#and having that autonomy in your hands feels so GOOD | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yeyinde · 4 months

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touch starved reader with an oral fixation x kidnapper!Simon who’s all punishment and no physical affection? Please Simon just a little kiss? with tongues? :( (i just wanna make out with this man while my heart aches for him)

by Allah, you people are dogs. i will write the filth as usual.

DEAD DOVE, 18+ | dubcon. kidnapping. mean!Simon. dom!Simon. masking corporal punishment as affection. kissing. size kink, size difference. some thigh riding. degradation + humiliation (verbal). non-con pet play. marking (heavyyyyyy mentions of Simon biting you like a chew toy). choking. daddy kink (but in the awful, demeaning way). manipulation. forced affection. coersion. forced/manufactured dependency. brief mention of Simon stepping on your back to hold you down so he can whip you w a cat o nine tails. yanno. the usual Friday night.

idk. there's something so hot about you, completely naked, riding Simon's clothed thigh as he holds you up by your neck. tongue out, desperate for a kiss while he just mocks you the whole time.

It's survival.

At first.

A means of masking the innate horror of being stripped of your agency, your autonomy, by a man you barely even know. One you met once before (fate sealed), and now—outside of your apartment complex where he was idling by the foothold, smoking a cigarette as he leaned against the brick wall, head turned. Gaze narrowed as you approached.

Waiting for someone, you assumed, thinking nothing else about the matter.

Nothing else, except—

He looked familiar. You think you saw him before. He was staring at you. Hadn't stopped. Hasn't said a word, either. The silence was oppressive. Heavy. Your hands fumbled with the keys. Shaking. Trembling.

He's pretty, you thought, suddenly. In the way car wrecks can sometimes be. Jarring and awful and hideous, but—

Mesmerising.

Macabre. And that's what he is. Everything from the mask on his face (skulls, go figure), to the absurdity in his size, his width. The way space itself seemed to move around him, bending and distorting just to let him pass. His own gravitational pull. Magnetic. You feel it tugging on you as he pulls another lungful of smoke. Another. Another.

(like an hourglass, a timebomb, almost. you wonder what will happen when it runs out—)

He gives you the creeps. Suddenly. Unexpectedly. A visceral sense of unease curdling in the pit of your belly as he keeps staring, staring. Eyes—crystalline under the broken headlamp, washout into crushed topaz—drilling into your back, sharp enough to flay skin. Everything inside of you says to run, but your key won't fit inside the lock. Won't—

Ever.

And hindsight has always been a bitter thing, hasn't it? Cruel in her mockery. Had you known, then, that he wasn't a workman loitering by the complex, waiting for a friend; or a low-level drug dealer casting webs into the plum hewn aether, it might have saved you. Might have.

Maybe. Because he was there, waiting for you, all along.

Life has a funny way of paying back good deeds. All it took for your life to crumble down around you, rubble falling off of a shaking mountain, was kindness. Was seeing a large man in the pouring rain, already drenched. Black clothing sticking to the granite contours of his body, and offering sanctum in the shape of a rusting umbrella you found at a thrift store for three dollars.

(“here,” you said, chipper. All smiles. “i live just down the street, and you look like you need it more than i do. do you want it?”

and he—

he simply stared. stared. his eyes liquid, molten, as they carelessly dropped, roaming down the length of your body at his own leisure. leering. assessing. it was odd. weird, but—

he huffed, then. seemingly satisfied by whatever you measured up to in his head. his neck lulled back, and he gazed at you from down the crooked length of his nose, tucked neatly away under the thick band of a facial mask. skulls. how could you be so stupid?

slowly, like he was trying not to startle a mare, his gloved hand reached out, curling thick fingers around the hilt of it. he tugged once. in your stupor, you forgot to let go. embarrassment flooded in. he huffed again, quietly amused, as you untangled your numbed fingers from the umbrella.

in your distraction, he moved closer. smelled of ash, of mildew. sweat and stale cigarettes. there was something predatory in the way he slipped through space. a preternatural quiet. an eerie stillness.

you hadn't realised he was there, looming, until he rasped out, “more ‘n you could ever realise, pet.”

and you're sure why you do it. did it. but your hand slips into your shopping bag, eyes widen. heart thundering in your chest.

