Yale until they found out it was a lie.

“It's better to be called a liar than poor around here.”

And then you arrived at the moment that, curiously enough, was the worst of the day: finding Jonathan leaving the library, with his head lowered and eyes focused on a book. There was a possibility that you would go unnoticed, that you could process the discovery that he was in Columbia calmly, to take notice of those small details that didn’t change one bit, but it was at that moment that you also discovered that Rahul knew Jonathan well enough to make a point of 'introducing' you.

Among other qualities, he was always polite and cordial enough with anyone, no matter who they were. So when Jonathan looked up with a friendly smile, ready for a simple handshake and saw you, he retracted his hand a little, because damn, he really didn't even wait for Rahul to say your name before doing so.

“Good to see you, Professor Levy,” You said, professional as ever, searching for his hand for a normal handshake. No explosions, no butterflies in your stomach. It was just Jonathan.

“Do you know each other?” Rahul asked, obnoxious by the interaction and pointing between you two.

“Professor Levy was my mentor when I was working on my doctorate,” You explained. “He helped me to get that scholarship in the UK.”

“Oh. Small world, eh?”

He didn’t say a thing for a long moment, even after you smiled at Rahul and nodded, going along with his comment to throw the ball to Jonathan. Nothing. He frowned, lips pulled in thin lines, and then, just then, when you cleared your throat and averted your gaze, that he blinked a few times, finally engaging.

“... I thought you were in Boston.”

Wow. It sounded like another rejection, from the tone of his voice and the way he watched your face. You felt your neck burning, your cheeks tickling in embarrassment. Good for you, Rahul did all the explanation, gaining Jonathan’s interest really fast and really naturally. From time to time, while your friend would come and go to extend that story more than necessary, you could see him giving you glances from time to time, as if to make sure you were still there.

By the time that whole lecture ended, full of an adventure you didn’t really live in real life, Jonathan turned to you.

“I hope we can have the opportunity to catch up now that you're here,” He said with a small smile, head tilted to the side. “You’re living nearby?”

“She-”

“I didn’t find a place yet,” You interrupted Rahul before he could say anything stupid. “And I don’t want to interrupt your work hours, professor. It’s Columbia, I would be really naive to think you’re not busy.”

“I could always find time to talk with an old friend,” You both smiled falsely, clearly with different intentions. You wanted that conversation to end, Jonathan wanted to pretend something.

“Sure thing,” With a sigh, you raised your eyebrows and looked back at the library doors, pointing at it. “Can we go now?”

Finally – finally – Rahul noticed that you wanted to leave, opening his mouth like a dead fish before nodding, all the while smiling exaggeratedly.

“Yep. Library. Library! Sure, we should-” He pointed at the doors as well, already pushing you to keep walking. “See ya later, Levy?”

“Mm-hm,” Jonathan nodded, another glance in your direction. “Good to see you again.”

“Same.”

Which wasn’t true, but you couldn’t tell exactly what you felt at the idea of coming back to that… interaction. He seemed nonchalant, a little taken aback but relaxed enough or mature enough to not make it a big deal, which was good. Fine. Cool. Of course you didn’t feel anything, whatever happened in the past was in the past. If you looked back and saw him doing the same (and had that feeling on the pit of your stomach), you both were just shocked by the surprise.

Right?

****

The mirror of the bathroom was fogged when you left the shower, making you clean it a little to avert your blurry reflection. Beside the mirror, big enough to see more than just your face, you saw a pair of boxers and a dirty shaver.

Rahul wasn't the best of the hosts. You really would need to find that apartment soon, just like you mentioned earlier to-No. No, no Jonathan.

“You two fucked, right?”

Rahul didn’t even wait for you to enter the bedroom, throwing himself on your bed and looking at you suspiciously.

“Rahul…”

“Na-ah, don’t come with that shit. It’s a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question.”

You sighed, scratching the back of your neck and sitting beside him, feeling his body adjust on the mattress to be side by side. One of the last things you wanted was to go into detail about this kind of thing with him, and that was always a promise you had a hard time keeping, but you knew it wouldn't last long: Rahul was too curious and perceptive to just let it go.

“Remember that guy I was seeing before flying to London?”

“Yep. The one with the ex and-" He stopped himself. "Shit."

"Mm-hm."

"He never sold himself as an asshole."

"I don't think he is a natural asshole," You pointed out, even if you already said that to him back in the day, when Jonathan was just a guy without a name or a face or an office beside his. The reaction was the same, though: he tsked, shaking his head in disbelief, saying you were stupid for thinking like that, that you were 'too good with everyone'.

"He may be quite a catch, honey, but he's still an asshole. A jerk, at least."

"Mm…" You hummed, shrugging a little.

"And since he's the guy from before, you two didn't go to the finals then, right?"

"No, we didn't," For some reason, that made him scoff. "Why? Trying to push your luck?"

"... He's still hot."

That made you laugh for the first time since the topic flowed between you two. A relief, at best, since it could make Rahul relax and, at best, not bring this subject to Jonathan.

“You have a bad habit of going after straight guys.”

“Well, you too.”

And that made you laugh too, even though you had the impression that Jonathan wouldn't be just something to make jokes about.

****

Rahul lived close to the campus, close enough to walk everyday to work. You just noticed it was a great privilege when you moved from his apartment not even two weeks later, because suddenly what seemed like 'just a few blocks' turned into a bunch of whining from you.

The price of your new place was quite high because, well, it was New York, so you ended up looking for a side job like you did in Boston and got some particular classes. All of this brought a routine for you. In the morning: gym, then work. Then lunch. Then work again. Then avert Jonathan every chance you got. Then go to Mr. Hastings house (where he has this weird nerdy son called Dylan) and give the young boy History and Sociology lessons. Then, finally, go back home, shower, scroll through your phone during dinner and avert that notification from Facebook suggesting that you should be friends with Jonathan because he was around the area.

It started to bother you. Jonathan wasn't chasing, not like in a stalker way, but the comfort idea that Columbia was a big university (big enough to make him less of a problem) started to fade and you knew that, if it really started to poke, like a petulant child, like Dylan Hastings, you should think of a better way of dealing with the situation. Given the circumstances, it seemed like those two years, from Europe to Charles, were all a big run from the fact that you're still hurt from what happened.

Jonathan didn't move a finger to get closer or force a conversation. Still, you knew that if you hesitated for even half a second, he would be there with his air of intelligence, strong aroma of coffee and a masculine lotion that he certainly used on his beard or on the days he decided to make his hair tidier. You noticed, there was no way not to. He walked more confidently than when all that happened, but Jonathan was never smug or showy, so it was just like he walked around without sulking. That was new to you. When you two met, he certainly didn’t show anything but remorse and a small sense of… comfort? Of fucking trying?

By the end of his second month at Columbia, Jonathan was just someone to look away from. Nothing else. And if you had to work up your strength to keep it that way, so be it.

“I don't know if you'll find what you're looking for there.”

