#TRILL WAVE
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
trilliath · 13 days ago
Text
Has anyone else noticed a spreading trend in actively waving goodbye at the end of virtual meetings lately? Or is it just happening in my orbit? I started deliberately doing it when I was working on a project with a deaf colleague a few years ago, and just kinda kept up the habit, but now it seems like in all my meetings people are doing it.
11 notes · View notes
theres-whump-in-that-nebula · 6 months ago
Text
Was in an “I need to do something fun, novel, and mildly dangerous right NOW or I am going to self-destruct” kind of mood so I got a waffle cone locally then walked an hour or two to Target and Big Lots, bought some stuff I needed, and carried it back from 8:30–10:00. I saw the moon! It is very orange. Very beautiful. Very powerful.
I got a file folder for important documents and some Command strips and hooks from Target; and a denim chindi rug, an over-door organizer, and some pretty butterfly depression glasses, which I assume are for liquor from Big Lots.
I also helped some kids cross the street because they were unsure how crosswalks worked; and I gave a few dollars to a lady holding a sign who needed it to support her kids. Honestly I liked doing those things more than the actual shopping but I am quite pleased with my denim chindi rug. It’s pretty.
2 notes · View notes
nctrnm · 1 year ago
Text
#NowPlaying: "Hip Hop/Boombap/Trap/Alt R&B Beat - (Lift) Prod by Kingsden" by Kingsdenstudios
0 notes
wombocombo4x3 · 1 year ago
Video
youtube
lonely rose // retro trap
1 note · View note
photographss-world · 7 months ago
Text
softly the waves are trilling 🌊🌊🌊
5K notes · View notes
that-foul-legacy-lover · 8 months ago
Text
SAGAU where the Creator is slain once, accused of being an imposter, and reborn as... a Melusine.
there's screaming and pain, the sensation of a thin blade digging into your chest- then nothing. nothing but the soft melody of running water. tentatively you open your eyes are met with dancing colors and shapes, little shell houses and baubles making a small, cozy village. your hands have become mittens, your skin swirling with pretty patterns, a pair of antennae sprouting from your head, and where there were previously cuts dripping with blood have turned to markings that shimmer slightly in the light. another Melusine approaches you and asks if you're lost, and when you merely shrug she introduces herself as Cosanzeana and shows you her slowly growing flower garden.
it's nice here, in Merusea Village. unlike the rest of Teyvat, the Melusine don't know nor care much about any sort of Creator myths- they came from Elynas, after all- so they happily regard you as a sibling who simply got lost on the way. finally you're free from the world above, everyone who chases and tries to harm you, spending your days collecting components to trade and swimming beneath the waves. Mamere in particular becomes a close friend, both of you regarded as a little strange but still beloved by all your siblings. she shows you her artwork and you help her collect paint, and in the coldest nights when you're swarmed by bad dreams, you tell her of your previous life as she swears to keep it a secret.
the only time you venture out into the far caverns alone is when you meet a familiar face- Childe's Foul Legacy form. you always loved the transformation, when Teyvat was just a game on your computer, but now you hastily hop a few steps back. the others treated you as a fraud, tearing at your skin until you gave in and died- he would be exactly the same. but Foul Legacy just blinks, slowly crouching to your height and staring into your eyes, speckled with tiny stars. he trills quietly in awe, then lowers his head into a bow in presence of the true Creator.
the other Melusine cluster around you when you bring him back to Merusea, curiously poking at his armor and glittery wings. you all see him as beautiful, and he is beautiful! Legacy stays with you in the village, accepted with open arms, much like Seymour stayed with Mamere for a time, and it becomes common to see a slightly sparkly Melusine running around with an Abyssal beast at their heels. he swims with you, navigating through the Primordial Sea, and shields you from any outsiders that happen to appear, the ones who dared to harm his Creator so horribly.
you, a Melusine, and Foul Legacy, your protector and best friend.
2K notes · View notes
takami-takami · 2 months ago
Text
And If I Want It Soft?
Tumblr media
includes— hawks x reader. smut. minors dni.
warnings— gn!reader. taking keigo's virginity.
If this is the corruption they warned him about, let it be sweet and let it be you.
Tumblr media
It's hardly noticable; but Keigo gets nervous when you touch him like this. Like he's doing something wrong, something forbidden. His feathers twitch like they're prepared to detect his commission handlers stalking around the corner of his dim apartment hallway, forboding and scolding something shrill and calculated in his direction.
Instead, Keigo blanks at the way you touch him. Leans into your touch like a kitten, purring when you scratch his scalp. A blissed-out coo trills in Keigo's throat when your fingertips scritch at the feathery, baby blonde hairs where his skull meets his neck. A sweet sound. Innocent. Lovesick, those shut eyes and subtle smile.
But oh, the way Keigo stiffens when your hand follows the ridges of his spine down his neck like water over the rocks of a riverbank, splaying beneath the cotton of his shirt and flooding his senses there.
Keigo's body prepares for his handlers to scold him something fierce, now that he's got a pretty thing touching him all over— in ways the commission would surely balk at, too— but that doesn't happen. Instead, your sweet voice lulls him under the ocean waves again, soothing that overworked mind of his. Quieting it with gooey safety.
Calling him words like pretty, and sweet boy, and mine.
Can you blame Keigo for stirring beneath the waist? Honestly, it's quite inappropriate of him to be thinking these sorts of things about you. Your bare hand is massaging the tender junction between his shoulderblades beneath his shirt. His face is smushed against your chest, arms strewn over your body in bed. It's not like he can help whining a little in his throat, nosing at your body like he's thirsty for something more to wet his appetite.
He's a virgin. At his age in his twenties, too. Seen all that life as a hero and the poor thing has never gotten his cock wet. A shame.
You won't let that stay for long, though. He's sure. He wouldn't give it to anyone but you. And lord, God, angels in heaven— he wants you to take him.
But that isn't appropriate to say. So instead, Keigo lets the tension simmer. Luxuriates in it, lets himself sink into it like a hot bath.
Until next time. He thinks he'll let you touch him wherever you want, next time.
---
Where should he put his hands?
Your tongue is pressing against his, but it doesn't feel strange. Foreign, sure. Welcome, absolutely; but nothing about this is unnatural.
Still not used to this, Keigo closes his eyes and allows himself to moan. Judging by the way your lips quirked against his, he's sure he did something you liked. His heart sings at the thought and he huffs against your mouth.
He did good.
Subtle praise makes a man bold, and he decides to try his hand at making more sounds for you with the intention of infecting you back with that imposing heat you impart unto him— only this time, Keigo allows his tongue to curl around words.
Words like you're so beautiful, and I want you so badly, and mine, too.
Your soft hand palms at his cock over his hero uniform and Keigo nearly chokes on a sob, eyes rolling back like he just touched God.
Would it come across as desperate to reach down and undo his pants, himself? A stern voice sharply barks the word greedy in the back of his mind for liking this. Keigo whimpers and turns his head away as if it will help him escape the thought, but then—
"Greedy boy," you whisper, and Keigo's breath hitches with arousal.
"You like this," you ask. Reverent, not judging.
He does. He likes you.
Keigo must have nodded at some point, because your warm laughter and sympathetic mmhm, good boy make his shoulders fall lax and comfortable.
"Can you," Keigo dares to ask, eyes wide. "You don't have to, it's just—"
He hears his buttons undone.
---
This time, you're both wearing much less clothing and Keigo is the one on top. He wonders if you're feeling as exposed as he is; but he doesn't have to wonder if you also feel this right— Keigo can hear your thoughts through your body, now. A honed skill, an acquired dialect.
You did that thing you usually do to him, stole his breath through his cock and sucked his thoughts down your throat as if his body were some kind of holy ambrosia; but tonight, as you both discussed prior, Keigo wouldn't be finding release in your mouth.
When did the most erotic thing ever done to him become simply foreplay? He used to lose his mind at the way you fit him into your mouth, begging garbled pleas for forgiveness from something or someone unreachable for feeling this good. Now, it simply makes him hungrier.
"Like this," he mutters the question to you for guidance, congratulating himself on not choking the moment his fat tip presses against you, prodding at your entrance.
"Mm," you moan and the sound is like lightning down his cock, causing it to twitch. "A little lower. Then press forward and—"
A gasp. Possibly two. Fuck if Keigo can tell, stars swimming in clockwise circles around his head.
The heat of your hands grounds him, palms squished against his cheeks as he presses his forehead to yours, sinking inside.
"Breathe, darling," you smile.
"God, I'm— I, I'm trying," Keigo laughs, boyish, pretty, and golden. "Fuck, you feel so good."
"Right?"
You clench and shift your hips just for show and Keigo's jaw drops in a silent scream.
"You can do that? Don't do that," he whines, nosing into your neck. You feel his bare skin against you and his breath comes panting. You smile triumphantly.
"Sorry, sorry," you say. "I'm nervous, too. You just looked so cute. Your nose got all scrunched up and—"
As quickly as they bubbled up, the words are snatched in your throat like air lifted from your lungs. Keigo's firm hands pin your hips softly in place, grinding his body boldly against yours. Dragging himself deeply in your guts, knocking the breath out of you with pleasure.
As much as Keigo adores the sound of your voice, pillowy and seraphic, he needs to satiate this feeling in his chest somehow.
"It feels good for me, too." A kiss against his shoulder. "You take care of me so good. You're real gentle with me."
Like a lover, Keigo's mind completes for you.
Finally soft. Finally seen. Keigo blinks back the tears and kisses you again instead.
---
Keigo would be hesitant to admit the amount of research he did prior to undressing you, but in the end, it blanked from his mind entirely once you both started melding together. That being said, he does particularly recall most of the advice detailing how unrealistic and difficult it is to finish at the same time as your partner.
Huh. He supposes not everything you read online has to be true.
Your soft, sleepy breaths rouse Keigo from his daydreams, recounting in meticulous detail your eyes, your movement, your voice in the throes of it. One elbow props his body up, the thin sheets revealing more of his torso when he shifts over you.
Keigo tucks a stray hair of yours and watches your dreamy breaths, the rise and fall of your bare chest that was just against his own.
He should probably feel guilty for calling you his spouse already, but he doesn't. He supposes he never will.
Tumblr media
586 notes · View notes
filmtv2022 · 2 months ago
Text
Our Time is Limited (18+)
Tumblr media
Part II
Pairing: Emperor Geta x Reader
-- Platonic/former lover relationship with Emperor Caracalla x Reader
Synopsis: Reader has belonged to Caracalla for as long as she can remember, her job has been to love and serve him in the quiet moments when even the attention of a concubine cannot suffice. She has served the emperor in whatever capacity he desired. Through the years her love for him grew beyond what many would have deemed proper for one in her position of employment, but it was not a romantic love. The presence of disease had stolen the man she'd once given everything to. Left to care for Caracalla in the midst of his break from reality, Emperor Geta and the reader are forced to admit the feelings they've long harbored for one another.
Warnings: SMUT/sexual acts + "cheating" (but not really, Caracalla and reader no longer have that kind of relationship) + alcohol consumption + language (?)
A/N: Well... when I said the crazy emperors had my brain... I wasn't lying. I have not abandoned my Marcus Acacius story... I just needed to get this off my mind. That said, there may be one more part of this depending on how I feel and how this does. I apologize for any mistakes. I wrote this in a couple of hours.
------------------------------
Hovering in the background, you squeezed between the spectators, inching closer to the emperors. The copper-headed pair sat surrounded by their entourage of concubines and common whores whose sole purpose was to entertain, to give in to the whims of the men they served. Your role was not entirely different, and yet, you were to be set apart from the others. Your presence at these events was required, but the emperors would sooner murder than allow the public to view you in the same light as those whose hands roamed their bodies in public. You served a much more intimate purpose. Therefore, you kept your distance, leaving just enough space between yourself and them so that no eyes would wonder and question. 
Out of the corner of his eye, Emperor Geta caught your approach. His eyes locked onto you, searching for any sign of anxiety or nerves. He knew without question that you desired to be anywhere but here, and still, he didn't doubt that your loyalty remained strong. Your features were stoney and severe with your attention falling to his brother whose eyes were on the scantly clad man sat before him. The burnt orange of your stola matched the hue his brother famously loved and complimented the bare expanse of skin along the shapely curve of your arms and shoulders. You were positively stunning, every bit the measure of the well-to-do women who adorned their husbands' arms. 
Satisfied that nothing was amiss, Geta hesitated for a moment, seeing the weariness behind your eyes. Something troubled you, but given the state of his brother's mental well-being, it was likely as anything that was the cause of your worry. With nothing to be done at the time, he reached for the concubine he’d carted along for the day's festivities. Hauling her close, he let the weight of her hand against his chest, settle the crashing energy that sang through his body, but nothing was a match for the intensity of the fight that erupted amongst the gladiators. 
The fight was brutal and quick. The larger man crumpled into a bloody heap, soaking the marble floor in a sea of sickly scarlet. The pool smeared beneath the weight of his body as the guards dragged him out of the room. The grunts and moans of pain were soon replaced by the questioning trill of Emperor Geta. The fight had clearly impressed him. The eloquent sound of poetry rolling off the tongue of the victor caught you as strange, but now was not the time to linger. With the crowd in awe and Geta keyed up, it felt like the appropriate moment to slink back into oblivion. 
You maneuvered down a darkened hall, the only light poured in amber waves along the stone from the torches that lined the walls. The walk passed without note, the distant sound of chatter gave way to the echo of your sandaled feet. Each step brought you further from the chaos of the arena and for that you were grateful. No matter how many games you saw, the violence never grew more appealing. You couldn’t blame the emperors for enjoying the joys they were afforded in life, but that did nothing to change your opinion. They could eat, drink, fuck, and enjoy whatever and whomever they desired. Your job was simply to be there when called. No questions or judgment, and that was more than enough for you to handle. 
The sudden clomp of footfalls barreling down the corridor sent electricity singing down your spine. Snapping back in their direction, you reached for the blade which sat flush along your thigh. The metal was warm to the touch, the heat of your body having warmed it palpably. No sooner had you freed it of its holster, than a familiar face rounded the corner. Emperor Geta’s pale face glowed oddly in the flickering light, the shadows casting his features in mystery. Sliding your weapon back into place, you stayed rooted to the spot and waited the mere seconds it took for him to close the space between you. 
“Where are you going?” His voice was soft as he crowded into your space. His hands flexed at his sides, itching to touch you, to hold you close, but that was a line he couldn’t bring himself to cross, if only for the sake of his brother’s well-being. “My brother… he calls for you.”
Your face dropped to the floor, unable to stand the burn of his molten stare. “I am unwell… my-my head.” The lie was partially rooted in truth. The violence of the fight brought back memories of a long past day that led you to the gates of the palace, in need of a kindness that only those in power could grant you. The simple memory of which brought you real physical pain.
“Have you eaten today? Perhaps some wine and bread could cure what ails you. I have selected the best for our celebration.” A thin smile flashed upon the emperor’s face, pulling the corner of his lips up in a beautiful tilt though the grin didn’t meet his eyes.
“As much as I adore your taste in wine, I do not believe any amount of drink will ease the pain I am feeling. Now if you’ll excuse me, Emperor.”  The swish of your stola brushing against your skin sounded as you turned away. 
Panic flashed hot forcing Geta to move… to speak. “Wait!” His outstretched hand sat in the space between you for only a moment before dropping back to his side. “He needs you… he’s- he’s struggling. Today is not a good day.” 