“are you hungry? i, uh, i just bought some apples, um—”

his eyes are lavascapes. shackles. chains. “i could eat.”)

And now—

Forced to play this strange cat and mouse of his where he treats you like soot on the bottom of his shoe, and you pretend that it's affection. Love. How godless.

Protection, he calls it.

("mine," he whispers, orison soft, into your ear. "ain't go' nowhere else to go, do you, pet? world's big. would eat a small thing like you up. safer here. wit' me. only me.")

You wonder what he'd do if you told him the biggest danger here was the madness nestled inside your head, the one that sometimes made you look at him like he was your salvation instead of the warden holding the end of your leash in a firm hand. Unyielding—like everything he does. Is.

Withholding, too. Everything must be earned. Nothing given. Nothing handed out. And you know that this is a ploy, a tactic. Subterfuge meant to chisel into your sense of self, dehumanise you. Turn you into a simpering, obedient little doll for him to play with as he wishes. You know this, and yet—

It's survival, you promise yourself as he tugs on the hook latched to your collar, testing it for weakness. Survival, when his hands—bare, bare; warmed skin against skin, you could just weep—brush over your throat, nails skimming goosebumped flesh as he wedges one, then two inside, hirsute knuckles tickling your pulse. It tightens the collar to near choking. Intentional, you know. He likes it when you beg—for air, for food, water, him.

Vile man. Awful.

(You want to roll on your belly at his feet.)

This cold, cruel touch lights a fire under your skin. It's been months since he's last done so. Always wearing gloves when he has to. Using paddles, belts, when you misbehave. Never his bare hand. Not anymore.

(“m’hand is for good girls,” he slurred, words merging, meshing together, painted with exertion. He wedged his boot against the small of your back, holding you down, and cracked the end of a cat over your bare ass, thighs. Unbothered by your howls, your screams, as the whip bit into your skin. You've never so much as been hit as a child for misbehaving, and now, as an adult, you have a madman standing over you, introducing you to something called a cat o’nine tails—a favourite in the army, lovie. “bad girls,” his boot pressed down harder, heel digging into your spine. “Bad girls get the whip—”)

Bad. Bad. Because you tried to run, to leave him. He dressed you up, called you Mrs Riley, and you—

Ducked out the back door when he turned away for a second.

Stupid. It was poor timing. A test. He set you up, measuring your loyalty to him, your commitment, and you failed. Failed.

(“this is what ‘appens when spoiled little cunts get their way too much. they act out, don't they? bitin’ the ‘and that feeds. you'll learn soon enough, though—”)

Ghost—sir, sir (master, maker, god; you'll call him anything he wants if he touches you again)—pulls his fingers away, depriving you of his touch once more. And it's all so stupid. So fundamentally wrong, deplorable, but you follow. Needy. Whining for it in the back of your throat.

It's been months. Months without touch. Without sensation outside of leather lashing across your thighs, your ass; harsh, gloved fingers digging into your jaw, braced against the back of your head, as you swallow down his cock in an effort to prove to him you've been good. So good. Can be good. His good girl.

You need to touch him. Need his touch. Ache for it, for something outside of this nook he placed you inside of, denied the privilege of living upstairs with him after you tried to escape.

You want to. Badly. Your fingers twitch. Ghost sees it. Hums.

“Need somethin', pet?”

Your mouth is dry. You swallow. It burns. It hurts. “Yes—”

“Yes, what?”

“Sir—”

Behind the mask he's yet to take off for you fully, only ever hitching it under his chin to devour your cunt whenever you've been good, his jaw tightens, the fabric bunching up.