You turned abruptly to the side, seeing him standing in the middle of that corridor, both hands on his pockets and a small smile on his face. It wasn’t suffocating, the way he stood there in a safe distance with his shoulders relaxed and that New Balance dad’s shoes, but with two high shelves of books surrounding you, you just felt a little out of breath.

“... It says British Literature,” You pointed at the entry of that corridor, where you saw the sign.

“Yeah, but I didn't know this would be in your search grid.”

“And you’re right,” A nod, then your eyes went back to the books. “What I'm looking for isn’t for me.”

“Oh.”

“It’s for Dylan.”

“Dylan.”

“Dylan Hastings.”

He went quiet for a moment, but you didn’t give in to the curious desire to see what the expression on his face was.

“... Private classes, then?” Was what Jonathan asked after a beat, to which you nodded again. “For you to leave Boston and come here, I imagined that the offer at the Research Department would be more tempting.”

Indiscriminately, his comment made you a little annoyed, but you tried not to let it show. You weren't usually mean, it's just that maybe you always had the wrong dose of sarcasm and even indiscretion. Whether it was his intention or not, you seemed to try a little too hard not to be rude.

“You really seem bothered that I came here.”

“To the library?”

“To Columbia.”

You sensed him taking a small step closer, which made you retrieve in your spot. Jonathan sighed.

“I’m not.”

“Mm.”

“You deserve to be here. With your background and such.”

“I know.”

“Can you please look at me?”

It was your turn to sigh, defeated by a simple task of being polite even when you didn’t have any obligation to do so. When you gave in, turning your eyes to the man, you saw that he was serious, but not angry, as if just waiting to test what should be his side in the conversation.

He didn’t say anything for a moment or two, measuring your face while brushing his fingers on his bearded chin.

“... We can talk about what happened. I know this-”

“We can’t,” Not a question, not a small broken voice of sadness. You said it with an almost expressionless tone, arms crossed over your chest. Jonathan was surprised by the sudden interruption, blinking a few times.

Again, silence. And when he didn’t give any indication to fill it, to say something, you turned your eyes and body back to the shelf, arms dropping to your sides again.

“You always wanted to teach here,” He broke the silence again, this time not even needing to ask you to look at him. You did it right away, snapping your head in his direction.

Took you some seconds to understand what he meant.

“I honestly expect you to think I don't want to talk about this because I don't want to talk to you.”

Harsh, of course, but enough to keep him away. The sarcasm, the venom dripping from your voice, it should be more than a reason for Jonathan to put himself on his place, to be away from you, to just fucking forget it. He was doing just fine for two whole months, no one needed that drama again.

With that, he left, and you cursed yourself with closed eyes for feeling bad about it too.

****

“You know that's not the answer.”

“I would know if you told me.”

“If I told you, you would still not know and we would still be here.”

Dylan narrowed his sharp blue eyes at you, pursing his lips before looking back at the copy of Not Much Ado About Nothing.

“When I'm older, I'm going to pay people to give me answers.”

You looked around, seeing a Renoir on the left wall and a solid wood china cabinet right next to it.

“I'm sure you will,” And added: “I would be really happy if you shared some of your resources with me, tho.”

****

You thought about it a lot and knew that if you were thinking, it was because you had to decide what to do, which could include nothing. You could let the matter drop, make Jonathan forget everything and just carry on as if nothing had happened, which seemed prudent. Maybe 'doing nothing', maybe continuing to live and work your dream would be ideal. You loved being an ordinary person, who did ordinary things and didn't live within the limits of drama; you loved peace. But the problem was that, to 'do nothing', it was also necessary to do something, take a step, make a decision, and these were actions, even if they were silent withdrawals.

The research fund had increased circumstantially that semester. Your articles were doing very well and, at that time, you could hope, even from a distance, for a chance at leadership in your own line of research. Like good nerdy academics, the Department didn’t throw celebration parties, but directed the money towards purchasing new printers, updating books in the library and investing in publications in the university magazine or field research trips. They commented that it could frustrate you, being young and not being able to have coworkers with whom you would drink in questionable bars, but you always smiled and replied that it was okay, that you had already booked the clubs and drunk Uber rides for a past time.

And for some reason, this moment of good news, of positive points, made you stop there, with a cup of coffee in your hand and right in front of Jonathan's office.

He had to double-check that it was you who was standing there after you entered, closing his mouth before he could use the condescending tone of a teacher toward a student, lowering his expectations of meeting a desperate oil heir from his Dostoevsky classes for… you. And what would be you, standing there with an unreadable expression?

“... Good morning?” He asked, unsure, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

“Yeah, well, yes. Good morning.” You said. “I’m not gonna do a lot of small talk, that’s probably not the right place to do so, I just…”

Jonathan was blinking at you as if you had a second head, still confused by your appearance and probably by your rambling.

“I want to apologize for how I treated you the other day. At the library,” You words had a small effect on him, almost imperceptible. “It wasn't my right to act so harshly even if I disagreed with you.”

“I still think you were polite. I don't remember anyone telling me to fuck off in such a controlled manner.”

“Jonathan…” You scolded him with a sigh, averting your gaze from him with a head shake.

“No, please, I’m being serious. I deserved it.”

“That’s not the point,” You pressed. “It is, probably, but what I’m trying to say is that we could… put a rock on the whole situation and move on. We’re both adults, we can do that.”

He stared at you for another long moment, licking his lips and considering something inside his head. Then, calmly, he nodded, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. With small steps, you sat there, eyeing the papers splayed all over and then the way he leaned back in his own chair, relaxed.

“How was your search for the book in the British Literature session?” Jonathan asked casually, even grinning at the mention of your trip to the library.

“Good. I spent a lot of time looking for the damn book and then discovered that Dylan had an exclusive copy,” You rolled your eyes at the memory, crossing your legs to get comfortable. “But it was worth it. It's been a while since I read Not Much Ado About Nothing.”

“Oh, Shakespeare.”

“Mm-hm.”

“I thought you always found him quite boring.”

“I still do,” The comment made him smile more openly.

All of that calm atmosphere brought some sort of comfort, but you were still sitting on the edge of the chair, circling the elephant in the room while sipping on your coffee. After a moment, when he just took a deep breath and clearly left the ball in your room, you stared at your pants for a moment, thinking of a better way to start the topic.

“I won't ask what happened that night,” You started, having quite bitter flashes of the restaurant, the stares, even the pity from the waiter.

“You should.”

“Maybe, but I still prefer not to. What happened in your life isn’t my problem.”

He nodded. You knew that because when you raised your head, he was observing you quietly.

“I'm not with her anymore.”

It was strange that, for Jonathan, this was the most convenient thing to say, as if he had to give you an explanation of that, specifically. You took in the information with tight lips, brushing your fingertips on the coffee cup in your lap.

“... Mm.”

“But I shouldn't have been with her at that time,” He confessed. “I still loved her or thought I did, I don't know. There was just a lot going on at once and so we… That was the last time. With her.”