“I am aware, but he has you.” 
“But I am not the one he desires.” Once again, Geta stepped closer, pleading with you to listen. “I fear what he will do, how he will act before the public today without you by his side. Please, for his sake… and for my own. Care for him as only you are able.” 
The sheen that pooled in Geta’s eyes was enough to flip your stomach. This cruel and vicious man held his heart wide for those he loved. It was a select few, but those he cared for in that way were not only adored beyond measure but treated with a life only he could provide. There was a true sincerity to it. He held his brother dear despite the many rumors that circulated about the pair. Caracalla had long since been the subject of jokes and cruel speculation. It was true, the illness that plagued his loins had spread to his brain, eating away at the once vibrant and loving man he’d once been. And yet, no matter how much he’d lost to the disease, there was always a thread of his former self there to reel him in and back to reality.  
But as of late, that thin connection between reality and fantasy had grown more fragile. It took a delicate hand to keep Caracalla balanced, especially in front of important company and prying eyes. You and Emperor Geta were the cherished few who had the ability to return Caracalla to this world, and increasingly, your loving touch seemed to be the only thing that worked. 
“I understand. I will do what is necessary.” You nodded shallowly, acknowledging the favor the emperor had asked of you. “Let us not linger, it is unwise for him to be alone with those vultures you surround yourselves with.” 
A flicker of shock at your boldness shot across his features, but he decided against pursuing the thoughts and questions that flooded his mind. Instead, he settled with a simple statement of thanks before guiding you back to his brother. 
The murmur of people grew louder with each passing step until it reached a tipping point. Back inside the space you’d fled so quickly, you searched the crowd for Caracalla. It took only seconds to find him, standing beside the table overflowing with treats and wine. Your approach was lost on him, his entire focus settled on selecting the next delicacy. With his stability in question, you knew it would be wise to make your presence known before stepping into the space beside him. 
“Emperor Caracalla!” The youthful man turned to find the person who’d spoken, and at the sight of you, an enormous grin erupted from ear to ear across his pockmarked face. “What delicious finds have you discovered for us today?!” The shirtless man who’d accompanied the emperor from before took one look at you and decided he was no longer needed. Relieved of his duty, he retreated to stand with the group of concubines that had formed near the entrance, greeting the guests as they moved to and fro. 
“My dear!” Crumbs adorned the corners of his mouth as he held the remnants of a pastry in his hand. “Come! You must try this! It is simply delightful!” 
The emperor met you halfway, holding out the last bite for you to take. You could feel the stares that descended upon the pair of you as he held the last bite to your lips. You opened for him, luxuriating in the sweetness that coated your tongue. Caracalla’s eyes gleamed with delight at the sound of your satisfied hum of appreciation unaware of how this interaction would appear to others. 
“It was delicious. Thank you for sharing.” You reached for his face and brushed away the flecks of baked dough that clung to his makeuped countenance. Avoiding the open marks that even rouge could not cover, you pushed through the pain to give him the smile he so clearly wanted to see. The boyish wonder in his eyes was catching.
The emperor’s fragile hands settled on your waist. His touch was not that of a lover, but that of a young man desperate for the attention and love he deserved. Holding you close as he spoke. “Where did you go? I’d thought you’d left me.” Caracalla paused for a moment intending to let you speak, but the furrow of your brows kept the words flowing. “Are you all right? Your brow is pinched. You only get that look when you are in pain.” 
Tenderly, you swept a stray hair away from his temple. “I am as well as can be expected, and please, forgive me for my momentary absence. The swell of noise during the fight was too much for me to handle. But I am here now. I would never leave you.” 
“But you are not well… I can see it here. It is one of your head pains.” The pad of his finger ran between your brows and down the bridge of your nose. “You need not be brave for me. You must rest, there will be many more games for you to enjoy.” 
Sensing a pair of knowing eyes upon you, your attention flicked in the direction of Emperor Geta and found him watching just as you’d suspected. Even without words, you knew exactly what he asked. The nearly imperceptible nod of your head assured him that you were going to uphold your promise. 
“I appreciate your kindness, Emperor, but my place is here… with you. There will be time for rest later. Besides, I’m sure a steady flow of wine and pastries would do me good.” You forced yourself to smile once more before heading toward the table. “Join me. Tell me what I must try!” 
A gleeful laugh bubbled from Caracalla as he followed quickly behind. The pair of you stayed like this, tasting and drinking until it was time to retreat to the Emperors’ box for the games. Focused only on the task at hand, your eyes never ventured into the arena. Rather, you studied the way Caracalla moved, the cadence of his speech, admiring the way his eyes lit up at the clash of swords.  Through all this, unbeknownst to you, Geta’s attention split between the violence unfolding before him and yourself. He clung to the sound of your laughter and marked the hazy film that unfocused your gaze the longer the day drug on. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt the pain you’d claimed to be ailed by earlier had grown nearly unbearable, and yet your attention never wavered. The dedication you showed his brother filled him with something he couldn’t label. The warmth low in his belly belied just how fully he’d come to care for you. 
--------------------------------------------------------
Night had settled upon the emperors' residence. The halls fluttered with torchlight, but the depths of Geta’s chambers were a murky gray, illuminated only by the moon filtering through curtains that swayed in the breeze. The concubines he’d selected to entertain his needs lay spread out over his bed, their bare skin damp with sweat from the night’s activities. The only sound besides that of their gentle breathing was the rustle of the soldiers posted outside his door. One could never be too careful. 
The blissful silence had him drifting into sleep when the sudden thunder of banging upon his door ripped him from the edge of slumber. Sitting bolt upright in bed, he reached for the knife that sat beneath his pillow, ready to defend himself should the need arise. Geta’d barely managed to extricate himself from the pile of limbs he’d been entangled with and don his robes when the frantic call of your voice pleading with his praetorian sent dread running through his limbs. Heavy with worry and lack of sleep, he pushed across the large room and ripped open the door. 
The movement was followed by your lithe frame pushing inside his chambers, and what he saw only heightened his fear. Crimson stained your cheek, running down the smooth expanse of your neck before soaking into the luscious fabric of the robe you had wrapped around yourself. He recognized it at once as belonging to Caracalla. The fact that you’d been attending to his brother was not unexpected, but the wound that marred your face was terrifying. 
“You’re hurt! Tell me at once who did this to you!?” Geta’s voice shook with the effort it took to maintain his control. Behind him, the stirring of his “guests” went unnoticed. His calloused fingers wiped gently at the oozing cut along the top of your cheek. You’d flinched from the pain, reaching for his wrist to still his ministrations. Frozen in place at the feeling of your touch, he waited barely breathing for your response. 
“It’s your brother! He woke in a fit, he… he didn’t recognize me. He tried to- he thou- he thought I was there to kill him. He-” 
“He did this to you?!” It wasn’t so much a question to you, but to himself for this was the thing he’d always feared. The day in which even your presence wouldn’t be enough to return him to this world. 
“Yes.” You whispered, afraid of what this could mean for the beautiful men you’d come to adore after all this time. The pain in Geta’s eyes at your confusion was crushing. “I am so sorry, Geta.”
“Do not apologize. I will take care of this.” Forced to let go of you, he spoke quickly with his guards before dismissing his guests. The women scrambled for any scrap of clothing they could find and made their hasty exit. 
Moving on his command, the soldiers hastened toward Caracalla’s chamber, leaving you behind with Geta. Alone, he grabbed for a chiton that lay draped over the chair beside him. Reaching for you, he pressed the cloth to your cheek applying pressure as he spoke, “Stay here, and keep this on the wound until I return. When I leave, lock the door behind me and open for no one other than myself. Understand?” 
“Yes.” A slight nod from him was all he managed before turning to follow his praetorian. 
Doing as you were told, you soon moved further into the room. You admired the lived-in feel it maintained despite the solid marble that made up every surface. The bed sat disheveled, clearly the night's adventures had been rather boisterous. Staring at the tangle of sheets, you felt the bile rise in your stomach. You laid no claim upon Geta and yet you couldn’t stop the bubble of envy that stirred in your soul. 
The breeze fluttered through the curtains allowing you to peer beyond the protective walls of the palace to the streets of Rome. Even at this late hour, people moved about. Some lit their path with flame while others remained shrouded in darkness, praying they could slither about unnoticed. It took only a few more steps to reach the balcony. Fresh air filled your lungs as you leaned against the entryway, your nerves still buzzing with anxiety. Time slipped by unreliably. Each minute an hour, fraying the last of your resolve into shreds. 
-------------------------------------------------------
Eventually, a soft knock accompanied by Geta’s worn voice pulled you across the room. Petrified to know what had become of the situation, you hesitated before opening the door. The wood groaned under your touch, but it was the tear-streaked face that lay on the other side that nearly stopped your heart. 
“What happened?” You inquired, giving Geta space to slip inside his room. The loud thunk of the lock being placed filled the silence before he gathered the strength to speak. 
Reaching for the cloth you pressed to your cheek, his voice trembled, the gravel in it even more present. “It is taken care of.” The soft thump of the chiton hitting the floor punctuated his confession. The pit in your stomach was anything but relieved by his answer.
“What does that mean?” You searched for signs of gore along the cuffs of his robes, terrified of what you might find.
“He’s sedated. May the gods right his mind during this sleep.” You watched Geta as he scanned over the now-clotted wound along your cheek. Though you couldn’t see, there was no doubt that deep shades of blue and purple had already begun to bloom alongside where the knife had sliced your skin. 
“Come here. We must clean this or risk infection.” He moved toward the nearby table.
“It is alright. I can take care of it myself. There is acetum and honey in Caracalla’s chamber. There is no need to waste your supply or your time. You must be exhausted.” Tired only of pretending, Geta’s sturdy frame crowded your space, backing you gently into the cool expanse of stone next to the doorframe. With nowhere to go, you forced yourself to look him in the eye for the first time since he’d returned from tending to his brother.
Words clawed at the back of your throat, trapped beneath the swell of emotions that burned the bridge of your nose. As if moving on their own accorded, Geta’s sure hands found the curve of your waist and the stained column of your neck. Resting his brow against yours, the warmth of his breath drifted over your face as he spoke. “Stay here... with me. I do not care for the idea of you alone with him. Not after this.” 
Geta’s chapped lips brushed over yours, never quite embracing the plush expanse of your mouth, but it was more than enough to send a flush rushing over your skin. Your lungs hitched at the feeling of his mouth falling to the hollow of your neck. He hovered over your body, only catching skin for fractions of a second at a time. Your hands found him, running the length of his chest before dipping inside his robes to trace light lines over the ripple of muscle that lay beneath the surface. Geta’s own lungs caught at the press of your hand low upon his abdomen.  
Your whisper at the shell of his ear locked him in place. “I cannot stay, you know this. My place is with him.” 
“That is only half the truth and you know it. You feel it the same as I… you belong here… with me. You always have.” 
“My contract would say otherwise.” The raw ache in your voice pulled Geta back to look at your face. Silver pools threatened to fall as you continued, “Until your brother passes or frees me from his service, I belong to him and no other. It matters not what I feel for you.” 
“You cannot believe that.” 
“Then what am I to believe?” Defiantly, you pressed the flat of your palms to his chest and pushed him back further. “He is the emperor of Rome, the same as you. To defy him would mean my death, even you could not overrule that.” 
“He would he would never have to know.” 
“Secrets move like lightning in this palace. There would be no keeping this from him.” You moved to make your exit, but the firm grip of Geta’s hand on your wrist kept you from fleeing. You whipped to face him, striking with your words like a snake, “My death would be on your hands and I do not want that weighing on your conscience. Not now, too much rests on your shoulders. If you feel for me as you say you do… then you know what we must be to each other. We can have nothing more.” 
“I’m tired of waiting, of pretending that I want anyone but you warming my bed. You are what I desire, what I have always desired. Must I continue to lie to appease my brother?” 
“Your brother’s time grows short. I will not squander it and neither should you!” 
“There are enemies around every corner, there is no promise of tomorrow. Why should I deny myself what I want most?” Swiftly, Geta hauled you close, his lips crashed against yours, devouring the taste of you. With your back against the wall once more, he slotted his thigh between your own, pressing you down upon himself and earning the most glorious moan from your lips. Caution was thrown to the gods as you threaded your fingers through his hair, holding firm to the roots as he palmed your breasts over your robes. The swipe of his thumb over your nipple sent shivers down your spine and sparked a newfound energy in the emperor. 
He wanted more, needed more. The sounds of your altered breathing, paired with the dampness pooling along his thigh gave him the permission to keep going. With practiced ease, he untied the knot at your waist, and pushed the oversized robe from your shoulders, exposing you to him. 
“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” He smiled against your skin as he spoke. His lips worked a line of fire from the hollow of your neck to your chest. The talented flick of his tongue over your nipple had you gasping for air. It was too much and not enough at the same time. Tiny whimpers from you accompanied his continued journey south. Dropping to his knees, he found himself mesmerized by the feeling of your skin beneath his lips. Calloused hands roamed the broad expanse of your stomach before dropping to explore your thighs. 
Geta nipped and sucked at the skin there, leaving marks only he’d know existed. Nearly to where you needed to feel him the most, the emperor pulled back, leaving your skin on fire and your need unfulfilled. A whine ripped from your lungs as your eyes dropped to look at him, and what you found was intoxicating. Geta’s eyes were blown, the rich brown was hidden behind his pupils. Lust had replaced all other emotions. 
Your fingers ran through his soft strands in a feeble attempt at guiding him back to you. When you felt him resist, you finally spoke. “Why have you stopped?” 
Geta’s strong hands gripped the back of your legs, keeping you steady as he spoke. “Believe me when I say this, I love you. Nothing will stand between us. I vow to protect you until my dying day”
The emperor didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, his mouth returned to you, this time right where you’d wanted him before. The steady pressure of his lips around your sensitive bud would have been enough to bring you over the edge, but the insistent curl of his fingers in your core had you keening. Geta hummed against you adding to the pleasure. It had been far too long since you’d felt the loving touch of another. What existed between you and Caracalla had never made it to this point. For certain, there had been romantic moments, sensual touches, and lust-fueled encounters, but those had long since ceased. Even prior to the onset of his illness things had begun to shift. But the real change had come upon him falling ill. This had brought about a necessary departure from that kind of bond. The disease that stole him from reality also stole him from the urges that all humans felt, leaving you to take care of yourself in those moments for far too long. 
But in this room, surrounded by only moonlight, and the man at your feet, you found yourself again. It took only a few more well-placed strokes of his fingers for Geta to bring you over the edge. Sparks tore through your body, causing your muscles to spam and your core to clench in rhythmic waves around his fingers. Carefully, Geta worked you through your release stopping only once he felt your body relax. Unsure of your ability to stay standing on your own, he stood to full height, capturing your lips at once. 
You could taste yourself upon his lips, earning him a heady groan. Wanting to hear more of you, he brought his slick-covered fingers to your mouth, running his calloused fingers lips along them before dipping past your lips. The plush heat of your tongue swirling around him, sent his head spinning as he purred in your ear. “Good girl.” 
You could feel him hard against your stomach, his own robes were now damp with arousal. The desire to return the favor was overwhelming, and had it not been for his next request, you’d have dropped to your knees just then. Geta smoothly whispered. “Let me take you to bed, even if it’s just for tonight. Let me love you the way you deserve.” 