You reel back from the look of sheer displeasure etching harsh lines into the hollow gaps of his eyes. Heart thundering. Stomach churning.

“Mas—” he cuts you off with a soft sigh. Marked with his irritation. “D—dad—”

Dad. A new one. Daddy. He didn't seem like the sort to be into this type of play, not with his sardonic, deadpan eyes. His mockery. His dessicated humour, awful and biting. You'd have sooner expected him to laugh at you—in that slow, deep hum he gives; a little chuff, full of condescension and jeer—than to get off on it. On you, kneeling between his legs with your chin braced against his palm, mouth open, tongue out, as he fucks into the tight clench of his fist, groaning as you beg daddy to give you a taste.

It's gross. Disgusting.

It's not done for anything else other than to humiliate you. To crush you under the heel of his boot—little bug—so that you will always know where your place is in this scenario. His little wife. Mother, mum—

He pulls on the leash, jerking you forward. Purrs, “good girl,” and then steps back, moving away from you. Cruel. Dismissive. You hate him, hate him—

(Need him so deeply. With every fibre of your being—)

You watch him as he goes, mourning the loss of his presence already, as he paces around your space, your cage. Broad shoulders barely fitting inside. Head ducking to avoid hitting his crown on the popcorn ceiling. It's strange seeing him here like this. Prowling. He usually comes when he wants you, when he needs to enact more merciless punishment on you for whatever perceived evils you committed (not greeting him with a kiss when he walked in, not letting him suffocate himself in your cunt when he had you sit on his face, not making him cum all over your face quick enough when you knew he had other engagements to get to—), or when he ruts, heavily, between your thighs, cold and detached. Seeking pleasure from your icy flesh, and giving nothing in return but white hot agony.

Him here, idling in your presence, is revolutionary.

“S–sir—?”

He hums, quiet. Sits in the chair as you gather the fragments of yourself littered on the ground. His mood is malleable, it seems.

You push, fingertips sinking into the putty of his agreeable temperament. “Can I—”

You waver when his sharp eyes raze over your bare body—clothes are for good girls, after all—pupils sloshing over the edges, bleeding into midnight blue.

Your body is a battlefield. Every inch of skin branded with his mark—pretty, thrawn rings of teeth tattooed in silver, haloed in black and red, desecrate your flesh: neck, collarbones, breasts, belly, thighs (a particular favourite of his), ass, mons; all bitten through, chewed up. It weeps when you move, has blood trickling down your skin. The cracking scabs make him coo, poor thing, all bloody fer me? and he licks at them, sucks, until only a pinkish wound in the mimesis of canines remains.

Uprooted, turned into something new—

His chest expands when he settles his gaze on the sliver of space between your spread thighs. Concealed in tenebrous, hidden from his leering, lecherous view. He cocks his head, considers something unknown to you. His thoughts, his mind, worlds away. Untouchable.

(only to bad girls, he’d snarled out when you asked why—)

“Testin’ my patience still?” He doesn't rip his gaze away from your cunt, speaks to it sometimes more than he speaks to you. “Thought this alone time might’a cleared your ‘ead.”

You flush. Embarrassment roiling through you. His displeasure is a palpable thing. Heavy. You hate the weight of it.

“I need—I need you.”

Another toneless hum. “‘Course you do. Ain't got anyone else.”

He's awful. Hideous. You want to rip his tongue out of his mouth. “I—I want you. Please.”

Ghost doesn't answer. You stopped expecting him to a long time ago, his moods odd measures of ebbs and flows; passive and mild, cracking terrible, awful jokes as he strokes your back, hands riveted to your skin, and then biting and caustic the next. Pushing and pushing until you lash out, snap, so he has a reason to push you down, punished and smothered under his bulk, as he ruts into you like a beast, a man starved. Tells you it's for your own good. That you need him. Would be lost without him.

Bludgeoning a hole into you wide enough for him to crawl inside of. Poisoning you from the inside out with the same nocuous rot that flows in his veins.