Again, you took the information, letting it flow in your insides. In fact, you were right to listen to any argument from him in the past. If he told you that back then, that night, the story would be more than something to forget and maybe you two wouldn’t even have that conversation.

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because it may not seem like it, but two years can give someone a lot of maturity,” A pause. “And you were always very firm in knowing what you wanted to deal with and what you didn't. When you decided you didn't want to hear about my shit, I realized that I didn't care about you as much as I should have. This was something you didn't deserve and I know that if you still have your reluctance towards me, I shouldn't force it.”

It didn't seem rehearsed, but thought out – there was a difference. It was thought of as a class he was teaching, as a subject he was aware of and just said, in an automatic, reflected thought. You used to have mixed feelings when he spoke to you like that before, and this time you realized it was no different. He wasn't patronizing you, but he wasn't being completely emotional either, which could be slightly incoherent for someone who was speaking his mind. You accepted anyway, because before you didn't have something very solid, not enough for such expectations, and this time the relationship was even less close.

“... Makes sense,” You all but nodded, taking another sip on your coffee. “Quite relieved that you gave it some thought.”

“I did. I care about that now.”

Whatever he meant, whatever his ‘care’ should mean at the moment, you waved off with rationality. Jonathan just didn’t want to feel even more bad about what happened, if he had hurt you – a young, naive woman. It could do things to him, a father, who wouldn’t want his daughter to face what you might've faced. Like fixing his early mistakes to have a word on the future, if necessary.

“Better late than never, right?” He tried after a beat.

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“No?”

“Nn-nn. I didn’t come here expecting you to put the same meaning on it as me.”

“And what was your meaning?”

The question made you squirm in your seat, just a little, just enough to notice that he knew you would react somehow. Still, you played it cool: shrugged, looked around.

“You were the hot professor coming off a messy divorce, Jonathan,” You said with a scoff. “That's basically the ideal guy recipe for any frustrated girl.”

“I never thought you were frustrated.”

“But you saw something,” With raised eyebrows, you said it for sure, a truth he would try to hide with kind words and a sense of regret. “You loved Mira and I never asked you to stop doing that. And you remember, don't you? When we kissed for the first time? I told you that you should only keep going if you were sure and you did it. You still smiled and said you wanted to do it the right way, take me to dinner and be a gentleman. The impression I got after that night was that you needed more time to fuck your ex again and make sure we weren't going to work out.”

It came out so naturally, tho, like you just organized all of the thoughts and insecurities and expectations you always had when it happened, that Jonathan just stared at you without a reaction, as if it was all new to him. Maybe it was. You labored such a huge crush on him back in the day, he was always more smart, more charming, more polite, more pretty – no one could even come close to what you created of him. And when he came to that restaurant smelling like a woman, smelling like Mira, you knew that Jonathan, the sexy professor with kind smiles and a toe curling kiss, was just a pathetic immature projection of a good man for you, one that you could invest in.

He just considered it as if he were giving something a bain-marie, calmly melting it so that it was right, warm but not hot. You stared back at him, expressionless and calm.

“This sounds more like frustration,” His voice came out, low and ashamed.

“Wouldn’t you say.”

Jonathan nodded, looking around his desk as if he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“... I'm only here because I knew what I was getting myself into. My naivety was to trust that you, at that moment, could lead to a fruitful relationship. It was the wrong time and yeah, okay, it happens. Everyone has one of these.”

“You still didn't want to talk to me about it.”

“Because the first thing you said when you saw me here was that I should be in Boston, like I was a fucking plague.”

“I didn’t mean that.”

“But implied. You looked like you just saw a ghost.”

“I was surprised.”

“... Really?” You sighed, brows raised in disbelief. He rolled his eyes at the teasing, but complied anyway.

“Shocked.”

“Yeah, that makes more sense.”

“Still.”

“Mm.”

“You’re just as pretty as you were two years ago,” The sudden comment made you stop mid-sip, staring blankly at him at the admission.

“I know,” You said casually, taking a full sip then and seeing him smile.

“One of these days we can have a coffee together. You still haven't told me what it was like in London,” He changed the subject subtly.

“I can tell you what it was like right now.”

“Can you.”

“It was nice.”

“Cold.”

“So cold,” You nodded. “Lots of smart people.”

“I could have guessed.”

“And good pubs with good beers.”

“Mm.”

“Simple like that.”

“I'm sure you have more details that you won't remember now.”

“Is it like a test? I have to study and say what satisfies you?”

“You're not a student anymore, I wouldn't do that. If it can make you say yes, though…”

“Oh no, it would make me say a huge no.”

“So tell me what would change your mind. I can work something out.”

He wasn't serious, was he? You literally said he was toxic and there he was, inviting you to coffee as if none of the conversation had happened. This made you shake your head negatively with an incredulous smile, looking around once again as if the answer was there, among the bookshelves and other things in his office.

“Well, if I remember correctly, you owe me a bottle of wine,” You said with nonchalance, getting up from your seat and groaning a little in the process. “Chilean. Camembert.”

He didn't respond to that either, perhaps because he knew it wasn't an invitation, but the opposite: a reminder that despite your willingness to set the record straight, it didn't mean you wanted to be friends. Because defining and being friends were different things and you were always very diligent to imply things in a confusing way. That wasn't in your words, nor in your tone; it was in the way you stood up and dismissed any chance that he might use the time as an opening for charm, a chance for reconciliation that probably had to do with your connections at Columbia and the effects that circumstance might have on his position.

You went there to reaffirm that and only that. That you wouldn't be an obstacle, that he shouldn't be an obstacle, and that you had a bottle of Chilean wine from two years ago that hadn't been paid for from the right person.

Because the least he could have done when he showed up on a date he invited you to with another woman's perfume, smelling like another woman's sex, was pay for the damn bottle of wine.

****

The bottle of wine appeared on your table in a discreet brown package, with no indication of its contents. There was no note, or anything written, just the glass, the label and the drink itself. You didn't smile at that. If anything, you took the bottle to a dinner you had at Rahul's house later that day, and when he asked, you just said you couldn't drink it all alone at home.

None of your friends drank alcohol that night. The empty bottle was in Rahul's recycling bin the next morning.

****

The truth, raw and honest, was that Jonathan was a visibly pathetic but attractive man. It was notable, whether in classes or at conferences, that even though he hid himself in department store-looking clothes, with a very disheveled look, Jonathan caught the attention of students, colleagues and people in general. This look probably only increased others' interest in him.

He walked with the confidence of any university professor in that age group, hiding in the personality of a father, an academic, who aroused curiosity, which whether or not it was a full plate for women with daddy issues or a sense of salvation.

Yes, then, he was fucking attractive.

You were never alone in the same place, at least not after the conversation in his office. What you had of Jonathan were these little pieces, fragments of his figure walking around campus and hallways, almost always distracted by something or just determined to get somewhere. He wasn't stupid, nor foolish, because he was aware that that effect made him gain some admirers, but maybe that was enough for you to hold on to these brief moments of Jonathan in your daily life.