Geta’s wide palms slid over your backside before lifting you gracefully into his arms. Stumbling back to his bed, he lowered you into the expanse of soft sheets that covered the mattress. With you safe and settled, he stepped back and removed his robe. Dropping the burgundy and gold material to the ground, his fist ran the length of his cock, tearing a hiss from between his teeth as he rolled over the throbbing tip. 
Geta’s self-control crumbled at the sight of you sprawled out before him. Your hands roamed your own body fluttering over your core and massaging your breasts. With each pass of your fingers, his need to feel you wrapped around him grew too much to bear. Done with waiting, done with watching, the emperor lowered himself on top of you, collecting your slick with his member before easing himself inside. Geta’s strong arms caged you in, blocking out everything but the feeling of you and him together. He searched for your lips, needing to kiss you, but the embrace soon turned into nothing more than swallowing each other's moans. Each roll of his hips brought you closer to the edge once more, even as he clung to the final shred of himself. 
“Geta, please…” The pitiful sound of his name tumbling from your lips, accompanied the drag of your nails along his back. Your actions were sure to have left a mark, but it mattered not. With one final pull at the base of his hair, Geta let himself go. You were soon to follow. Your ragged breaths matched with his as he lowered himself further onto you. His weight was heavy against your chest, and yet you knew without it you’d feel exposed. It was exactly what you both needed as you came down from your high. 
As your breathing slowed down, the emperor rolled to his side, leaving you empty. You whined at the loss of him, but as if sensing your need, he reached for you, hauling you close. Your face pressed into his chest as your legs tangled. Alone, in his bed, Geta pressed a kiss to your forehead and held you close. For the first time in ages, the world seemed right, as if nothing terrible could happen. He knew that come break of day things would return to normal, but for now, he’d live in this temporary reality. 
(Part II)
740 notes · View notes
lipglossanon · 3 months ago
Text
Star In My Eyes
Tumblr media
Best friend!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader
A Little More Savory tier commission from @porcelainseashore 💜 💜 thank you!! 😭
Word Count: 2658 🫣
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, bf!leon, next door neighbor!leon, pining, lots of feels happening, Leon POV, jealousy, possessiveness, “just friends” 🤭, kissing, dirty talk, unprotected sex, creampie
proofread ✍️
↺ ◁◁͏͏ ll ▷▷ ⋮≡
Tumblr media
Things have settled back into their regular routine. Leon hasn’t brought up that illicit window scene—even if it has lived rent free in his head since—and you definitely haven’t brought it up. He kind of wishes you would; he wants to know if it meant anything or really was just the one-off it seems to be. But, you’re his best friend, the girl next door he’s had in his corner from the beginning. He’d be stupid to mess that up. 
Meeting you for lunch isn’t anything new; it’s literally a muscle memory for him to walk over to the campus cafeteria and meet up with you for a bite to eat. Today, he catches you already seated at a table and waves to you. You smile brightly and wave back before pointing at the seat across from you. A warm, fluttery feeling trills in his stomach like a songbird. Queuing in line to grab something from the menu, he can’t help but think that ever since that afternoon, Leon hasn’t been out on any dates. 
And he’s not upset about it either. You’ve been spending your free time with him too—talking about buying a new controller interface to produce better mixes for your beats. It all flies over his head, but you light up like the Fourth of July when chatting about it, and Leon’s happy enough to bask in that glow. 
After paying for his food, he’s so lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t even realize someone has occupied the seat next to you until he’s sitting down across from you. 
The guy has the audacity to smile at Leon. “Hey, man.”
“Hey.” 
He flicks his eyes from this interloper over to you. You’re not even paying attention to Leon; your body’s angled towards this stranger with a smile on your face.
“Don’t lose my number now,” the guy winks. 
Does he think that lame-ass pickup line will work? Leon scoffs mentally, but his eyes cut back to you, and you’re still smiling at that guy. There’s no way you would give that loser the time of day—right?
“Uh huh, I’ll think about it.” You wave him off with a laugh, and the idiot finally leaves. 
Leon’s blood pressure skyrockets. That asshole gave you his number, and you took it? You don’t even know this guy; he could be a total douchebag. 
“Who was that?” He pins you in place with his stare. 
You shrug, like Leon’s not losing his mind right now.
“Some guy. I think we have a class together,” you pause before shaking your head. “Either way, he wanted to see if I was free this weekend.”
“For what?”
You laugh, “What do you think? He asked me out on a date.”
Leon’s stomach clenches uncomfortably. “And?”
“And I told him I had plans.” Your brows raise in concern. “Are you okay? I told you yesterday that I had to run some errands for my dad on Saturday, and we’re hanging on Sunday.”
He forces his shoulders to relax. “Yeah, I just thought—never mind. You coming over today?”
You smile, confusion hovering over your features. “Of course. You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.”
Things were not fine. He enjoys the rest of lunch with you, talking about classes and upcoming assignments, but in the back of his mind, he can’t stop thinking about how casually that guy hit on you. How you just sat there, smiling, instead of telling him to piss off. Leon’s literally sitting right in front of you—your best friend—so there’s no need for some loser to come barging in.
After splitting up for different classes, Leon’s thoughts run in a constant loop. He gets why that guy hit on you; the why isn’t the issue. He just hates that you even entertained that Neanderthal. How many times have you complained to him about a terrible date? Countless times. Leon can’t even remember all the horrible details of each one—only that once it’s all said and done, you come to him for comfort.
And after all, why not? He’s your shoulder to cry on, the one person who’s been by you through thick and thin. Which, of course, goes both ways, but he can’t help but feel protective of you. You’re too sweet and trusting; a prime example being that dickweed at lunch. Leon is so in his thoughts that he doesn’t even take notes for any of his lectures, just sitting in his seat for each one and thinking about you. 
How often does that kind of thing happen? Especially when he’s not even around. How many guys have hit on you, and you’ve never thought to even mention it to him? Glaring at random guys he sees around campus, Leon stews in his emotions—possessive jealousy and frustration coursing through him and sending his thoughts on a downward spiral.
By the time Leon leaves campus, he’s decided on a new course of action. He’s really going to show you he’s the only one for you. Running through ideas on the drive home, he thinks back on all the things he’s done that had you acting overly affectionate toward him.  It’s guaranteed to happen when he helps you out with something—like the last time he changed the oil in your car without asking him to or fixing your old radio.
Not seeing your car parked out by your house, Leon decides to just hang around the garage, maybe tinker with some little projects he’s got on the side. You brought over a busted speaker the other day, and since he has the free time, he might as well work on it. Plus, it’ll help with his plans as well as take his mind off of things.
Losing track of time, he doesn’t lift his head away from his workbench until you’re clearing your throat behind him. 
“Whatcha working on?”
He stands and stretches, rubbing his neck to work a kink out. “Think your speaker is almost fixed up. Wanna solder a few things before testing it.”
“Oh nice! Thanks, Leon!” You smile, peering around him to look at the mess on the tabletop. “That saves me so much money, you don’t even know. You’re the best.”
Pride suffuses his chest, your praise lighting up his brain.
“Eh, just glad to help.”
Leon watches you walk over to the couch and relax onto the cushions. After stretching a bit more, he walks over and rolls the garage door shut before joining you. He sinks down into the soft material, legs splayed out in front of him. Drumming his fingers on his thighs, his eyes shooting over to the pack of smokes on his workbench.
“You should cut back,” you tease, kicking your shoes off and tucking your feet under his thigh.
“I don’t even smoke that much.” He rolls his eyes, a grin tugging at his lips. “Besides, you’re not my boss.”
“You’re right. I’d fire you for insubordination.” You tease, and he shakes his head with a chuckle.
Lapsing into silence, Leon’s thoughts circle back to earlier at lunch. It can’t hurt anything to feel you out, see what you really think about that guy.
“You gonna call that dude who gave you his number?” His fingertips tap a nonsensical beat on the top of your foot.
You wiggle your toes against his thigh. “Eh, I don’t think so. Honestly, it’s been so long since I’ve even been on a date I’ve probably forgotten how,” you laugh. 
Leon doesn’t know what possesses him, but he blurts out the first thought that crosses his mind. 
“We could practice.”
He doesn’t know why he says it; it was just a word vomit moment. There’s no way—
“S-sure,” you look away shyly. “Just a friend helping a friend, right?”
He nods so fast his fringe moves with the motion. “Right! Nothing weird about wanting to help out a friend. And we’re best friends, so it only makes sense for me to help you.”
You finally look back over at him, plush bottom lip tucked between your teeth. Leon wants to sink his own teeth into that lip.
“Okay. Um, so where do we start?” You straighten up in your seat and smooth your hands down your shirt.
“Well, what’s making you nervous?” His own heart races in anticipation.
“Well, if things lead to more, I’m not sure what I’d do,” you pull your feet away to move closer to him.
“Yeah?” Arousal pools hot and fast in his gut. “Want me to take the lead?”
“Please,” you murmur, eyes drifting to his lips. Your hand reaches up to brush his fringe from his eyes. 
“It’s just helping out a friend.” The words are quiet, like you’re trying to convince yourself. Leon, not wanting to lose this chance, rubs his palms down your sides. 
“Of course.” He nods, helping you straddle his lap, brain buzzing with so many thoughts it’s all noise. “It’s just practice.”
“Uh-huh,” your eyes droop, sinking your weight against him, hands resting on his chest. “Just pretend.”
“Okay,” he murmurs, bringing one hand up to cup the back of your neck. 
He pulls you down as he tilts his head, slotting your mouths together like puzzle pieces. His cock stiffens in his jeans when you gasp and melt against his body. Your kisses are soft and hesitant—your mouth parting immediately when Leon swipes his tongue across the seam of your lips.
It’s easy to get lost in this slow, sensual makeout. Leon’s hands grip onto your hips, thumbs pressing right into your hip bones. Your fingers are tangled in his hair, making his cock twitch every time your nails scratch against his scalp. He’s so lucky that you trust him with something like this—that you’re willing to be this vulnerable with him. 
His feelings are all over the place, but the one thing that definitely stands out is the bone-deep satisfaction in knowing you're all his, at least for now. You rock your hips down against his bulge, and he groans against your mouth.
“It’s been a while since I’ve done anything like this.” You pull away, lips kiss swollen and dilated gaze locked onto his. 
His fingers encircle your wrists where your hands rest on his chest, keeping his eyes on yours. “Oh?”
“Mm hmm,” you offer him a fond smile, his favorite kind; it reaches your eyes and makes them soft. 
He drops kisses to your jaw, the apples of your cheeks, then your parted lips. A surge of want so heady it makes him dizzy has him kissing you deeply.
So that’s how one thing leads to another—hot, sloppy kisses to dirtily grinding your damp, panty-clad cunt against the bulge in his briefs—and now you’re both naked, with Leon pressing you down into the couch cushions while he drags his cock across your sensitive clit.
“We’re best friends, right?” He murmurs, taking your hands in his and pressing them above your head.
You nod, eyes glassy. “Of course, Leon. Best friends.”
He rubs his thumb over the pulse point in your wrist before reaching one hand down to grip the base of his dick. Slapping his cock down onto your wet cunt, he notches the tip at your drippy hole. His heartbeat’s in his throat. 
“This okay?”
Whining, you cant your hips toward him. “Yes, please, wanna feel you.”
Groaning from deep in his chest, Leon rocks forward, sinking inch by inch into your snug cunt. He hopes to god he can hold out. You feel way too good. His eyes slip shut, and he pants heavily, one hand gripping your hip while the other still grips your wrists. 
“Fucking hell,” he grunts, finally opening his eyes to stare down at you. “Such a tight cunt.”
He watches your lashes flutter as your pussy grips his cock like a vice. He groans, pulling out to fuck back in just as deep. Letting go of your wrists, he slides his other hand down across your body, groping your breasts before gripping your hip.
“God, you showing me these gorgeous tits the other night—can’t stop thinkin’ about ‘em,” he dips his head down and bites at your stiff peaks, tongue swiping across each hard nipple. “Teasing me in the window like that? Got me so hard.”
Your cunt squeezes down on his cock, and he groans.
“Leon,” your hands move to grab onto his broad shoulders, making his muscles flex under your hands. “Fuck, your mouth feels so good.”
“Yeah?” He grunts, pulling out halfway before rutting his cock back inside your snug pussy, his fingers digging into the fat of your hips.
“Your soft wet pussy feels good, too,” he whispers against the shell of your ear. “Your pretty perfect pussy, and it’s all mine.”
“All yours,” you whine, hole pulsing and sucking his cock in further.
You gasp out, lips brushing against his, “Have you ever felt this good with anyone else?” 
“No, never. You’re so good, so good for me,” he pants, mouthing and biting at your breasts.
He raises up, grabbing for your hands until he can lace your fingers together, pressing your clasped hands down against the couch cushions. Now, Leon’s face to face with you, watching the pleasure twist your features erotically. 
“You drive me crazy,” he tells you, voice gentle even as his hips thrust roughly against yours. “Just wanna keep you all to myself.”
“Leon,” you whimper, wrapping your legs around his waist. “I feel the same way.”
He presses your lips together, licking into your mouth with a moan. He can’t get enough of the way you taste, sucking on your tongue greedily. Thrusting faster, his cock pounds into your sopping wet cunt harder and harder—the sound of skin slapping together sounding loud in the garage. Letting go of your hand, he slips his fingers between your bodies and begins strumming against your puffy clit. 
It’s like a live wire runs through your body, muscles tightening and twitching while your pussy walls flutter around his cock.
“Gonna cum,” you whimper against his lips, and he kisses you heatedly, swallowing your moans and whines to keep stowed away for when he’s alone in the dark of the night. 
“Do it,” he murmurs, pulling back until he can lock eyes with you. “Cum for me, show me how good you feel, baby.”
Whining, your head arches back, legs clamping down around his waist as you cry out softly. Leon can feel the difference; your pussy milking his cock with your inner muscles until he’s groaning and burying himself balls deep. Belatedly he realizes he’s cumming inside you raw, a hot spike of arousal driving him to rut deeper into your cunt, hot ropes of cum spurting thick and sticky inside your hole.
Giving you a few minutes until your legs drop away from his body, Leon eases out of your pussy, eyes glued to your puffy cunt as you leak his cum onto the ugly green cushions. You stretch and raise up with a moan, reaching for your clothes strewn in the back of the couch. 
Dressing quietly, Leon’s unsure what to do or say next. A line was crossed, whether or not either of you admits it out loud, and he only hopes you’re both crossing over into the same direction. 
“Shit!”
Leon’s pulled from his musings at your urgent tone. 
“I told mom I’d stop by the store on my way home and totally forgot. Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. 
Tossing on your jacket, you stand up, patting your pockets until you find your keys. 
“Talk later, okay?” You drop a quick kiss onto Leon’s lips before walking over to the garage door and rolling it open enough to slip under. 
You shoot him a smile and a little wink before letting the door drop closed. Leon sits there dumbfounded, brain oddly quiet as he processes what just happened. Maybe you’re both more on the same page than he thought. 
514 notes · View notes
immoral-stranger · 29 days ago
Text
𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐉𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐆𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐲 // 𝐌𝐕𝟏
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟒. 🪐 “I like to stick to walls. Observing conversations, lifting them when they fall.” – Foster the People, Fire Escape.
Tumblr media
Pairing: Max Verstappen x fem!reader
Word count: 5k
Warnings: There's a dinner party and reader is a chef, so a lot of talk about food. Reader is also very self-deprecating. Allusions to issues regarding mental health and self-worth, but it's not really the main story. It makes sense, I promise, I just don't know how to warn about it.