He always looked back, in these halls and around campus. Briefly, just like you, with a succinct exchange of glances and a polite nod. Sometimes he would say 'good morning' to you and Rahul, or whoever was with you, and he would always look at you again when no one else was paying attention to him. Little by little, this made you feel that tingling again, the anxious heat of being under the watchful eye of someone for whom you had, even if unconsciously, a growing attraction.

One time he went to the research room because he knew one of your colleagues and, in the middle of a healthy discussion about a research method you were applying, he touched your forearm to get your attention, accompanied by a nod of the head and a 'do you remember when we did this?’. Afterwards, one of the Human Sciences professors invited you to follow a Socratic debate in the class and Jonathan was there, watching you so intently that he hardly turned his face to follow the next person speaking, and soon you started talking looking at him.

He did not approach, as you suggested, but remained in your orbit.

Rahul was along with you when a peculiar interaction took place. The two were mentioning a new methodology for computing grades in the university system and you casually made notes on the subject. Jonathan turned to you and listened to each word with a look that wandered between your mouth, your gesturing hands and your eyes, which always had a roll, a squint or a widening. When he spoke again, you found yourself noticing his serene expression, the fingers that touched the beard just below his lips and how he scratched the right side of his neck every now and then, perhaps because the beard was growing in that area.

It was clear that Rahul had something to say as soon as you dispersed.

“I get it now.”

“Mm?”

“You and Jonathan,” He said with a calm tone, watching you go from confusion to shyness in a second. “This isn’t a judgment.”

“I know.”

“Because it's natural to have unconscious sexual tension between you.”

You looked at him with raised eyebrows, stopping in your tracks to gather what he just said.

“... Sexual tension?”

He scoffed, rolling his eyes at your lack of realization.

“Let's be honest, in these two years, despite what happened, you never imagined what it would be like with him?”

Rahul should have never opened his mouth to talk about this, because suddenly this hypothetical situation turned into a plague. In the shower, on a boring day, when the Facebook request caught your attention: you caught a glimpse of Jonathan. It wasn't that graphic and you didn't have hot dreams about it, but you knew what it felt like to be touched by him, what the weight and feel of his hands was like, his kiss, and sometimes you found yourself thinking about it.

When you saw him in person, walking around the university, you noticed how he ran his fingers through his hair, how the movement of his legs gave glimpses of the shape of his thighs, how his t-shirts and blouses sometimes missed a detail about his chest and stomach. This got worse when you started having some casual encounters with other guys. You went out with a bartender and when it was all over you realized that he looked a lot like Jonathan and that you spent the whole time in an imaginative world thinking it was him.

Damn, you thought. You couldn't keep your word for even a second.

****

When the inevitable happened, the two of you were alone – thank God. It was like a perfect, clichéd scenario: late at night, you were alone in the research room and he showed up looking for someone who wasn't you.

“I thought you were already home,” He said, looking around before landing his eyes at you, who were standing on the small ladder to return a folder to the filing cabinet.

It was a bad day to wear a skirt. You were sure that your tension at being attracted again, added to the lack of cloth on your legs, made you even more aware of the shiver you felt when you went down the steps and saw him close.

“I wanted to finish an article. I can think better when I'm alone, you know.”

“I know.”

The two of you looked at each other for a few moments and there it was, the tension palpable, the heat rising in your stomach and leaving you a little disconcerted. He got it. He took a step closer and it made you blink, looking away at the desk.

“Everyone left an hour ago, I think. If you're looking for Mr. Jones, he won't be back until Monday,” You said, fidgeting with the papers splayed out on the desk, trying to tidy it all into their respective places.

His body was there, next to you, almost touching your arm but not quite. You knew he was very close to the heat and the scent, not having the courage to turn your face to see him.

“Is that so?” Jonathan asked, voice low.

“Mm-hm.”

“Okay.”

You organized the last stack of papers, took a breath and turned to him in time to see him measure the curvature of your ass against the skirt, as it was slightly inclined. He didn't hide it. In fact, he didn't even hide his observations as he glanced up at the discreet opening of the two buttons on your blouse before stopping at your face.

His kiss was the same as the one you remembered, but this one had more certainty and heat. When your mouths met, sharing a wet kiss, Jonathan didn't hesitate to grab both of your ass cheeks, grunting when he felt them and squeezing them firmly. A chair was dragged as you let his tongue invade your mouth and soon you felt the edge of the table pressing you, which you understood immediately.

It was fast, almost desperate. You grabbed his hair when you heard the clasp on his belt come undone and you almost broke his glasses when you felt him roughly lift the fabric of his skirt. He didn't even care and you didn't apologize. Jonathan didn't prepare you either because he didn't need to – you were ridiculously wet. It was a firm penetration, which made you gasp against his mouth, without waiting, and soon the two of you were a mess of kisses and moans and whimpers with each aggressive thrust.

The desk creaked with the force of his hips and, fortunately, it resisted when Jonathan lifted one of your legs to go even deeper, even firmer. You moaned softly, restrainedly, and felt a bite at the junction of your neck and shoulder when he heard you moan his name. Jonathan was big, well endowed. You would feel all that the next day, but at that moment none of it mattered. It was a meeting of unresolved frustrations and aggressive, improvised, urgent sex.

He came inside after making you cum twice; he was hugging you when he did it. You were both panting, his face pressing against your neck as you held his head and hips, staring at the ceiling as you tried to regain your decency.

You organized yourself in silence, without saying a word. Your panties were sticking, his spent dripping out of your pussy, but if he noticed, he didn't comment. The table hadn't been disorganized, at least, and you had to pull up the sleeves of your shirt with how hot you were feeling.

“Sorry about it,” You were the first to say something, seeing him eyeing the crooked leg of the glasses carefully.

“It was already like this before, don't worry.”

“... Okay.”

You didn't know what to do with yourself, nor did he. For a moment, you just ran your hands over your skirt, then your mouth, then your hair, unsure whether you should say something or just let him go.

“Are you finished with your work?” Jonathan asked then, making you shake your head.

“I’m done.”

“I’ll take you home then.”

****

You didn't tell Rahul, but you suspected he knew something as soon as you met on Monday. He didn't say anything, didn't even hint, and you were sure that if he really wanted to know, you would tell him. What you imagined, of course, was that maybe it was just a one-time, unexpected and certainly necessary thing that wouldn't happen again. And that you haven't stopped thinking about it.

God, you wished you could forget, but it was Jonathan and it happened. So, best case scenario, you've moved on, gotten back into the routine.

All the energy this began to drain from you, all this… vivid memory of the sighs of pleasure he let out in your ear, the mark he left on your neck and the grunts he made that night, that you wanted so much before and suddenly happened in an unusual way, you took it out on things in your life. Gym, morning runs, a little yoga, an extra half hour in Dylan's classes to watch him practice fencing, another extracurricular activity that Mr. Hastings made him do. Distractions, in fact, because you didn't want to poke at whatever that intense moment with Jonathan would trigger, even if it was poking you again.