A/N: My sister requested this after we watched the movie Sommartider (very swedish), so there's a similar scene in that. I personally find this one very cute. ♡
Tumblr media
The apartment smelled of butter and garlic, the scent clinging to the sun-warm kitchen, filled with light that spilled through the sheer linen curtains. It was small but charming, a snug little nest tucked into the hills of the French Riviera, not too far from Nice. You stood at the counter, hands damp from having peeled potatoes, a half-prepared gratin tray in front of you. It had been a gift from your parents, a fittingly named Marseille bleu Le Creuset roasting pan. You would’ve never bought it for yourself—too expensive—but as a gift, you’d been thankful to receive it. 
“Did you decant the wine like I told you?” Imogen’s voice drifted from the other room, where she was preening in front of the gilded mirror you’d picked up at a flea market. It wasn’t her style—too rustic, too worn—but she’d said it added “charm” to your place, always opting for a backhanded compliment instead of the truth. She hated your style because it was the opposite of hers. 
You didn’t look up from your work. “No, uhm—”
“Kinda busy,” she interrupted, breezing in. Imogen always moved like she was on a runway, even barefoot in her sister’s modest kitchen. Her hair was swept into a sleek bun, and she wore a silk blouse that you suspected cost more than your entire apartment deposit. Sponsored, most definitely. She paused to eye the tray in front of you. “What even is that?”
“The base to dauphinoise potatoes,” you said, flicking a glance at her. She didn’t care about the answer; she never did. Imogen asked questions to fill the air, not to gather information. You also suspected that she loved the sound of her own voice so much that she never felt the need to shut the fuck up. 
She wrinkled her nose, but it was half-hearted, like a habit she wasn’t willing to break. “I still can’t believe you do this out of pure enjoyment.”
You shrugged, lifting a knife to thinly slice another potato. “Everyone needs to eat, Imogen.”
“Yeah, that’s what Uber Eats is for,” she said breezily, perching on one of your barstools. “No need to go to culinary school.”
You turned to give her a pointed look, hand on your hip. “And who do you think works in the kitchens at the restaurants you order from?”
Imogen made a face, part exasperated and part amused, and waved you off. “You do not always have to poke holes in other people’s logic. It’s an unattractive trait.”
Before you could respond, the sharp trill of the doorbell cut through the room. Imogen’s eyes widened, and she hopped off the stool in a single fluid motion. “Oh god, that’s them—” She smoothed her blouse and gave herself a quick glance in the reflection of a hanging copper pot. “Do I look good?”
You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, but your voice softened in spite of yourself. “You always do. It’s your job.” 
As Imogen floated toward the door, a knot of tension twisted in your stomach. It wasn’t jealousy—it never had been. It was more complicated than that: a mix of frustration and yearning that you didn’t want to untangle. Imogen walked through life as though she owned the air around her, while you had spent most of yours holding your breath. 
She pulled the door open with a practiced flourish, stepping aside to let Daniel stroll in first. His confidence and laughter preceded him, a quick kiss placed on Imogen’s cheek, and she giggled in a way that made you want to hurl. 
Daniel moved with the kind of ease that made it impossible to tell if he was posing or simply existing. Former Formula 1 driver, now Imogen’s on-again, off-again boyfriend, who appeared far more interested in globetrotting and sponsorships than in anything truly meaningful with her. With a bit of self-distance, you actually really enjoyed Daniel’s presence. He was funny and kind, even though you had nothing in common. 
“Danny, always good to see you,” you said, managing a polite smile as he stepped into the kitchen, lifting your attention from the food preparations. 
“Whatever it is you’re cooking smells wonderful,” he replied, inhaling deeply. “This is Max,” Danny added, stepping aside to reveal the man behind him. 
Through a gap, you could spot Imogen in the entryway, observing your reaction and how you greeted the both of them. It was almost like she wanted to make sure you wouldn’t embarrass yourself—or, worse—embarrass her. You, of course, knew who she had invited over for dinner. You’d had to sit through hours worth of gossip all the times you and Imogen caught up on each other’s lives. So, having two world-famous athletes stand in your kitchen wasn’t as surreal as it may sound. 
Max was taller than you’d expected, his broad shoulders and quiet presence making the doorway seem smaller. Clad in a simple black t-shirt, he seemed like any other guy your age. He looked relaxed but not indifferent, his gaze curious as he took in your modest apartment.
You raised an eyebrow, unable to resist the rising amusement. “Danny, I don’t know if it’s funny or offensive that you think I don’t know who he is.” 
They both chuckled slightly at your words, and it was like you could see how tension released from Imogen’s shoulders, instantly becoming a couple centimeters shorter. 
“I would shake your hand, Max, but I have oil all over mine,” you said, holding up your slick fingers as evidence, before returning to the food, dealing with a marinated cut of meat. 
“Right,” Danny said, clapping Max on the shoulder and steering him further into the room. “She’s got this whole culinary genius thing going on, doesn’t she? Always smells like a five-star restaurant in here.”
“Not exactly,” you said, though the compliment made your cheeks feel warm. You glanced up at Max, who was still watching you, his smile small but genuine.
“Well, don’t let us interrupt your masterpiece,” Imogen said airily. “We’ll stay out of your way. You’ve got this under control, right?”
You only nodded, turning back to the food. It wasn’t until you heard Imogen’s laughter trailing into the living room that you allowed yourself to relax. There was a faint comfort in being in your element, even if you weren’t entirely alone.
In the background, you heard them talk as Imogen poured up glasses of wine for everyone. The wine she had forgotten to decant—that you knew needed air to taste decent. You heard her talk about the wine like it was something special. You, however, knew that she had stolen all of her knowledge from when she shot an ad for a winery somewhere in South Africa, and it didn’t particularly look like either Max or Danny cared that much. Ironic, for someone who had their own wine company, but you also got tired of hearing Imogen talk about things she didn’t really care enough about to research but talked about anyway to seem interesting. 
As she poured the fourth and final glass, you saw Max pick up two of them in your periphery. You tried to not visibly tense up as you heard his steps approach across your creaking wooden floors. He set both the glasses down on your kitchen island with a careful clink. 
With a wordless nod, you thanked him, picking one of the glasses up and swiveling the red liquid around to aerate it. 
Max lingered near the counter, his hands tucked into his pockets as he studied the array of ingredients you had spread out around you. “Is that you?” he asked, nodding toward a framed photo on the wall. 
It was one of the few remnants of your short-lived modeling career—an editorial shot of you, disturbingly close up, showing skin texture and flyaway hairs, vivid watercolour-like makeup in patches around your face and neck. You didn’t even look like yourself in it, which maybe was why it was the only photo of yourself you could bear seeing every day as you spent time in your kitchen. 
“Totally narcissistic, I know,” you snorted, keeping your eyes on the frying pan sizzling on the stove. 
“No, uhm, I didn’t mean it like that.” Max’s tone softened. “I think it looks cool. You must model too then?” 
“Nope.” You shook your head, glancing up at him, surprised by his sincerity. “I mean, I tried to, but I quit a while ago and went to culinary school.”
“That explains all this.” Max said, gesturing to the kitchen.
“I may have gone overboard,” you admitted, laughing softly. 
Imogen, perched on the edge of the sofa like a cat surveying her domain, twirled a lock of her hair idly before cutting in smoothly. “Is she boring you with her food talk, Max?” Her voice had that lilting quality you recognized well—equal parts teasing and dismissive, designed to simultaneously charm and belittle.
You stiffened instinctively, your movements freezing, spatula scraping the bottom of the pan. 
Max, however, straightened slightly, his casual stance shifting. “Not at all,” he replied, his tone easy but resolute, as if dismissing her suggestion entirely. Then he turned toward you. “Actually…” He hesitated, a small, almost bashful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Can I help with anything?”
“Oh, probably not,” you said, trying to recover from sounding too surprised. “Imogen always says that I’m like a dictator in the kitchen and that my recipes are unreadable.” 
Max stepped closer, peering down at your notebook with recipes, pages filled with messy handwriting, arrows, and scratchy diagrams. “No, I get it. It’s like a mind map. Makes it easier to see the process,” he said after a moment. “Even if I don’t know what half of these things mean. What even is… a wild turkey?” 
You tilted your head, genuinely surprised that he could make sense of your ramblings. Looking over, you saw his finger point to one ingredient. You let out an unguarded laugh, the sound bubbling out before you could stop it. “It’s bourbon, for the marinade,” you explained. “Does this look like turkey meat to you?”
The meat sizzling in the frying pan was obviously some cut of beef, to judge by the colour. You didn’t need to be a culinary expert to know that. 
“No,” Max admitted with a grin. “And it would be weird to measure meat in tablespoons.” 
Your lips quirked upward, and you reached for a pear from the fruit bowl beside you, along with a cutting board and a little knife. You were hesitant to give him one of your good knives, worried he’d cut himself the first thing he did. It was quite common for people to do when they were unfamiliar with the sharpness a chef’s knife could have. 
“I guess you can chop that pear in little cubes, if you want to help.” 
Max took the pear from you, turning it over in his hands as if he were inspecting some foreign object. “A pear?” 
“It’s for the salad,” you explained, already turning back to your own task. 
“You can put pear in a salad?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief. “I don’t think I’ve eaten a pear since I was about seven.” 
You arched a brow, glancing at him over your shoulder to see that he was fully sincere. With swift movements, you took the knife and cut a slice of the pear before dipping it into a vinaigrette you’d already prepared. 
“Try it, for science,” you said, holding it up for him to taste. 
Max hesitated before taking a small bite, his brow furrowing slightly as he chewed. Then he nodded, his expression lightening. “Huh, you know what you’re doing.” 
Heat rushed to your cheeks as you dismissed his comment, turning to look at the stove again. 
Max chuckled in response, shaking his head. He then stepped closer to the counter as he grabbed a knife. His movements were unpracticed but deliberate, the pear wobbling slightly as he began chopping it into uneven pieces. You felt the familiar itch of not being in control, almost taking over your own movements. But, you stopped thinking for a moment. Dinner wouldn’t be ruined just because the pear wasn’t in perfect cubes. And Max was actually putting in effort, biting down on his tongue, a line forming between his brows as he focused.
“Are you always this much of a perfectionist,” you asked, viewing his motions, “or are you just showing off in front of me?” 
“I’ve never put this much brain capacity into anything before,” Max joked, adding a laugh as he examined one of the misshapen pear cubes. 
For a moment, the kitchen fell into an easy rhythm. Imogen and Danny’s laughter floated in from the other room, a sharp contrast to the quiet concentration shared between you and Max. You didn’t usually let anyone help in the kitchen—it was your sanctuary, your domain—but for some reason, with Max fumbling his way through chopping fruit and throwing curious questions your way, it didn’t feel like an intrusion. 
When the food was done, the four of you gathered around your dining table, decorated with pottery and plates that you had collected throughout the years. Nothing matched, just like you preferred it. The golden hour crept through the windows as the room filled with light from the sun and flickering candles. 
And the dinner went fine, just like it always did, even though you couldn’t help but imagine the worst-case scenario of accidentally poisoning someone, or forgetting an allergy, maybe dropping the main dish right on the floor. Your sister and her company ate like they enjoyed it at least. The added blur of wine helping with the atmosphere. 
You were always the most quiet one in group settings, only speaking when spoken to, really. But you liked it that way. The stories Max and Daniel could tell from their lives were vastly more interesting than anything you had experienced anyway. Imogen too lived a more eventful life with fashion weeks and world travelling. Everyone seemed to like it that way too, the scrape of forks against plates punctuating Danny’s latest story. 
“…and when I finally got the bloody thing out of the house, the neighbour’s dog chased it straight back in,” Danny concluded, laughing as he leaned back in his chair. Imogen giggled, dabbing her lips with a napkin in that poised way of hers.
Max chuckled but shifted his gaze to you, curiosity sparking in his eyes. “So, how did you end up going from modeling to cooking?” He asked, after Danny was done telling the detailed story about a snake entering his house back home in Australia. 
You didn’t realise for how long you’d been quiet until you were now forced to speak, your voice sounding foreign to even your own ears. Setting your fork down, you answered, “I gave myself one last runway season to see if I could support myself. I walked three shows, while Imogen walked like thirty.”
“Thirty-two,” Imogen corrected, not missing a beat. She reached for her wine glass, taking a delicate sip before adding, “I’ll always believe you could’ve done it if you didn’t give up so easily.” Her tone was light but pointed. 
Your lips tightened. “I didn’t give up, Imogen—I moved on.” 
“Sure, if that’s what you want to call it,” she said with a faint shrug. “You never see yourself as anything special, always such a plain Jane.” 
The words settled heavily in the air, their weight pressing against your chest. For a brief moment, the table fell silent, the only sound the faint clink of cutlery against porcelain. You forced yourself to maintain an even expression as you reached for your glass of water. 
“It’s kind of hard to when you’re having dinner with three child prodigies,” you answered, letting out a pathetic laugh to conceal your emotions. 
For someone who was so afraid of you embarrassing her, Imogen really had no issue with her own words causing embarrassment for others. 
Max frowned slightly, his hands stilling as he turned toward you. “I wouldn’t call myself a prodigy,” he said, his voice calm but tinged with something else—discomfort, perhaps.
“Yeah, right,” Danny said, nudging Max with an elbow. “Modesty doesn’t suit you, mate. You’re not fooling anyone.”
Max smiled faintly but didn’t reply. There was a softness in his expression that made your stomach twist, though you quickly moved your gaze to look at your plate; the uneven shapes of pear in the salad were suddenly the most interesting thing in the world. 
The conversation shifted, as it always did with Imogen, back to her. Something about a designer or a photographer saying she was the best model to work with. Something about a socialite event where ridiculous things had happened. Ridiculous meaning stupidly expensive or over the top. You wanted to laugh, knowing that they most likely didn’t use the real thing for the crazy champagne fountains she talked about, or that the sturgeon caviar they had served was a cheap knock-off, because no chef in their right mind would use the amount she mentioned. 
You zoned out as she talked, only starting to pay attention again when the conversation drifted towards what they were doing tonight and that they might need to call a cab soon. 
“Oh, where are you going?” you asked, unsure if you actually cared. 
“A sponsored event on a yacht in the marina. You know the jewelry company I did an ad for?” she replied casually, her tone almost bored.
You nodded, though the familiar ache of exclusion began to settle in your chest. You knew the exact advert she was referring to, not because you cared, but because those freaking pictures of her were everywhere. In stores, on every social media app, on digital billboards across multiple cities of the French Riviera—hell, you’d even seen it at a bus stop. 
“I assumed you wouldn’t want to come,” she added. The statement wasn’t cruel, but it stung all the same. “You never do.” 
Your fingers curled around the stem of your glass as you gave a small nod, keeping your face neutral. “No, I guess you’re right.” 
Max hesitated, glancing between you and Imogen. “I mean, she could come if she wanted to, right?”
“Yeah,” Imogen said, tilting her head as though the idea had never occurred to her. “I guess I could make a call to get you on the list.” 
“Don’t bother, you know it’s not my scene anyway,” you said quickly, your voice firmer than you intended.
Danny grinned, leaning back in his chair. “A wild night for her is solving a crossword puzzle with a pen you can’t erase.” 