“I get the impression you're trying to avoid me.”

He found you in the middle of an Architecture student exhibition on campus, scaring you while looking at a 3D project of a hospital or something like that. You glared at him, saw that he was focused on the students' desk, and when you looked around, no one was paying attention to the two of you.

“I’m not.” Pfft. Of course. “What gave you that impression?

“After what happened, it's natural for you to avoid me if the sex was bad or if I was an asshole or if, I don't know, any other reason people avoid people after something like that.”

“I don't know if you really want to know my answer.”

“I do. Tell me.”

You stared at him for a moment, then sighed when he showed no intention to run away from the topic.

“It wasn't supposed to happen.”

“So you regret it.”

“No, not regret, I just… Does this sound even remotely healthy to you? The two of us suddenly fucking inside a room at this university?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time it ever happened here.”

“I’m serious, Jonathan.”

“Well, I am too. People here are traditional, not puritan. And we are both single people who are evidently attracted to each other,” He reasoned, that same stance of having two hands inside his pants pockets and a neutral expression on his face.

You considered it with silence, then turned back to the project you weren’t even paying attention to begin with, working more as a way to move on from the topic.

“The first time you really wanted to take me to dinner,” You mumbled.

“The difference is that the first time I didn't know what I wanted. I know now.”

“And that do you want now?”

Jonathan approached discreetly, arm lightly touching yours as he also pretended to look at the architectural work in front of you.

“I want to fuck you without rushing.”

****

Because that was it, just fucking. That's how things went, without the anxiety of seeing him every day, without the passionate hallucinations of what it would be like to have a 'relationship' with him. Jonathan went to your apartment most of the time because of Ava, but in the weeks she spent with Mira, you fucked all over his house: sofa, bed, bathroom, kitchen.

Mira wasn't an issue either because you didn't talk about it. You only asked once and demanded honesty, at least in this regard, and he said that the divorce had been consummated shortly after you went to London. You only knew about the times he spent with Ava because, after a while, the times he came to you were seasonal enough to form a pattern.

He asked about Europe again, with a more curious and attentive look. You said it was cool, actually, and surprising. When you mentioned Charles, he didn't react or make any comment on the matter.

“I heard you're going to try out for a substitute job after spring break.”

You were leaning against the headboard of his bed when you heard him ask. Jonathan had come out of the bathroom after discarding the condom and was sitting next to you when he appeared with this curiosity.

“From Rahul?”

“Mm-hm.”

That made you shrug.

“It’s not much.”

“It’s something.”

“Yeah,” You nodded, fidgeting with the sheet covering your legs. “But it's still not much. I will be paid per class and Columbia is very traditional in having consistent professors.”

He didn't answer that, which gave you comfort and relief. You didn't want to talk about work there, at that moment, where any objective had to do with everything except Columbia, except the rich students or the next semester's curriculum.

“Are you going to have to give up Dylan?” That was what he asked, starting to place gentle kisses on your shoulder, up to your neck. You gave him space, hand holding the back of his hair, burying your fingers into his messy curls.

“Perhaps…” He bit your earlobe, making you sigh. “Why are we talking about it?”

“Mr. Hastings said a lot of nice things about you at that fundraiser.”

“The one you didn't want to go to?”

“Mm-hm…” Jonathan pulled the sheets away from your body, sliding between your now open legs and pressing more kisses on your belly, going lower to give some attention to your thighs. “Did you talk about this? About you leaving Dylan?”

“Vaguely,” You adjusted yourself, already expecting him to go just a little more bold with that closeness of his.

“He looked quite upset.”

“Jealous?”

It was the first time that someone reached this criterion, which was trivial. You were even smiling when you said that. Well, Jonathan didn't smile. He stuck his head between your legs, made you cum with his mouth and nibbled on your lip as he penetrated your pussy with a long but deep movement.

Of all the meetings, that one was the most full of passion and desire. You left his house completely sweaty and sore. Two days later, when you met again, Jonathan invited you to dinner. You looked at him with an amused expression, not understanding where that was coming from.

“I was a scoundrel, that's all. I want to be able to have the right to be jealous of you without being a complete asshole.”

That made you smile. Really smile.

“You know you're going to need more than dinner for this, right?”

“What I know is that I can start with a bottle of wine,” He smirked. “Chilean, Camembert, yeah?”

#jonathan levy #jonathan levy x reader #jonathan levy smut #jonathan levy fanfiction #oscar isaac #scenes from a marriage #female reader #reader insert #jonathan levy x you

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noisycowboyglitter · 4 months ago

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snoddie · 8 months ago

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Normally I don't discuss big drama topics like this on my quirky little Tumblr blog, but there's something about the whole HBomberGuy plagiarism video that truly fascinates me.

It's the way Internet Historian fans reacted to it.

Illuminaughtii fans were pissed at what she did and viewers were calling her out for years, especially after what she did to her former colleagues. AVGN fans have been dissatisfied with the state of his content for a while now, James Somerton practically betrayed his audience and Filip Miucin is so beloathed that I deadass forgot his name while writing this and thought his name was Patrick.

Basically everyone saw what these creators did and we're collectively either unsurprised or disappointed to say the least. Internet Historian fans however, they were probably the most vitriolic community during this entire event. They were quick to either label the video a hit piece, claim Bomberman was slandering IH, discredited the video because of Bomberman's political views and friendship with HassanAbi (despite a majority of the video going after a left leaning LGBT analyst..) and in general, just kinda meat riding IH.

I don't think Bomberman went about the IH stuff perfectly, I definitely believe he had some hang ups with him due to IH's more...let's just say 'Chud' style of humor and the audience he cultivated. But to say the entire segment or even the whole video was a Historian hit piece is misguided at best and dishonest at worst. Historian might be reserved, but there's no denying that his silence regarding the plagiarism allegations kinda did lead to a snowball effect, people are too familiar with false copyright claims and some were a bit..too eager to bring the Jews into this. Yes he did resolve a lot of this, but there's a level of distrust I feel now, like how I feel with the other examples Bomberman used, if they were willing to do it once, what's stopping them from doing it again just with an even more obscure source? Historian and some of the others don't even have the algorithm breathing down their necks because they upload as frequently as Deltrarune chapters come out, so why not take time to come up with your own shit?

This is why I found the sudden nosedive into politics so...bizarre, because I didn't see this with the other supporters, not even Somerton and he's arguably the most political creator of the group.

If I were to armchair psychology my way into some kinda explanation, I'd probably have one of two reasons:

Internet Historian is a beloved creator who many people consider a trustworthy and extremely creative individual, and hearing him be accused of something scummy can have the most loyal fans feeling a bit wounded and defensive. I was definitely a huge fan of his work before the Bomberman video hit, I probably watched The Fall of 76 ...76 times? So learning it was made by someone willing to pull from someone else's work and pass it off as his own, it kinda stung.

The second (and let's be honest more likely) possibility is that there's political motivation behind it. No one can deny that Historian has appealed to more 'Anti SJW' crowds before, those people tend to be either more right leaning, center leaning or left leaning but don't like the way extremists behave. If you watched any video about Tumblr IH has made, it's quite clear whether intentionally or not what kinda audience he appeals to. Likewise, when the one person IH's audience despises the most (a leftist commentator, male feminist and someone actively criticizing IH) shows up, their instinctual reaction is to cry 'woke libtard getting mad at gigachad meme man'.

The reason all of this frustrates me, and why I even crawled out of my comfort zone of posting random crap and gay Homestuck drawings, is because it's a genuine example of political brainrot and creator dickriding muddying the waters of the discussion being had. Like Bomberman or not (I like his shit but don't always agree with his takes) you have to admit his video opened the floodgates for people actually kinda giving more of a shit about plagiarism online than before, highlighting how easy it is to get away, how there's almost nothing you can do about it law wise unless you're REALLY lucky and how much it can hurt genuinely talented or marginalized people.

And I'd hate for us to just ignore that conversation because you don't wanna admit your favorite funny internet guy might not be the best person.

Here's an unrelated picture of Wurmple eating soup.

#rant #discussion #youtube #internet historian #hbomberguy #plagarism #istg if the fall of 76 was plagiarized its gonna be my 13th reason

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kentocalls · 9 months ago

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the morning after | ryomen sukuna nsfw. spicy. lots of pet names. oral, p in v. probably ooc cuz i like my men sweet. part 1

he's up before the sun, a tight hold on your form, cheek squished into his shoulder. mind blank, washes the deep blue sky turn orange, your head twitches, tries to shuffle away from the light. that's the moment he allows himself to be free from your warm body. wanders around your bedside, drags the curtains forward until the sun is blocked from annoying your face. pads over to your bathroom, collecting his shoes and belt, he's got plenty on his plate. figures a slice of toast and he's off.

he notices a very captialized 'grocery list' with messy writing before opening the refridgerator to be met with one unopened jar of cherry jam. one smoke and then he's off.

eyes taking in the street you live on, questioning the structural integretiy of your balcony before he spots a 'grocery mart.'

your head hurts. no amount of rolling around the bed is going to rid the vibrating pain dancing in your skull. you blink open your eyes and shuffle your body upright. a shower, a nice warm shower and something to settle your gut. you spot two pills and a glass of water next to your charging phone and whoa. late night drunk you is such a smart gal. you thank her for good decisions and promise not to dwell on the rest.

heavy steps to your bathroom and a nice warm stream of water hits your face. his face flashs in your mind, his deep voice "tired?" you groan, the hottest man on earth was in your place and you were too sleepy to do anything. you're not sore, no aches or marks. minus the headache thats fading.

you slip out, dry your skin, use your favorite lotion, wash your face dilgently. and shake your head at your reflection; sighing. "didn't even ask his name!" you have a soft white robe on, know you're low on laundry and head to your kitchen.

and he's still there.

nods at your stool and places a slice of toast and orange juice in front of you. he's on the phone, talking loudly and you're too caught up in the fact that he's still here. take a bite of the bread, a sip of juice. when did you buy this?

"i've got company." hangs up instantly, eyes taking in your very clean face. you look better than earlier. he kinda hates. knows he should leave but there you are with a "thank you, for last night and breakfast."

so polite.

toast hardly counts as food. but your diety habits are not his concern. he nods, another name on his phone screen distracting him. you're not fiddling with your hands, you finish the toast, drink the juice start to clean the plates and inspect the bread. when did you buy this?

"it's been nice." he leans against the counter, sincere with his words. he needed the rest, feels refreshed and ready to haggle at tiny men in suits.

it should be awkward now, as you're supposed to shuffle out of his way and he leaves without looking back but you're frowning. take a step towards him, head slightly tilted up. "you didn't even kiss me."

he chuckles, shaking his head "don't kiss one night stands." keeps the word angel at the tip of his tongue.

"but it's the morning now." you counter, inching forward. tilting your head to the side, confused and hopeful. he isn't sure if you've fully sobered up. the scent of your clean skin close. he's tempted.

you're being bold, moving closer, your robe meeting his very fine silky clothes, his hands find your hips but he doesn't stop you. you're not going to find someone like him again, that's what you say when you push onto your tip-toes inching closer.

his lips brush yours before he's moved away, noses at your neck. "nope." fine, fine, fine. you won't kiss his lips, settle for a his collarbone. he pulls you closer, lifting you up a bit.

sukuna is absolutely sure your countertop cannot support the weight of two people. and he has time, he doesn't need to be at his meetings until noon. you pull him to your bedroom, his eyes on your thighs ; can't wait to bite and grip.

"no kissing, got it. can i leave a mark here? please." your fingers burn at his neck. so fucking polite, has him nodding along, hand already under your loosely tied robe as he takes in your scent.

feels you smile against him, feels your soft lips and wet tongue and teeth grazing. "please fuck me before you go."

yeah, he has time for this.

hands on your bare skin, he kisses down your neck, down your chest, nuzzles as your stomach before continuing down down down and the way your body shudders but he never reaches the destination.

comes right back up, latches onto nipple and sucks, bites, teases. pinches your other breast with his thumb and index finger, alternating until you're begging for more. no matter your babbling he doesn't let up, heat coiling inside you but the man isn't in a hurry. "please," fuck what is his name? you try to remember when he told you, last night, it was sultry the way he said it. "please su...sukuna..."

that has his attention, loves the way it sounds. "already close?" you whine in protest, "what, need you to say what you want." "please touch me, please." you know he already is, but it gets his hands moving to your hips and thighs and his thumb faintly brushes your clit, has you gasping. calling his names, eyes pleading and he likes it.

sukuna wants to hear more, has his lips trailing wet, hot, messy down again until he latches on where you want him and nothing is keeping him away from you now.

and despite all the moaning and gasping you're still polite. still formulating sentences. you don't need to ask him but gosh your voice rings a sinful alarm, "please, can I touch your hair?"

has him silently promising to ruin every other guy for you, kissing your wrist, he places your hand on his head, comes up to adjust an arm around your hips, spreading you open. "you'll be good now right? stay open like this, no pulling."

he's about to lean in but hasn't heard the crescendo of yes falling past your lips so he pauses. your hips try to push up unsuccessfully but that's not enough affirmation. waits for your eyes to land on his, "yes?"

"yes please." "you want this?" "yes yes, please sukuna, want this. please. thank you" so polite, so very polite. he hasn't even started and you're already such a mess. twitching and shaking. tongue laps at your wet heat. so sweet, so warm, so eager.