“Or,” Imogen added with a smirk, her eyes glinting with mischief, “when she’s brave enough, watching an episode of Criminal Minds instead of Friends like she usually does.”
Their laughter filled the room, bouncing off the walls with the kind of ease you’d never quite mastered. It wasn’t malicious—at least not intentionally—but it still left a weight in your chest, heavy and familiar.
You kept your head down, pushing the last bit of salad around your plate, and told yourself you didn’t care. This was the dynamic, after all. Imogen had always been the star of the show, and Danny loved playing her supporting act. You had other friends who understood you better, who you had more in common with. Max, though—Max had been a surprise. And even now, as their laughter rang on, you caught him glancing at you from across the table, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression.
The dinner ended not long after. They had places to be, important people to talk to—while you had sitcoms to watch and dishes to take care of. You were happy to see Imogen every once in a while when she and Danny were both in Monaco, and you loved cooking for people, no matter who they were. But you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little happy knowing that Imogen was busy with work all throughout the upcoming month. 
As they filtered out, their voices trailing off into the warm Riviera night, the apartment felt suddenly too quiet. Locking the door after them, you slid down onto the floor, sitting with your knees tucked up towards your body, rubbing your tired eyes with the back of your hands, not caring if mascara crumbled all over your face. You felt empty, the hum of the refrigerator filling the silence. The half-drunk bottle of wine on the kitchen counter looked temping as you considered finishing it yourself. 
— — — — — — — — — — — —
Max trailed behind Danny and Imogen as they strolled toward the cab waiting just down the street. The night air was cool, carrying the faint scent of the sea, and the stars twinkled faintly above the rooftops.
Danny was cracking a joke, and Imogen’s laughter rang out like a bell, but Max barely registered it. His hands were shoved into his pockets, his mind somewhere else entirely—back upstairs, at the table, watching you push your food around with that faint, detached smile.
He slowed his steps, his feet dragging. The idea of the yacht party, the glitz and endless small talk, suddenly felt suffocating. He wasn’t sure why, but the thought of leaving felt… wrong. Max hated events like that. Everyone knew that. And while it was nice to catch up with Danny since they didn’t see much of each other nowadays, he found Imogen insufferable. He could play padel with Danny tomorrow if he wanted to talk more with him. Before he could think better of it, Max stopped altogether.
“Hey,” he called after them, making Danny and Imogen turn around.
“What’s up?” Danny asked, his brow furrowing.
Max hesitated, then gestured vaguely over his shoulder. “I think I forgot my phone. I’ll catch up with you guys later.”
Imogen gave him a bemused smile, her head tilting slightly. “You sure? It’s not like we can wait forever.”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Max said firmly, already stepping back. He waved them off. “Have fun.”
He turned before he could see their expressions and made his way back to the building.
The walk up the stairs felt oddly daunting now, each step heavier than the last, as though the weight of his own indecision was pulling him back. The soft hum of the building at night—the faint creak of pipes, the muffled sounds of life behind closed doors—seemed to grow louder with every passing moment. Max reached your door and hesitated, his hand hovering uncertainly near the wood.
What was he even going to say? He wasn’t the type to overthink things, but this felt different. He didn’t want to overstep. What if you didn’t want company? The evening had already been a mixed bag of awkward moments, and the last thing he wanted was to make it worse.
Max sighed, his arm lowering slightly, just about ready to turn back when he heard your voice from the other side of the door.
“I miss you too, like craaazy,” you said, your voice muffled but clear enough through the door. Max froze, his curiosity getting the better of him. You sounded close, as though you were standing right by the door. Picking up the pieces, he figured you were talking to someone over the phone. 
“Imogen and Daniel came over for dinner earlier, and he brought a friend of his, and it was the most awkward thing ever,” you spoke again. 
Max frowned slightly. He was the friend, of course. While he’d sensed some discomfort during the evening, particularly whenever the conversation turned toward you, he hadn’t thought it was that bad. Who would you be talking to like that anyway, debriefing something that had just happened? Did you have… a boyfriend? 
“Mum,” you added, your voice cutting through his doubt, “of course it was a boy.”
He relaxed a fraction, leaning slightly closer to the door without realizing it.
“A cute one, too,” you admitted. 
Max blinked, warmth creeping into his face. A cute boy. That was a twist he hadn’t expected. He couldn’t help but grin, his chest lifting slightly at the thought. And you definitely didn’t have a boyfriend.
“You don’t have to ask if I bottled it. You already know I did,” you said after a brief pause, your voice quieter now. “I’m not like Imogen. I don’t think I’ll ever learn to be that easygoing.” 
Max was back to frowning, this time for a different reason. He didn’t like the sound of that. He wanted to knock, to interrupt, but he didn’t move.
“Yeah, yeah, I love you,” you said, your tone softening into affection as you ended the call. “Tell Dad I said hi. Buh-bye.”
Max barely gave himself a moment to think before he raised his hand and knocked. There was a pause, long enough for him to wonder if you’d heard, and then your voice came through the door. 
“Did you forget something?”
By the sound of your voice, he could tell that you were expecting it to be Imogen coming back for something. Not him. 
Max smiled despite himself. “Yeah,” he said, the words coming out more confidently than he expected. “I think I did.”
For a moment, there was silence, and then he heard rustling from behind the door, almost as if you’d stumbled to reach it. The lock clicked, and the door opened, revealing you with wide, startled eyes. You looked more tired than you had before, makeup and clothes a bit askew. He assumed Imogen had something to do with how polished you’d looked at the beginning of the evening. 
“Max?” you asked, your voice pitched slightly higher in surprise.
He cleared his throat, his hand rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I was wondering…” he started, shifting his weight but keeping his tone light, “if maybe, I could stay here and be boring with you?” 
The corners of his mouth lifted slightly, though the words sounded stupid the moment they left his lips. He half-expected you to laugh, but instead, you blinked at him, your surprise melting into something softer.
“Uhm, yeah,” you said, stepping back to let him in. “Sure.”
Max stepped inside, and for the second time that night, he was struck by how inviting your apartment felt. The uneven warmth of the terracotta tiles beneath his feet, the mismatched chairs around the small dining table, and the array of plants lining the windowsill. It was nothing like he was used to, yet it felt like the picture-perfect definition of the word home.
Moving into the kitchen, his eyes landed on something on the counter—a tray of something, its surface dusted with cocoa powder.
“You made dessert?” he asked, tilting his head toward it.
“Yeah,” you said, shutting the door behind him, smoothing out your shirt with your hands. “I made tiramisu. Want some?”
Max didn’t hesitate. Moments later, he was seated on your sofa with a fork in hand, his first bite of the tiramisu silencing any lingering awkwardness. “Fuck me, this is like the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” he said, his voice filled with genuine appreciation.
You laughed, a soft, almost shy sound that Max couldn’t help but find adorable. You really couldn’t handle compliments well, and Max was going to use that to his advantage to make you wonderfully uncomfortable. “And you were going to have all this dessert for yourself instead of going out with us?” he asked, setting his fork down briefly to give you a look of mock betrayal.
“Well,” you said with a small shrug, sitting down beside him with your own plate of dessert. “I wasn’t really invited in the first place.”
Max frowned. “That’s not fair. They should’ve—”
“It’s fine,” you said, cutting him off. “Really. It’s not my scene anyway.”
Max studied you for a moment, his fork hovering over the dish. You were the opposite of so many people that he knew. And so similar to himself that it was almost scary to him. 
Tucking up your legs under your body, you made yourself comfortable on the sofa before you continued talking. “I tend to stick to the walls in places like that anyway. Just observing conversations, trying but failing to lift them when they fall.” 
“Do you also feel like you’ve got a foot in your mouth whenever you open it?” he wondered honestly. 
“Exactly. Always putting my foot in my mouth,” you replied with a chuckle. 
“Sounds impressive to me,” he joked with a grin. “I’m not that agile.” 
“Oh, shut up,” you said, rolling your eyes. “You were the one to bring it up.” 
For a moment, the apartment settled into a quiet hum, the faint sounds of the outside world barely audible through the walls. Max leaned forward, setting his plate down on your coffee table. The TV was noticeably black in front of the two of you.
“So,” he asked, tilting his head slightly, “what is it tonight? A crime show or… what was the other thing?”
“Friends,” you replied, reading in his reaction. “You’ve never seen Friends?”
Max’s brows lifted. “Not really. Maybe bits and pieces, but I couldn’t tell you much about it.”
“Oh my god,” you said, your tone equal parts horror and humor as your eyes widened dramatically. “You have a lot to learn.”
He laughed, the sound light and genuine. “I’m hoping you’ll tell me everything I need to know.”
You smiled, a real one that softened your whole face. You picked up the remote, turning on the pilot episode. Max wasn’t really paying attention, but he liked how certain funny things made you audibly laugh. The more you watched and the more tiramisu you ate—the more the comfortable feeling spread like a fire through your living room, silently burning as he placed an arm around you and shared your blanket. 
This wasn’t where he’d thought he’d end up as he had entered your apartment the first time tonight, but now, he couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.
Tumblr media
Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think ♡
౨ৎ [ main masterlist . taglist . other love letters ]
Taglist: @koko-mei @anamiad00msday @floweringanna @lucyysthings @yelenam5 @firefirevampire @alexxavicry @emails-i-can-send @freyathehuntress
343 notes · View notes
formosusiniquis · 9 months ago
Text
“This is a song off of an album, anyway,” Jeff trails off, trying to let Eddie start the riff for the next song. But he's not about to let this go unchecked.
“Jeffrey,” he drags out the name into as many syllables as he can manage, giving the end a singsong-y trill. “Jeffrey, did you forget which album the next song is off of?”
Gareth isn't mic'd but Freak is, so he can hear that at least one of them picks up his teasing with an ooooh.
“We don't need to tell them what every album is, they paid good money to see us. Hell, some of them probably saw us when we were debuting it.”
“But you announced the last one,” Freak says.
“An excellent point, Freakazoid.” Eddie agrees, “And he certainly set this one up like he was going to share again, didn't he?”
“He did,” Freak's nod is a little more exaggerated than it needs to be, playing it up for the nosebleed seats in the crowd.
“We've got a set list to get to, these people don't wanna be here all night.” Jeff tries.
“This is a Corroded Coffin crowd, my man, they don't bow to the whims of things like a bedtime.”
“Thank you to everyone who took advantage of the AARP presale,” Gareth adds, the bit has gone on long enough that he's had stage crew bring him a mic.
“Gareth had his knee replaced three months ago and he's here. These old fogies can put up with the show going an extra twenty minutes, while we dig down on this right?”
The crowd cheers, Eddie only waves them on a bit to amp them up. He sends his shit eating-est grin Jeff’s way as they shout.
“See, it's fine. Now, did ye of the memory vitamin supplements forget what album the song was from?” He turns to the audience more directly, “The people want to know!”
“Fine, yes, you've written so many songs about fucking Steve, they've all started to blur together. Does that make you happy?”
“Thrilled,” and he is. It's the best thing he's heard all day, and he gets to be on stage again for three generations of fans. “This next one is off of Hunt the Freaks, and it's actually about him fucking me.”
980 notes · View notes
thew4nder3r · 10 months ago
Note
PERCY JACKSON X DAUGHTER OF ZEUS READER CLIT PLAY PLZZZZ PLUS COCKWARMINGGGG
an! FIRST ASK EVER OMGGGGG! I'M KICKING MY FEET RN JIJI
sorry this took so long. I literally didn't open tumblr for like a week and then went "oh shit i have an ask" and began writing before forgetting about it for another week JAJAJA
| if you don't like it - don't bite it. stop bombing my damn inbox with complains. just scroll, dude. |
| if you see a typo...no u didn't |
Tumblr media
"oh, gods. This is torture not even Tartarus could top."
Percy had you sitting on his lap, no way to escape because of his hands plastered firmly onto your hips. "Stop squirming." Percy grumbled against your neck, his hands squeezing your hips firmly and pushed you down further to your pussy further against his hips. His dick twitched inside you, causing a small squeak to come from your lips. Percy kept kissing and biting at your neck, your orange "Camp Half-Blood" shirt discarded onto the floor and your bra holding on (barely) by a single strap, the other hanging beside your shoulder, instead of over your collarbone like always.
You two were in the Poseidon cabin trying to stay quiet. Capture the flag was going on outside but you two "called in sick" to get out of it. Percy was fighting every urge in his damn body to not pound up into you and fuck you stupid like usual. "P-percy..." you whimpered into his ear, trying to coax him into at least letting you move and ride him but he shook his head. "No, no, darling. The people outside will hear you...considering how loud you get~" he teased and you could feel his smirk against your shoulder. You pouted, pushing him away to hide your blush. He caught your hands, grabbing you at the wrists with one of his hands while the other one went to between your legs, flicking meanly at your clip making you jump.
"What would Daddy Zeus think of this, hmm?" He whispered into your ear, his thumb pressing down onto your pearl and he laughed out breathily as he felt your walls clamp down onto him. You gripped his shoulders, little waves of pleasure trilling up your spine with every press of his thumb against your clit.
"P~ ahn- Percy..." He heard your little whimpers and he smirked, putting more pressure to feel your thighs shake on either side of his hips with your warm walls squeezing around him, almost pulling a moan from his throat.
You gripped his hair on the nape of his neck, trying to ground yourself a bit. Your stomach coiled and your hips began grinding almost absentmindedly against him. Percy felt it; the drag of your velvet walls brushing against cock. You half expected him to stop you, but he began to guide you into a steady pace with his hands on your hips. His thumb never stopped its pressure on your clit, the pressure making your hips jerk every once in a while. The coil in your stomach felt like bursting and he felt it in the shiver on your thighs and the way your walls would clamp down on him. "Not yet." He squeezed your hips, forcing your pace to falter and become slower. "Can't have you getting tired that fast, darling~." He whispered into your ear, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.
It was going to be a long night...
983 notes · View notes
accioscarheadthings · 7 months ago
Text
ULTRAMINE ~ CHAPTER 3
kenji sato x reader
summary: you learn all about the kaiju baby and the developments it has made, while spending time with kenji sato
pairings: kenji sato x fem!student!reader
warnings: none:), lots of fluff, reader and kenji being emi's parents
Tumblr media
masterlist !
next morning, you were perched on a chair beside professor sato, yawning in fatigue.
kenji and professor sato made you stay the night at the mansion, providing you with a guest room.
you were up and early in the morning, eager to learn more about the kaiju baby at your disposal.
"come on. we have to stand up and measure you," professor sato spoke in a soothing voice.
"and analyze your entire genetic make up," mina added, hovering beside you.
but the baby kaiju still seemed doubtful of him, her beady curious eyes darting to you every so often.
"you guys are up already?" kenji stepped towards you, stopping at your side.
you spared a glance his way, giving him a sleepy wordless wave of greeting. you weren't one to get all cheerful and all in the morning. your brain had to flush out the exhaustion and drowsiness.
"kenji smiled back at you, offering you a cup of coffee, "thought you could use some,"
"oh, bless you. i can't thank you enough," you accepted it, sighing in bliss after taking your first sip.
kenji seemed pleased with your reaction, resting his elbows on the edge of your chair and standing behind you, his biceps bulging, "so, what are you doing?"
"we need to examine her so we can plan a training regimen to protect emi from protectors," professor sato said playfully at the kaiju baby.
kenji blinked, "emi? uh wait," he paused, "did you name her after mom?"
"i think she would approve,"
emi was still trilling in worry.