"perfect."

first it was his tongue, then a thumb brusing your clit so slowly while he sucked new marks down your chest. and now he has you spreading open on two fingers. insistent you need three to take him, he's not here to hurt you.

you pull at his shirt, need to feel his skin against yours. his tattoos peak out and set another fire in your belly. how the fuck is he so perfect? "can i touch here too please? can i scratch?"

too polite, you're too polite, pushes his skin closer to yours, your hands delicate at first then nails digging deep, dragging him in. pulling him close.

and you're such a good girl, leaving chaste kisses on his jawline, down his neck. not trying to kiss him, not trying to rush him. he can hear his phone ringing the kitchen, falling off the counter and he's not leaving now.

he finally slips in a third, reminds you to breathe, when it's shaky his face finds yours. "too much?"

"it's...ah, it's good. thank you." and if he kisses the corner of your mouth it's cuz he's pulling you higher, adjusts your position. it's not on purpose. he doesn't need to know how soft your lips are.

now with three he moves even slower, the stretch burns and he's so fucking deep. your fingers are never going to reach this far. you moan into his neck, scratch down his back, your hips bucking up. but the pace is still slow, you can feel his heat on your leg. why the fuck does he have such good control?

"now? please, i-ah, i-'m so..." wet, messy, ready. he curls his fingers up, brushing purposefuly on that bundle of nerves and you're biting into his shoulder. legs twitching, body shaking, a flush going down your face and neck and all he does is whipser perfect into your ear over and over again. until you see stars.

are you breathing? sukuna's hand is on your stomach, "deep breaths angel, there you go." watches your eyes flutter back open, kisses your forehead, your temple, your jawline and chin. let's you orient back to the room, back to him. your hand finally releases it's tight grip on his arm. "ready?"

"can..." you swallow drly, "can I please have water?" you're ready to hear a soon or just one more. know there's a limit to how tender and paitent a partner can be. he's made you cum four times now and feel so fucking good.

you don't realize he slipped away until he's back, helps you sit up, cool glass of liquid at your lips, your hand on his wrist looks comincally small. when you're done he takes a quick sip himself, catches your eyes watching him.

and it's too soft, the way he thumbs at your cheek, concerned. it's not needed, you feel very present and very ready. "i have condoms somewhere..." you start

he scoffs.

"you do now" he points at a box sitting on your nightstand, you don't recognize it. when did you get this?

he holds a packet with his teeth, his hands reaching for his slacks, you stop him "let me, let me please."

you do your best to move your hands at a normal place, but it looks eager anyways, has him smirking, dropping the condom packet into your palm as you do a very perfect job of not looking nervous at the girth or length of his dick.

you get why he insisted on three fingers, he grabs a pillow and places it behind you, "lay back."

"yes yes yes, thank you." as you watch him lean forward, muscles moving in a coordinated dance, rubs himself through the wet of your previous release. you both moan.

he still. takes. his. time.

moves his cock up and down your pussy lips, touching your sensitive nub, driving you insane. your hips buck up at nothing, want more friction, need him inside you.

"please, please, you're so close, please."

"please what angel?"

"put it inside, please fuck me."

and he's not slow when he does, that chant of 'thank you' will be embarassing tomorrow because everything feels right now. he's so big, you're stuffed so full and he's moving at such brutal pace.

you want to hold out longer, you're already so sensitive, you're biting your lips, trying to find purchase on his back, nails deep scratching, biting at his neck.

his name mixed with your please and thank you is putting him in a trance.

you're impossibly tight. sukuna's thrusting faster than he wanted, harder than he wanted. had planned a build up, wanted to make you beg over and over but he's already there. pulling him deep, gripping him tight. the sounds echoing in off the bedroom walls are filthy.

"so good for me, so perfect for me."

"told..ah, told you..." you're slipping, the familiar twitch in your hips, you're close again and he hasn't even cum once, has he? "with you, please, please, together please? sukuna please."

he picks up the pace, the hand on your hip will leave a bruise, the lovebites on your body glow red. he's so close, "with me, look at me, come on angel." you're both so close, hips rolling to match his thrusts.

your lips are so plush, mouth open a silent scream pushes you over the edge as he follows. hips stuttering, grinding, heavy. he let's his weight fall on you, hand grips the back of your neck and brings your lips to his.

so fucking soft, so willing. he pulls off to catch a breath, spit connecting your lips and silently you trail after his lips, he kisses you slowly. moves his hips slowly, still hungry, ready to feel you again. "thank you sukuna" you say between broken kisses, your eyes lidded, body heavy, just like last night.

too trusting when your body softens against him, too vulnerable when you nuzzle into his neck, another whisper of "thank you." and you have to be his. no one can hear you like this, see you like this. no one can touch your skin like he does, no one can know how absolutely etheral you are drifting off to sleep.

his lips dance over your face, he whispers "mine" into your temple, into the crook of your neck, at the center of your chest, above your sore nipples, into your bellybutton, above your sensitive clit, down your legs and he sits on his up.

comitting you to memory won't be enough.

he'll do this again. and again. and again.

part 3

#ryomen sukuna fic #ryomen sukuna #sukuna fic #jjk smut #😳 sorry not sorry #april writes #the morning after #yes he puts the water + medicine by your bedside #yes he buys groceries and condoms #yes he's in deep #probably one more part

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quickiesgirl · 2 years ago

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Take Me Backstage - Chrissy Cunningham

Paring: Chrissy Cunningham x Fem!Reader

Warning: 18+, Smut, Dom/Sub, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex, Hand Kink, Voice Kink, Light Teasing, Hair Pulling, Pillow Princess!Chrissy.

A/N: Don't mind my shitty writing, haven't written in a while. <3

Corroded Coffin had left the stage with another successful show in the books, and the next band was called out.

The sweetest girl in Hawkins, Chrissy Cunningham, made her way through the crowd, excusing herself politely as she hurried to the front.

She looked upon the small, lifted stage, combing her fingers through her bangs and adjusting her knitted sweater before the next band came out.

You slung your electric guitar over your shoulder and held the neck tightly, looking down upon the cherry red pickguard that popped with the white backing.

You took a deep breath before stepping out, waving to the vibrant crowd. Your bandmates proceed to follow behind you and take their positions. The spotlight shines down and sets a warm golden glow over your body as you stand front and center.

You grab the standing microphone, and pull it closer, looking around at your fellow music lovers. Your calloused fingertips press down on their assigned positions, guitar pick strumming over the thickest strings, taking the lead of ‘Like a Bad Girl Should’ by The Cramps.

The drums kicked in along with your rhythm guitarist. You held a low and gritty tone while leaning into the mic and singing the raunchy lyrics.

“I love your ass for bad or worse,

I love your nasty way you curse,

When you sit down, it's wild how you sit,

Grind your heel in the ground,

the groovy way you spit.”

You spot your beautiful girlfriend in the crowd, being your supportive little cheerleader.

She stands out in her light pink, v-neck sweater with a white, lacy bra slightly showing underneath and a matching short skirt. Her strawberry blonde hair teased, and pulled up into her signature ponytail, bangs bouncy and parted.

Your worn boots tap along to the beat as you continue to play with her lingering gaze on you, and those pretty, bow-shaped lips and that killer smile on display.

At the moment, you were blatantly unaware of the ache you were making between her thighs. Her poor pussy was so overwhelmed with your working hands and your sensual-sounding voice in her ears.

The two of you had met through a mutual friend, Eddie Munson. Chrissy had a secret attraction towards rock stars such as Debbie Harry and Joan Jett, and the moment she saw you, she was head over heels.

“Oh, you look good, oh, you smell good,

Oh, you taste good…”

You recognize that lustful, glistening look in her eyes, and immediately unveil her little secret. You tilt your head with a side smirk, now singing directly to your beautiful woman in the audience, words sharp as they spill from your mouth.

“like a bad girl should.”

You watch the way her hand slides between her breasts and follows along her shoulders to innocently push some strands of hair across her blushing cheeks.

The performance ends with the final song being ‘Queen of Pain.’ You and your bandmates exit the stage, beaming with satisfaction, and the second you step out of the exclusive back room, Chrissy practically jumps in your arms and gives you the biggest kiss without a care in the world of who was around.

Chrissy grabs ahold of your hand and begins pulling you towards a more intimate and private corner of the bar. Proceeding to steal the empty wooden stool and watch as she fills the space perfectly between your legs, causing you to sneak glances at her skirt that was riding high up her thighs. The same ones you wish to have squeezed around your head.

“You sounded amazing up there, baby. I told you the crowd was going to love you guys.” Your girlfriend said sweetly, her words of affirmation making your body grow physically warm to the touch.

You pulled her into your lap and held your hands around her waist. Her pleasant floral scent fills your nose while you sneak a couple of kisses into her inner neck, “Thank you, sweetheart.”

Chrissy’s eyes widened at the feel of you pressed against her heat and your delicate lips along the sweet spots of her neck and shoulders. A simple action that shows everyone who exactly Chrissy Cunningham belongs to.

Her body grew weak as she struggled to adjust her skirt. At the moment, all she wanted was to ride your thigh and apply some pressure to that neglected clit of hers.

“Oh,” You gasp with surprise, a devilish smirk spreading across your face once you feel her soaking through the material of your blue jeans, “so that's why you were staring.”

Chrissy's lips curl into a small, blushing smile, muttering softly, “Y-you know I couldn’t help it. You just had that look in your eyes and… the way everyone's attention was on the person, who holds me at night, kisses every inch of my body, and fucks me.”

Her mouth dropped open in a sudden gasp as she felt your leg begin to bounce against the vinyl flooring, causing her cunt to grind on your thigh. Her fingers seized the fabric of her mini skirt. Struggling to be subtle with her actions around all these people.

It was a sight to see Chrissy Cunningham, the graduated head cheerleader whom every guy in town had a crush on, was sitting in your lap. Jealousy struck the room.

You move forward, lightly grazing your lips to her ear, as a smooth, dominant whisper leaves your mouth, “Keep talking like that, and I'll just have to pull you to the back.”

Those innocent eyes glance over her shoulder and smirk lightly, “No one is stopping you.”

You’d reached the tipping point, and before she knew it, you took her backstage, which was thankfully unoccupied, offering some privacy as you pressed your girlfriend into the wall.

The vibrations from the music runs through each other's bodies as you lean in and take her breath away in a passionate kiss. Tongues gliding together, and bosoms heaving against one another.

You pull away from her hungry kisses and replace your absence with two digits inside her mouth. The tips of your calloused fingers drag along her tongue while she lets out an almost pornographic moan.

“That's it, baby… Suck on these fingers you love so much.”

With your spare hand roaming her body, you slip under the material of her skirt and cup her clothed cunt. One of the reasons why you love these skirts is how effortlessly you can get to that wet hole within seconds.

“8 minutes till they’re wrapped up. That’ll be plenty of time to make you cum, baby. Give you a special backstage treatment. ”

Her body shivers in your grasp, and her hips buck into the palm of your hand. You hear a disappointed whimper when you release your hold and slowly kneel, hands drifting down her sides.

“Gonna taste this sweet pussy of yours, ‘kay?”

Chrissy nods instantly, her bottom lip tightly tucked between her teeth, watching you flip material up and peel her underwear down her legs.

The sweet aroma of her pussy fills your nose as you push forward and curl your tongue, licking along her pink folds.

You’d never get tired of eating your girlfriend out. You adore watching that pretty face react to every touch from below while you practically devour her cunt. Her juices are the only liquor you crave.

A soft sigh escapes her mouth, and eyes flutter, struggling to keep themselves open. Her fingers buried in your hair and pushed your face deeper, causing you to chuckle breathily. She was such a pillow princess, and you loved every second of it.

You squeeze her soft, supple thighs, nails digging into her skin while you hold them apart and drag your tongue through her slit, lapping at her dripping cunt. “god, you taste so fucking good. ”

Chrissy’s hips rocked into your open mouth, her inner walls clenching around nothing as you continued to overstimulate her.

“You know- at any minute, we could get caught with my face buried in this needy cunt. You’d like that, mh? To show everyone you’re getting fucked by the guitarist?”

Your lips part around her throbbing clitoris and suckle while your tongue traces circles, watching her head tossed back and those lustful moans grow louder.

You loved her sweet noises, and between the sloppy, wet sounds of her pussy to your mouth and her moans, you were getting high off the pleasure. Luckily the music concealed the sounds of sex behind thin walls.

“B-baby, I-I need your fingers.” She whimpered, her bangs falling across her dazed face while she watched.

“Mhmm, these fingers?” You tease with a cheeky grin and make direct eye contact, circling her entrance with the ones she had in her mouth minutes ago.

“Y-yes,” she nodded softly before you dip your middle and ring finger inside her, feeling her arousal coat them.

Your fingers curl upon her upper wall in unison, applying enough pressure that makes her legs tremble while the tip of your tongue plays with her sensitive clitoris.

“Oh, god, don't stop- please, don't stop!”

It became too much, her eyes rolled to the back of her head and her clenching cunt came undone around your fingers, leaving a ring of milky cum down to your knuckles.

After you slowly pull out. You drag your tongue across your sticky fingers, and lick away her juices, “Fucking delicious...” You winked, causing her cheeks to turn an adorably bright shade of red.

With a loud pop, you remove your fingers and use them to feel the white laced panties around her ankles, “Mind if I have these as a little keepsake?”

She bites her bottom lip and nods in approval, slipping out of the soft material while she holds onto your shoulders to maintain her balance. Like when you help her out of a pair of heels after a long night. You proceed to carry her underwear in the pocket of your leather jacket for safekeeping.

Chrissy ignores the feeling of arousal leaking down her inner thigh as she flattens her skirt and takes your arm before stepping out with you, side by side.

From now on, your girlfriend's panties are a “good luck charm” you bring on stage. She loves slipping her cum soaked panties in your pocket before you walk out.

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