"okay emi," professor sato held up bunny in the hair, "now stand up nice and tall,"
emi got to her feet, slowly straightening up to her full height.
"my god," kenji deadpanned, "my dad's a kaiju whisperer,"
"good girl," i appreciated. emi's attention turned to you, letting out a happy squeal at your approval as her eyes brightened in excitement.
"ah well. looks like she's starting to like you," kenji stated.
"mina, please prepare to insert the microtracking device," professor sato instructed and the ai floated over, injecting as emi held out her hand.
"mina, treat please," professor sato took the donut when the ai handed it to him and held it out to the kaiju baby, "and before we eat, we say itadakiamsu,"
emi took the donut and munched on it, but few seconds later, her stomach let out a grumbling noise, and she looked like she was about to puke.
"professor sato, dr. y/n," mina addressed you both, "i believe that emi is experiencing a bit of nausea from the medicine.
you felt your chair being pulled backward and noticed it was kenji's doing.
"this never ends well," he stated as a matter of fact, "might wanna protect your coffee,"
i placed a hand over my cup, leaning back wearily as i let kenji drag me back.
"uh, dad, step away please," kenji waved at his father to get back when the professor didn't move,"
"oh she's fine," he brushed it off, "itdaki!-" the professor was knocked off his feet as he went flying backward, emi's puke hurling him to the wall at the far end, "-masu," he groaned, sliding to the floor.
kenji pursed his lips in amusement while you covered your mouth with your cup of coffee, letting out a laugh when emi trilled in joy.
Tumblr media
you were jotting down everything kenji told you about emi's growth and development in these past few days, when emi leaped out of his hands and ran all around the room.
"get back here," kenji panted, "right now, missy!" he was in ultraman form, struggling to grab hold of emi, but the baby kaiju kept dodging him, running between his legs
emi squealed in delight, finding the entire situation entertaining.
you had put on your war suit to aid kenji; you couldn't grow in size like kenji but you had strange inhuman superstrength, much like kenji's alien genes.
you dodged a table emi had kicked your way, catching it and setting it down.
"here, baby. uh, c'mere," you had distracted her with a fish, handing it as a peace offering and got her to settle down.
emi sat on her butt in front of you, accepting the snack.
"that's my girl," you appreciated, caressing her leg as you leaned back on her.
after putting her to sleep, you headed to your guest room and took a long hot shower, easing your tired muscles.
you stepped out in nothing but a towel as wet strands of hair fell, framing your face.
you halted when you saw kenji sitting on the edge of your bed, wearing on his sweat as he had a towel slung on his shoulder.
"k-kenji," you stammered, placing a hand against the towel wrapped around your body, "w-what're you doing here?"
kenji's eyes widened at the sight of you, jaw going slack. he pursed his lips, taking a moment to reply, "it's been like thirty minutes and dad's hogging the water supply in my bathroom,"
his gaze followed a drop of water that dripped down your throat, following the dip of your collarbone and eventually into your cleavage, which was more prominent now because of your hand pressed against it.
kenji snapped his eyes away, feeling blood rush to his face, "s-so, um, i just wanted to use your shower. if you don't mind,"
"of course," you nodded, "go on. it's your house after all,"
"and it's your privacy after all," kenji stepped towards you, "i can't step all over it, can i?" he came to a stop in front of you, his gaze so sharp that they could burn the fluffy towel covering you.
you watched him in silence, contemplating his next move. he reached a hand forward and tucked a wet piece of strand behind your ear.
your skin tingled, goosebumps rising in your skin.
he brushed the back of his hand down your cheek, noticing the effect he had on you.
without another word, kenji stepped into the bathroom, grinning to himself, leaving you all bothered and flustered.
Tumblr media
you were fixing your warbird suit in kenji's basement, having it haning in front of you.
seated on the table while your suit was held out in front of you.
emi who was watching her favourite rhymes about kaiju, ditched it and headed towards you, mesmerized by your suit.
you hadn't noticed her yet, too focused in the task in front of you.
it wasn't until she nudged your shoulder with her nail that you turned to her, "oh hi, emi baby," you greeted her kindly.
something about your voice captivated the kaiju baby and she stared at you in curiosity.
"uh, mina," you called the ai, it floated towards you, "why do i feel like emi's giving me heart eyes?"
"she is in a kind of way," mina spoke, "i suppose she can sense the feminine energy in you. naturally, her instincts would point her to the nearest-"
"-female," you completed, turning towards emi completely, "fascinating. didn't know her instincts were that sharp," you held out a hand for her and closed your eyes in uncertainty.
but emi surprised you by snuggling her giant beak into her palm, letting your hand slide over her big cheeks.
you snapped your head back to her, laughing in astonishment, "that's cute,"
emi let out a squeal, motioning her hands to you about something and you nodded, pretending to listen and just happy to be there.
that night, kenji came home to find you asleep on the floor with emi. the kaiju baby placed a hand over your body protectively (but it wouldn't touch you to not crush you under the weight of it).
Tumblr media
mina had pulled up the baseball stadium stimulation and right now, you were in the middle of it with kenji and emi.
emi wanted to show you her batting skills that she learned from kenji, and you were more than intrigued to see a kaiju swing a baseball bat.
you stood beside kenji as he tossed the ball to an awaiting emi, "okay, girl. here comes the ball," he tossed it.
emi swung the bat with the right precision, sending the ball flying ahead.
"woaah!! that was amazing!" you dragged out the word, causing her to squeal out in contentment from her.
"yeah baby!" kenji pumped his fists into the air, "now, y/n, your turn,"
"what!" you defended, "hell no,"
"oh c'mon," he grinned, "emi would like to see you play too,"
"i can', and i won't, kenji sato," you stated firmly, crossing your arms.
"emi wants her mama to play too. isn't that right, emi?" kenji asked out loud.
emi trilled in reply, handing you a baseball bat to hold in an attempt to encourage you.
you stared down at it, "i don't know how to hold it,"
"i'll show you," kenji stood behind you, placing his hands over yours as he showed you how to swing the bat, his body covering yours.
you could feel his body heat radiate in waves, slowly engulfing you, "kenji..."
"yes, sweetheart?"
"w-what're you doing?"
his mouth pressed to your ears, grinning, "teaching you the basics,"
you nearly shivered, a tingle passing down your spine.
emi tossed the ball at you and you swung the bat with as much force as you could (with kenji's help too, of course). the ball went searing through the air and out of you.
"whooo!!" kenji appeared in front of you, jumping on his toes in excitement, "yeah!! that was great, y/n,"
his fingers caught yours, "now c'mon, we gotta run the bases," he pulled you after him, running down the path.
you ran after him, your hair blowing back and letting little laughs escape your lips. kenji chuckled at you over his shoulder.
emi chased after you and kenji, hands stretched in front of her as her face was pulled in a giggle while mina floated along cheering.
you and kenji jumped into the spot after finishing your laps, and emi followed your actions, hopping up and down with you both, sending sand flying in all directions.
Tumblr media
everynight, professor sato would read the legendary ultraman stories to you, kenji, and emi, re-enacting them with hand motions.
you would lean back on emi's leg, while the baby kaiju rested its hand nail on your palm for you to hold.
kenji would glance and his heart would skip a beat at the sight every time.
Tumblr media
step by step, you and the professor trained emi to defend herself using holographs; from drones, missiles, or from another kaiju.
emi made satisfactory progress as time went on, and you jotted it down, discussing the results with the professor.
while kenji was having a bad streak at his baseball matches, he was slowly climbing his way up, able to keep up with everything due to the help he got from you and his father.
the critics were finally favouring his side and showering him with praises and honors.
you, emi, and professor sato would sit together and watch kenji's matches together, cheering and hollering like fools.
the night the giants made it into the playoffs, kenji came home with a wide smile and you all celebrated his accomplishment.
kenji embraced you, lifting you off your feet for a moment before placing you back down.
you all were fast asleep in the basement, emi snuggled against you when your watch beeped once.
groggily, you peeked at it, sitting bolt right up from the incoming call.
"agent," the captain of kdf spoke into the phone when you answered it.
"yes sir," you nodded, conversing with him as he asked the needed questions.
you spared a glance at the others over your shoulder to make sure that they weren't eavesdropping, "nothing to worry sir, i have it all under control,"
Tumblr media
TAGLIST !
@earth-to-mee @sassy-cat-in-town @breaddippedinorangejuice @nuhteyam @gameboigyu @byunpum @jennypenny-19 @doublebunv @moonjellyfishie @m00nd0v3 @despacito-uwu16 @reivelmin @seyoran @warlike-morning @crimson-mage-02 @b3e-sat0 @miffysoo @t4naiis @lovingyeet  @imsimping4life @mmeerraa @btszn @jusmango-shak @yobriisstuff @goldenpoison @fruchtgeschmack @iateurdad16 @bandolls
Tumblr media
792 notes · View notes
literaryvein-reblogs · 3 months ago
Note
hi! could you help with describing different sounds of materials and textures? like dripping of water, clinking of glass etc. maybe a vocab list or your advice in general, doesn't matter ☆
Chatter - to click repeatedly or uncontrollably (teeth chattering)
Chime - to make a musical and especially a harmonious sound (clock chimed at midnight)
Clang - to make a loud metallic ringing sound (anvils clanged)
Clatter - to make a rattling sound (dishes clattered)
Clop - a sound made by or as if by a hoof or wooden shoe against the pavement (clop of hooves)
Clunk - the sound of a blow (books fall to the floor with a clunk)
Crackle - to make small sharp sudden repeated noises (fire crackles)
Creak - a prolonged grating/squeaking sound (creaking wheels)
Crinkle - to give forth a thin crackling sound (crinkling silks)
Fizzle - to make a hissing or sputtering sound (fireworks fizzled out)
Grate - to rub or rasp noisily (metal grating)
Gurgle - to make a sound like that of a gurgling liquid (water gurgling through the pipes)
Hiss - to make a sharp sibilant sound (hissing steam)
Jangle - to make a discordant often ringing sound (keys jangling)
Pitter-patter - a rapid succession of light sounds or beats (pitter-patter of rain on the roof)
Pulse - rhythmical beating or sounding (pulsed from the speakers)
Rasp - to produce a grating sound (rasp of steel)
Rattle - a rapid succession of short sharp noises (windows rattled)
Ripple - to play with a slight rise and fall of sound (rippling water)
Ruffle - a low vibrating drumbeat (ruffle the pages of a book)
Rumble - to make a low heavy rolling sound (thunder rumbling)
Rustle - a quick succession of small sounds (rustling leaves)
Scrape - a sound made by scraping (chairs scraping against the floor)
Sizzle - to make a hissing sound (a sizzling pan)
Slosh - the slap or splash of liquid (water sloshed around)
Splash - to make a sloshing sound (waves splashing)
Splutter - to make a noise as if spitting (spluttering engine)
Squeak - to utter or make a short shrill cry or noise (squeaking wheel)
Susurration - a whispering sound; murmur (susurration of waves)
Throb - to beat or vibrate rhythmically (throbbing beat of the bass)
Thrum - to sound with a monotonous hum (wings thrumming)
Thud - a dull sound (bag landed on the floor with a thud)
Thump - to strike or beat with or as if with something thick or heavy so as to cause a dull sound (thump of footsteps on the stairs)
Whish - to make a sibilant sound (baseball whished past)
Whiz - a hissing, buzzing, or whirring sound (cars whiz by)
Some Words to Describe Different Sounds
Harsh or loud. If you want to articulate abrupt, piercing, or loud noises, use: beep, bellow, blare, cackle, clack, clang, clank, clink, croak, earsplitting, full blast, grating, high frequency, huff, jarring, rasp, rumble, scrunch, shriek, toot, twang, vibrating, wail, and zap.
Soft or subtle sounds. Some descriptors to use to evoke quiet noises: breathy, chime, droning, fizz, glug, gurgle, jingle, moan, sizzle, squish, swish, swoosh, tinkle, trill, wheeze, whir, and whoosh.
Animal sounds to describe noises. English language readers often associate these words with animal noises, but you can use them to create imaginative descriptions of other sounds: bleat, bray, chirping, cluck, hoot, howl, meow, neigh, purr, quack, roar, woof, and yelp.
How to Write With Sound
Auditory imagery engages the sense of hearing.
Literary devices (onomatopoeia; alliteration) can help create sounds in writing.
Sound is a great sense to use to create a mood.
Consider two scenes of the same forest:
You might describe the chirping of many small birds, the rustle of small mammals moving through the softly falling leaves, or the whispering of a breeze through the trees. This creates a particular atmosphere, one that seems peaceful and maybe even a little magical.
Now consider another set of sounds from the same forest. Somewhere in the distance you hear the howl of an unidentifiable animal. Nearer to you, the creak of an old branch, followed by the snap of a twig. The wind, when you hear it, seems to moan.
The same two descriptions of a forest can create entirely different atmospheres with sensory language. Some exercises:
Carry a notebook with you as you go about your normal day.
Pay attention to the sounds you notice and write them down as you go.
Does your coffeemaker whistle, or would you say it hisses?
Do the sirens of emergency vehicles wail, or perhaps blare?
Does your door squeak?
The more you can become attentive to these things, the more you’ll be able to incorporate them into your writing.
Use onomatopoeia to help capture the sound of a scene:
The plop of a frog dropping into a pond
The clink of two champagne glasses
The crackle of a dry log on a hot fire
The whoosh of a car racing by
Onomatopoeic Words: hiss, ping, crunch, pop, sizzle, bang, swish, smash, flutter, clunk, peck, whistle, smack, whack, hush, whir, tip-toe, thud, zap, twang, cock-a-doodle-doo, squish, stomp, tap, thump, splash, purr, tinkle, gush, kerplunk, slurp, swirl, crash, whirl, clang, mumble, squeak, boom, meow, cuckoo, pow, splat, quack, screech, zoom, tick-tock, burp, clip-clop, eek, hiccup, moo, oink, buzz
In general, though, you’ll want to be judicious about using onomatopoeia, unless you’re going for a deliberately cheesy, comic book-type effect.
Tips for Describing Sounds in Writing
Consider your purpose. As you begin a project, decide if you want to render a specific experience faithfully or creatively. Consider the target audience for your creative writing, blog, or journalism. Understanding your goal and audience helps you make descriptors more effective and precise.
Employ onomatopoeia. Onomatopoeia is a type of sensory language in which the descriptive word sounds like what it describes—words like “drip,” “bang,” or “plink.” If you want to achieve an especially sound-driven description, consider using existing onomatopoeic words or craft your own.
Pay attention to verbs. While adjectives (words like “loud” or “sharp”) are the obvious choice for describing sounds, verbs are a powerful tool that can also help you achieve a strong description. For example, saying, “the jet was loud” is accurate and descriptive, while “the jet screamed” evokes an even stronger sense of the sound.
Sometimes less is more. Descriptions are most effective when focused, allowing readers to zero in on the essential details. If you include too many synonyms or attach multiple adjectives to each noun, you can overwhelm or confuse readers.
Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Word Lists ⚜ 100 Sensory Words
Hope this helps with your writing! :)
291 notes · View notes
sweetiecutie · 1 year ago
Text
🖤Fuck or Die part 2🖤
Part 1
Pairing: slasher! König x fem! Reader
Warnings: Dead Dove Do Not Eat, mdni, smut, non con so rape, violence, obsession, drugging, face-slapping and nose bleeding, choking, kidnapping, mention of murder. If you feel triggered by any of these warnings - just scroll past!
A/n: this took me way longer than I expected but yay, I finally wrote the second part!!! Also absolutely not me incorporating a quote from the movie bc I think it’s impossibly hot🤭
Reading part 1 is recommended for understanding the plot
Your life will never be the same. That damned evening changed you, everything around you, splitting your life into before and after.
Your memories of next few days after the murder were a sheer blur of events and conversations - numerous interrogations with police officers and detectives, psychologists trying to soothe you out of your stupor still, your mother crying her eyes out at the sight of you right after police arrived at the place of Paul’s death. And, of course, nasty journalists trailing behind you, watching your every move, invading your personal space unapologetically.
Of course, you were quite a catch - the first and only one who ever survived a meeting with König. Everyone wanted to know what he looked like - any particular details, scars or tattoos, a fucking skin colour - anything you could remember would be of huge use, giving at least any clues to a dead unmoving case. But there was very little you could help with - König took great care of covering every centimetre of his skin in black clothing, his voice changed, he smelled of nothing but earth and sickening metal of your boyfriend’s blood. Bastard was even smart enough to not cum inside nor anywhere actually, so that police couldn’t get his DNA samples.
A few months had passed since that horrific attack and there were still no traces of König.
It was midday when your parents had to leave to attend your grandma’s birthday - your mother was reluctant, not wanting to leave you all alone. You were never alone actually - a few police cars always patrolled right outside of your house, not allowing even postmen to get too close to your family’s property. It took a lot of reassuring and encouragement from your side to get your mother off your back, convincing her that you’ll be just fine by yourself and that you want your parents to have some fun. She then gave up with a deep sight, promising to be back in only a few hour’s matter.
You heaved a heavy sigh, closing and locking the front door after waving your parents goodbye, heading to the kitchen to grab yourself a drink. A pile of dirty dishes stacked in a sink caught your eye, the sight of its ugly mess on otherwise clean and tidy kitchen caused an itch somewhere deep in your brain. Without second thought you rolled up your sleeves, pouring dish soap onto the sponge and foaming it up.
As you were halfway through the dishes loud trilling of your landline phone calling startled you, causing you to jump on your spot. Your head whipped around, looking into direction from which the sound came. Wiping your wet hands on the kitchen towel you grabbed the phone, tucking it in between your ear and shoulder after accepting the incoming call.
- Hello? - you said, coming back to the sink, swiping foamy sponge over another plate, cleaning it of any grease and leftover bits of food.
- Hello! Um, can I speak to Paul? - your movements halted abruptly. You stood there silently for a long while, muscles stiff and unmoving, eyes staring blankly at some invisible point in the space before you.
- Excuse me, are you still here? Do I have the wrong number? - the man on the other end of the line said, his voice sounding concerned. It seemed to bring you out of your stupor as you drew in a long breath, exhaling noisily.
- Um, can I ask you how you got this number? - you said, already sensing something weird about this whole situation. But cops were all around your place, there was nothing to be worried about, right?
- Paul gave it to me himself. Said to call here if I needed to reach out to him, - man explained. That was strange but not unexplainable - Paul often hang out at your house, you wouldn’t be surprised if he knew your home phone number better than his own. - So am I calling right?
- Oh, yeah, sorry it’s just… Paul’s dead, - you said, teeth sinking into the inside of your cheek, sweet metallic taste coating your buds, but you couldn’t care less, nibbling deeper into small wound, feeling of slight pain grounding you successfully.
- Oh god, what happened? I’m so sorry, I didn’t know. But who am I speaking to then? - the man said, his voice now sounding genuine and apologetic. Everyone around Y/n suddenly sounded genuinely and apologetic. She heaved another sigh, resuming her scrubbing on the plates.
- He was murdered. And I’m his girlfriend, - you said in a calm tone, free of any emotion or feeling. Paul’s death was pretty much the only thing you talked about with others - police, detectives, police again, his parents and friends, your parents and friends. It seemed like such a sensitive topic turned into a rough callous way too quickly. - Well, I was his girlfriend, - Y/n mumbled after a short pause, faint clatter of porcelain audible in the background.
- Sorry about your boyfriend, - man on the line said. There was a brief moment before he added: - all those muscles didn’t help much, did they?
You froze. Silence settled in, interrupted only by occasional electric noise humming through the speaker. You heard your own pulse humping rapidly in your ears, your breathing fast and shallow, all muscles in your body tensing in alarm, straightening your back. Your eyes shoot up, looking out of the window above the sink. There were a few trees growing shallowly - barely an orchard - separating your house from your neighbours. No one was there.
- What’s that, sweet girl? You can’t see me? - a voice taunted, erupting herds of goosebumps running down your spine. - What a shame, I can see you clear as day.
- Neighbourhood is packed full with cops, you sick son of a bitch. If you only fucking dare coming anywhere close to my ho-
- Now-now, Y/n, - slasher interrupted you unapologetically, his voice hard and cold, causing thin hairs on your arms to rise. - Control your fucking language when you speak to me.
Your eyes dropped down onto the sink, fluffy dish soap foam was sparkling, playing with all the rainbow colors under the sun rays pouring in through the window. You clasped the phone in your non dominant hand, your dominant one reaching out and grabbing a kitchen knife from the drying rack, handle still wet and a bit slippery in your grasp.
- My, my, a dangerous thing that you’re holding. Be careful and don’t cut yourself, dearie, - König taunted, making your teeth clench. All blood drained out of your face, making you as pale as paper. Your eyes were fixated upon your window, peering into the orchard, desperately trying to spot any movement.
- What are you planning on doing? Everyone will hear if I scream. And cops will get your ass into prison, right where it belongs, - you spat out, pushing off the counter; your eyes ran all around the kitchen, looking for your cell phone with detective’s number saved, trying to keep the current call going so it’ll be possible to track it down.
- Oh will they? Then you better not scream, silly, - König snorted, making your blood boil. You were frightened still, terrified even; but the remorse of what he did to you, to Paul, was fuelling into your spite, making you a tad bit braver.
Failing to find your phone you entered the living room, rummaging through cushions and blankets piled on the couch, failing to find the stupid thing.
- Looks like you lost something. What’s up sweetheart? - you threw soft cushion back on the couch violently, huffing in annoyance upon not finding what you were looking for. You straightened and turned around to head to your bedroom, stoping in the middle of your tracks, freezing to the spot.
In the doorway leading to the hall stood König - dressed in all black, with heavy leather boots and his huge dagger strapped firmly to his thigh with a sheath, white scream mask staring right back at you. One large hand was pressing the phone to his ear, the other one was holding up your cellphone - the exact one you were looking for.
- You looking for this? - he asked, his own voice reverberating on the line because of your proximity.
You threw the phone to the side clutching onto the knife tightly. You dashed to the kitchen - there was a back door you could slip through - and outside was filled with neighbours and cops. Just pathetic six or so meters. Just a bit…
A scream tearing through your throat was muffled by a huge hand clamping against your mouth, the other one squeezing your wrist so tightly that for a fleeting moment you thought your bones were snapped, causing your grip on the knife to loosen, it falling down on the floor with loud clatter. König kicked the knife away across the kitchen, folding your arm back which caused your back to arch in pain - it felt as if he wanted to tear your limb from the rest of your body.
- Where do you think you’re going, Y/n? - König growled next to your ear, picking you up effortlessly and dragging your kicking form back to the living room.
Hauling you onto the floor König hooked one meaty thigh over your squirming body, putting bigger part on his weight down onto you, momentarily halting all of your struggle. One huge hand took ahold of both your wrists, pinning them to the floor above your head with frightening ease, his other hand was clasping your mouth still. He crouched down, scream mask was mere fifteen centimetres afar from your face as he seethed:
- Now you shut the fuck up and listen closely to what I have to say, and no one will get hurt, you get that? - he said, waiting until you gave him any sing of agreement. But you offered none. - You get that?! - König growled impatiently, bumping your head against the hardwood floor, causing black spots dance in the corners of your eyes for a long minute. You gave a weak nod, feeling hot tears running down your temples, getting lost among your hair.
- I’ve been thinking about you. A lot, - König sighed, hand that was on your face squished your cheeks together painfully, making your lips pucker out. - About this gorgeous mouth and pretty lips…
König crouched down, barely leaving a few centimetres between your faces.
- A this tight little cunt of yours. Remember how you clenched around me? How good my cock was filling you up?
- What do you want from me? - you weeped quietly, voice barely audible, broken by faint sobs and hiccups.
- Very little, dove. Just be an obedient girl and do as you’re told and no one will get hurt, - König tutted, taking in the sight of your crying face. Gosh, he was a sick fuck - his cock was already getting painfully hard, straining against his pants.
Letting go of your face König reached behind his back, withdrawing something from the rear pocket of his jeans. Just as you opened your mouth to cry out for help he shoved that thing inside of your cavity, slapping a hand over your lips so you won’t spit it out. The thing momentarily dissolved on your tongue, leaving a bitter aftertaste; you tried to struggle against killer’s strong hold, thrashing violently, but it led you nowhere.
Suddenly you felt hot - as if you had a really bad fever. Your mind clouding up rapidly, thoughts muddling, muscles becoming weaker by the second. You huffed out in frustration; moving your limbs a few centimetres seemed like impossible labour. World was spinning around you, blurring sharp and distinguishable features of König’s mask into a white haze.
König let go of your face once again, his now free hand slid down your body, cupping your sex through numerous layers of clothing separating you two. Sudden pleasure surged through your weakened body upon the contact; a loud moan that rolled off your tongue startled you - and suddenly you realised just how aroused you felt.
- Jeez, that dude didn’t lie about this shit, - König laughed out excitedly, watching your eyes widen in terror. You could barely move by now, not speaking of trying to fight off a man twice your size. His size. In a blur of all events, words and pain you never came back to just how fucking huge he was. You never mentioned that in any of your interrogations. How fucking stupid, huh?
Killer let go of your wrists cautiously, watching you closely - you rose your hands, resting your palms on his chest and pushing with all the might you had left, but it wasn’t enough to even push a cat off the chair - so that was the limit of your strength in this state?
König barked out another laugh - he was going to have so much fun with you! His hand never stopped massaging your crotch, noting a small wet patch forming on your shorts - you were soaked through your panties and now soaking your shorts? Gosh, he better buy a few dozens of these aids. Psycho’s eyes shot up to your face upon hearing a sob - tears ran down your eyes like small diamonds, turning your eyelids a pretty shade of red. König shifted forth so that his mask was almost touching your nose:
- Oh baby, I’ll be much gentler with you this time, I promise, - König cooed, pressing cold plastic of his mask against your flushed wet cheek, as if giving you a comforting peck.
Slasher shifted a bit, changing his position from sitting on your thighs to being in between them, yanking you towards him by your knees. He did quick job of taking your shorts and underwear off in few fluid moves, impatiently discarding them somewhere to the side. König felt his heavy cock twitch inside his jeans at the sight of your puffy cunny, all shiny from slick that practically oozed out of your fluttering hole. He swallowed hard, saliva was practically pooling in his mouth, having to restrain himself from tearing his mask off and devouring your cunt, exposing his face too early. You whined out something unintelligible, still trying to pry his fingers off one of your knees.
Your skin felt hot even through thick fabric of his gloves, so when König took one off and plunged two of his thick fingers inside of your tight hole he was surprised at how hot it was inside of you - one of the drug’s effects, he guessed. You couldn’t help but mewl at the pleasant feeling, your brain barely functioning, controlling yourself was beyond hard.
- That’s it, sweetness. Lemme hear all the pretty sounds you make, - König encouraged, plunging his fingers in and out of you, increasing the pace. Rough thumb coming to circle your slicked clit, causing your whole body to jolt softly. Scent of your pooling arousal was strong and prominent, seeping even through König’s mask, making him throb in his pants.
He couldn’t wait any longer. König was dreaming about your pussy being spread around his cock since that first night, he needed to be inside or else he’ll lose the remnants of his mind. Slasher slipped his fingers out of you, quickly undoing his pants, sliding them down as much as knife holster on his thigh would allow. Your breathing increased as you tried to close your legs, man’s bulky form making it impossible for you to do so.
- No, no please.. not again, - you begged, tears rushing down your temples, your voice meek and barely audible, so König just ignored it.
Pulling his girthy cock out König pumped it a few times with gloved hand, aligning pink swollen tip with your leaking entrance. It one smooth movement he bottomed out half of his impressive length, your body - flushed and pliant - taking him inside without any resistance. Low groan rumbled through his broad chest; König’s head fell backwards, hands gripping soft fat of your thighs, leaving pale marks of his fingertips on your skin.
You hated every second of it. Hated how his hips collided with yours with every thrust, how you felt him throb and twitch inside of you; hated how his hands wandered up and down your sides, rubbing your waist and palming your tits. And you hated how fucking good it felt. Hated how your body, despite all your attempts to resist, to fight off the effects of the drug, gave into the pleasure.
- That’s it baby. Just take what I give you, - König breathed out, his words slurred with pleasure. - See? See how good it can feel when you shut the fuck up and do what I tell you to? Just be a obedient little girl and feel good, I’ll take care of everything else yeah?
It felt as if a ball of bile got stuck in your throat; your face scrunched up in disgust as much as your jelly muscles allowed it:
- Fuck you, - you barely managed to choke out, your tongue struggling to form right sounds.
For a few moments you were sure König didn’t hear you, given the lack of any reaction nor acknowledgement of your words. But the next thing you knew was searing pain in your left cheek, the impact of man’s wide palm with your face jolted your head to the side, sudden change of its position made you felt dizzy. Now world was spinning around you even more so, you felt something warm trickling down your cheek - blood from your nose, you figured. Killer’s fingers roughly gripped your chin, yanking it back so that you were facing him once again.
- You wanna say that again bitch? Come on, I fucking dare you, - he spat out, movements of his hips halting completely, leaving his cock buried deep inside of your rippling warmth.
Your head shifting so harshly once again made you nauseous; you could barely see anything, dark purple circles were dancing all around, changing their shapes and giving way to greens and yellows to flood your vision.
- That’s what I fucking thought, - König gritted out. His hand let go of your chin, coming lower to wrap strong fingers around your neck. His hips started working with even more vigour, forcing his dick in and out of your drugged cunt on the pace that was almost inhuman.
Firm clasp of maniac’s hand around your neck made it nearly impossible to breathe. Both your hands wrapped around his mighty wrist, too weak to actually get him off you. Your vision started to darken rapidly, white noise trilling in your ears, barely allowing any other sounds to filter through.
- From the very moment I laid my eyes on you I fucking owned you. And I own you right now, and forever will. This is my fucking cunt, and I’ll use it whenever I want to. And I need you to fucking. learn. it. - König growled out, emphasising each of his last words with hard deep thrusts of his hips against yours, his cock making your stomach bulge, surely bruising your cervix.
- Oh but I’ll train you. Mould you into my personal cocksleeve, ready to be used whenever I feel like it, - his pace was quickening, thick cotton of his denim pants muffled filthy sounds of his mighty hips snapping against your ass. The grip of strong fingers never eased; König shifted part of his weight onto his hands which were wrapped around your neck, white mask hovering right in front of your face - milky white of it was a harsh contrast to blackness pooling in the corners of your eyes.
With that your conscience started to slip away. You felt your body jolt with every ferocious thrust of man’s hips, his cock buried deep inside of you, bruising your insides with its persistent bullying. Acute lack of oxygen burnt your lungs, and you prayed to all gods that König held your neck a tad bit too long - just enough for you to not wake up the next time. And just before you slipped into heavy delirium, your mushed up brain picked up König’s growl, penetrating through thick noise humming in your ears:
- You’re mine. Forever and ever.
Tumblr media
Street was filled with all kinds of noise - sirens from police cars were going off triggering dogs from nearby houses, neighbours were crowding a bit afar, frowning and shaking their heads, everyone having their own theory of what happened. Loud cries of Y/n’s mother shook the air, putting everyone further on the edge. She is such a sweet girl, she’s never done anything bad! Oh god, why is this happening to her of all people?!
Some people were saying that the girl simply snapped, breaking under the pressure of events and finally fleeting the country without telling anyone to not give any clues about her whereabouts to the killer. Some said she just went out to unwind from being constantly watched by police and have some alone time - she’ll show up anytime soon. But everyone knew that it was one of murderer’s deeds - he did something to her. And everyone knew, deep down, that they’ll never see Y/n again - alive, at least.
A young lanky policemen, obviously green and not experienced in his job, was babbling out his report to the superior, all the other cops that were patrolling with him as well stood around silently, too scared to pipe in.
- Sir, I swear we were patrolling the area all this time, there was literally no one but the neighbours, but they were staying at their pro-
- Then you were not doing it well enough! - city commissioner barked out, his mighty vice silencing everyone around for a short moment. His face was red, fuming with rage; nostrils flaring with intensity of his heavy breathing, angry vein popped up on his temple, pulsating in tandem with his rapid heartbeat. His heavy gaze shifted between all the poor officers, their faces pale as chalk.
- You had one fucking job. ONE fucking job - to keep the girl in the sightline - and where is she now, huh? I’m asking you motherfuckers - where is Y/n?! - Mr. Lindner barked out, his heavy voice making everyone jolt. Younger officers stared down on their shoes blankly, not daring to meet eyes with their boss.
- You may consider yourselves lucky if you’ll still have your licences by the end of the week, - commissioner Lindner tsked, spitting onto the ground in remorse. Turning around, he headed to his police issued car, shouldering all those nosy ones who were brave enough to approach him in this state. Getting inside Mr. Lindner closed the door with a loud bang, starting the engine and pulling out of the driveway onto the main road.
Commissioner Lindner drove in full silence, blue eyes fixated on the road ahead; it was barely past midnight, but the darkness hung thick all around, being slit by two yellow rays of his car’s headlights. He gripped steering wheel tighter, one hand coming to comb back his grown out hair out of his eyes, a small smile played in the corners of his scarred lips.
Soon he’ll be home - maybe the effects of drugs will wear off by that time and he’ll watch Y/n wake up slowly, those pretty doe eyes of hers gazing up at him drowsily. He will cook her dinner - all of her favourites - and maybe even spoon feed her, if she’ll allow it. Then he’ll bathe her and tuck her in her new bed, locking up the door for the night and watching her sleep through the cameras.
Everything was going as smoothly as ever. No one has accidentally seen him dragging unconscious Y/n out of her house and hauling her into the backseat of his car. No signs of struggle or fight were found - kitchen sink was still half-filled with soapy water and dirty dishes, clean ones drying off on the countertop, a knife with all the fingerprints being drowned among other dirty utensils. Y/n’s parents approved that everything was on its original place - as if the girl just disappeared, dissolved into thin air.
No one suspected a thing. And, of course, no one suspected a respectable city commissioner Lindner with years upon years of experience, a veteran with impeccable reputation, a person no one could speak badly of.
This was the beginning of your new life, life in which everything revolved around König, causing you to cling onto him as if he was some kind of goddess. Life in which you no longer belonged to yourself, but to your abductor. Life in which you finally understood that you don’t need anyone or anything else because you had König, understood that König was your life itself <3
Tumblr media
Slasher! König Masterlist
A/n: I apologise for giving König a half assed name, but I thought it’d be really cool for the plot😌
Once again, feedback is highly appreciated! I’m making this a series so feel free to send in your suggestions for more slasher! König content<3
1K notes · View notes
g0dlyunsub · 9 months ago
Note
hey!!! Ugh I just love your account! I have a request for Spencer Reid x fem reader!! Can you do one where he is always working and it makes the reader upset bc he is cancelling dates and coming home late and kinda neglects her feelings and doesn't really notice how much it affects her and how sad she gets and then he misses their anniversary dinner and she breaks and tells him that it makes her upset when he's gone all the time and he just feels so awful bc he's so in love with her and never wants her to feel that way because of him and apologizes and reassures her and makes sure she feels loved!!
ty for the request and i loved the idea for this one!
wishful thinking.
Tumblr media
pairing :: spencer x fem!reader
warnings :: angst with a fluffy ending; very mild makeout session at the end :3
word count :: 2.4k
author’s note :: i kind of giggled at the ending as i was writing it, but i’m pretty proud of how this one turned out!
accompanying song :: neverthere by xander
Tumblr media
spencer’s phone is quite literally the bane of your existence.
you know what to expect whenever it rings, so you hate when it actually does – its earthquaking vibrations and trilled beeps tear the happiness straight out of you.
it’s the second date in a row that he’s had to pass, and you wonder if you should just stop trying so hard. was it selfish to want to have him all to yourself, to have him seated right across from you, sharing your laughter as you pass him his plated pasta? were you expecting too much, imagining a serene life with him ten years down the road, perhaps with kids or pets of your own? was it unfair to think that you could craft a lie, telling him your stomach hurt really bad, so bad that you would have to curl up on the floor and pray he’d stay by your side just this once to comfort you?
all you ever wanted was spencer. more specifically, you wanted spencer during your first three dates, when he’d silence all of his phone calls, and wave them off like nothing even though you insisted he take them. maybe if you didn’t bring up the importance of taking work calls, none of this would have ever happened. maybe it was all coming back to bite you for your non-confrontational nature, since you could never plead him to actually stay.
but he’s your boyfriend… and that’s all that matters, right? after all, he has lives to save – people whose names are called out during prayers day and night by their loved ones as they cling on to the sliver of hope that your boyfriend and his team promise during the darkest hours. granted, spencer would drop everything if you were in a similar situation, but none of your problems have actually been life-threatening. but a girl can dream, can’t she? your first anniversary date was when spencer promised to make amends, a formal compensation for all of the past dates that he missed and left you feeling empty on your shared bed, stains of mascara chalked up on your dry cheeks.
“i’m so sorry, honey, i’ve just been… called in for work,” spencer stands, dusting the napkin that was folded nicely on his lap. you watch as he takes a sip of his glass of water, then walks over to you to plant a kiss on your forehead.
he runs his fingers along the velvety texture of the sleeves of your dress, and you offer him a weak smile.
“it’s okay, duty calls, right?” you feel the tears surfacing and you have to fight yourself to not blink. it’s too early to cry.
“i-it’s a really bad one this time, and i hate to do this on such an important day-” spencer begins to apologize frantically, and his face marks an expression of genuine concern with his brows furrowing and lips twitching.
“it’s okay. you need to go, i understand.” you state plainly, and you immediately feel shameful – your words are too assertive and snarly for how you normally respond.
spencer pauses briefly, fidgeting with his fingers, before he gives a slight nod in your direction. he then walks over to the couch, grabs a book, and tightens the clasps on his bag. 
“i’ll be back as fast as i can,” spencer utters quietly and walks out of the door. when the apartment door locks with a click, you break down immediately.
at first, the tears fall one by one. but then, a salty stream evident of pure emotional wreckage makes its way into the slight gap of your lips, and it’s an unstoppable domino effect. your shoulders shudder and heave as you struggle to catch breaths in between, and you splutter cries of your boyfriend’s name. 
maybe it would’ve been better to just stay as conversational partners, to exchange updates once in a while when he’d actually commit to a time. it was your fault for getting your hopes up high, and all of this – fanciful dinner and dressing your best for the occasion – was wishful thinking. you just didn’t want to admit it.
“y/n?” 
you look up to see spencer in front of the doorway, and his bag that was barely holding on to his shoulder drops to the floor with a thud.
you quickly look away, brushing the tears away with one arm and sniffle before choking out a response.
“i thought you left already, why are you here?” again, your words come out icier than you had hoped and hit you with a sharp pang of guilt.
spencer narrows his eyes ever so slightly as if he’s scrutinizing you, observing your body language. it doesn’t take a genius to know that you’re upset.
“i was going to. realized i forgot-,”
he clears his throat when you raise your eyebrows and proceeds, "i misplaced my wallet."
he slips out of his loafers, shoving aside his pair of converses that lie adjacent to your pretty pair of heels. he walks over to you, and you realize that you’re still seated at the dining table. you must look so stupid right now, waiting as if he’d just be returning from a bathroom break.
“i need to head out, but i promise… i promise we’ll talk about this really soon. we’ll have the anniversary dinner and-”
“did you even try?” you blurt out, and you look up at him with your puffy eyes glazed with tears.
a deathly silence clouds over the entire apartment, and you’re thinking of two options: leave the apartment and go run to a friend’s place, or confront him and see whether making amends – again, wishful thinking – would be possible.
“y/n. please believe me when i say that i’ve tried to, i’ve tried-”
you slam a hand to the table before standing up, your face twisting into an expression of outrage.
“no, because then you would’ve silenced it. you would’ve cut the call, just like you used to.” you fire your words at him as your hair sticks to the drying tears on your cheeks, and you begrudgingly wipe at your face. 
a slow sigh escapes from spencer’s lips, and he looks at you with those eyes – the eyes that seemingly warn you, saying you don’t want to go there. not right now.
but you double down on him, the rage fueling your words as you lash out. 
“it was just this one time. i only wanted you to stay for dinner just this one time.” you helplessly drop your hands to your sides, the tears landing on the floor with soft plops.
“i know. and i’m terribly sorry.” spencer bites his bottom lip and takes a step toward you. but you take a step back, and maybe that pulls a string between the two of you, because you can see how his shoulders tense up.
“look, can we talk about this when i get back? i’ll make it up to you, i swear.” he combs through his hair, the stress almost palpable as it leaks from his shaking fingers.
while you know he has to head out again, the way he so easily brushes off the conversation like it’s something he doesn’t even want to think about feeds into your disbelief. soon, however, your anger subsides into a tired frown. 
“i don’t know, you might come home late… when i’m asleep or something.” you look at the wall where a photo of the two of you is framed, and you weakly smile at how happy you seemed then. 
“i’ll give you a call, is that okay?” he searches your face for any signs of approval, but you’re zoned out thinking about the past, of how everything used to be.
“whatever, just go.” you wave him off and walk to the couch, where you lie down and turn against him to face the plush fabric.
spencer sighs, and his hand looms over your head momentarily before he grabs his wallet from the table. you hear a faint sorry trail from behind as he leaves the room, and your nails claw at the arms of the couch before the darkness cradles you once again.
Tumblr media
it’s 10:30 pm, and you hear the doorknob click again. you had just cleaned up the dishes after eating dinner alone and left his portion in the fridge. you were now changed into your pajamas and getting ready for your night routine.
you peep out of your bedroom door to see spencer, his suit all wet. he looks at you as he takes off his shoes, and a sullen expression paints his face. did it start raining after he left? you realize that you were mostly cooped up in the bedroom since his departure, so you wouldn’t have known.
bravely looking up at him in the eye, you state: “you came back early.” you hate how unwelcoming you sound in his own home.
he pauses before he sets his wet bag on the floor and removes his blazer jacket to throw over a chair. 
he approaches you, hands in his pockets and hair twisted in matted curls. 
“hm.” he grabs a towel from the closet and makes his way to the shower, brushing past your shoulder. you feel an icy shudder spread through your spine after he closes the bathroom door.
was he giving you the silent treatment right now? 
you hear the water start from the bathroom and you sink into your bed while turning to twist the lamp lights on.
after all that torturous waiting you went through, he was giving you the silent treatment?
fifteen minutes later, a knock reverberates from the other side of the bedroom door, and even though you don’t respond, spencer steps in. he’s changed into a t-shirt and black pajama pants, and he drops next to you on the bed.
“i’m taking the week off.” 
the sentence startles you, and it’s something so unexpected you choke on your own saliva.
“what, what do you mean you’re taking the week off?” you ask him, finally turning to face him in the eyes. his brown irises blaze into your own.
“i’ve been pushing off everything you wanted to do with me — things that I wanted to do with you — and i’ve just been…” he turns away to play with the wrinkles on his pants as he speaks, picking out the dust that lies embedded between the folds.
he pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a deep sigh. he continues, “i don’t know if it’s all worth it.”
silence casts a blanket over the two of you.
“spence,” you say after a while, and hesitantly lay a hand on his thigh.
“nothing’s more important in the world to me than you. you and your happiness. i know you love this job and i know you love helping people. you’re such a kind hearted man, and it’s why i fell in love with you in the first place.”
when spencer gives you no response, you confess: “spence, i get jealous sometimes.”
this time his eyes widen, and he looks at you.
“you do?” he asks softly, peering into your eyes and you cave instantly. 
“of course i do. it’s… everybody wants you, spencer. we all need you, whether we realize it or not.”
he scoffs.
“but i only want you.”
his voice is raspy yet mellow at the same time, the smoothest stream of sweetness seeping through your eardrums. god. you can never stay mad at this gorgeous man, the same man that made you cry on numerous occasions just counting the past week.
“you need to do more than that, if you… you know.” you quietly murmur as you fidget with the hem of your nightgown.
“i know,” he speaks with a hushed tone. “i told hotch, and i told him it was going to happen whether he liked it or not. the demands of this job are… tough, but i don’t want to miss out on all the things we planned together. i won’t.”
you start bawling right when he delivers the last word, and all the tears that you were holding back spill over your flushed cheeks. your boyfriend immediately leans in to console you, pulling you into a tight embrace as his chin rests on top of your head. 
it’s okay, he murmurs reassuringly. you ease into his touch, and you realize how much you missed this. how much you missed spending time with him.
his left hand tugs lightly at your soft hair while his right rubs your back in smooth circles. 
“i missed you,” you speak with a hushed voice, looking up into his eyes as a glassy coat of tears blur your vision. 
he cups your face with his hands before whispering, “i missed you too.”
you continue to blabber words of love-stained anguish but he cuts you off short, pulling you in for a short kiss on your lips, which are now tainted with your tears.
“you taste… salty,” he whispers, giving you a slight smile as he brushes off the rest of your tears that weigh down on your eyelashes.
“it’s because of you, silly,” you drawl as you taste the salty residue of your tears.
yeah, spencer responds hesitantly. but he’s wearing a small smile, tilting his head to one side as his eyes emit a glint of tranquilizing peace.
he reaches into his pajama pocket and takes out a piece of candy. you curiously watch as his fingers quickly remove the wrapper, revealing a glazed cherry-flavored sphere. 
“may i?” he asks, and his faint voice is a gravitational force that you can’t resist.
you briefly respond with a lazy hm? before he plops the candy into your mouth and kisses you again. the sweetness explodes like fireworks with his warm breath, and the sticky layer of sugar melts like acid on your intertwined tongues. you let out a satisfied hum when you pull back, and it’s undeniably attractive the way spencer licks the corner of his lips.
a tear falls from your eye again, and this time, it’s not out of sorrow.
846 notes · View notes