Maybe that's been his agenda all along. Maybe. To make you want him as badly as he wanted you. Desperate, obsessive. Going so far as to follow you home, lost little mutt waiting in the shadows outside of your door until you threw him another bone. And when that didn't work, when the food stopped being enough—

He took you. Held you captive in his house deep in the wilderness. A place so endlessly green that you sometimes stare out at it—unfathomable sea of phalthos and jasper—and feel dizzy. You'll get lost out there—

just like he says.

As he turns your obsecration over in his head, you wait, supplicant to this man as you rest on your knees. Pretty pet with a golden collar adorned in gems.

Fitting, you find. With his head cradled against his thick knuckles, you can't help but shiver at the way he looks shrouded in the gloaming embers of a fading twilight. Leonine. A king perfectly at ease in this thick, caliginous atmosphere.

His eyes burn, magmatic, in the low light. Vats of endless ink. Black holes that will swallow you whole if you get too close. But he's poised. Contemplative. Assessing.

And then grips the end of the leash tight in his other hand. Tugs.

You obey the wordless command, crawling on your hands and knees to where he's spread out on the recliner. Laxed, dripping with a careless indifference as you wander to him, resting your chin on the spread of his knee.

Looking up, up, at him, waiting. Wanting.

There's so much of him—a fact that has been the catalyst to your downfall the moment you saw him standing under the awning; this massive creature. Thighs wider than the width of your body. Burly forearms. Broad shoulders. He's big. Indomitable. Thick, endlessly so. But there's a give to his body. Valleys of softness hiding corded muscle. Firm, but—

Your fingers sink into the soft give of his belly when you reach out, bracing against stomach. Pulling yourself further into the bracket of his spread thighs, inching closer to him.

He meets your reverent stare, eyes liquid along his lower lash line.

“Thought you were gonna keep me waitin’ all night,” he muses, giving another pull on the leash. It destabilises you. Your nose bumps into his sternum, and you moan at the sting.

There's a dissonance in the back of your head. A hairline fracture in the line that keeps a degree of separation between pleasure and pain. They meet against the crack in the divide, merging into a abysmal polyphony conducted by his hand.

He watches, amused, as you whimper, sniffing harshly against the burn. It's not bleeding, and not broken—small mercies, you suppose—and you let it simmer into a dull ache as you slowly clamber into his lap.

Ghost leans back as you settle, greedily taking in the sight of your thighs stretched wide over his leg, cunt pressed, tight, against the rough scrape of his jeans. The touch burns. He hasn't touched your pussy in weeks—

“C’mon,” he urges, hand spanning the width of your lower back. Coaxing. “Show me ‘ow good you can be.”

It's all the permission you need. Slowly, slowly, your hips start to gyrate, dragging your slit over the coarse material. The friction is agony. You need more—

He draws his other hand up, curls it around your neck, forcing your head back, back. You gasp, staring at him, dizzy, from down the slope of your nose. The clasp of the collar digs into your skin. It hurts. It's too much.

you don't want him to stop.

His hand is huge. It spans the entire length of your neck, thumb to your pulse, pinky grazing the hollow of your throat. It forces you to lift your chin higher just to let him fit.

He likes it, too, you know. His eyes darken as he takes in the sight of his bare hand, scarred and thick; dusted with a cropping of fine hairs along his scabbed knuckles, sitting against the whole of your throat. Swallowing you up. Can feel how much he enjoys the sheer depth between your sizes when his cock twitches, stiffening more

The look on his face is appraising, anatomising. There's a cold measure of distance in his gaze. A barren polynya. You want to cross it. Chart these untamed lands until they're deeply ingrained within your being. Cimmerian effigy burning to keep you warm.

It's survival, you think, and arch into the palm of his hand.

He holds you like a doll. One hand on your lower back, pressing your cunt to thigh. The other tightening around your throat. Bare skin against bare skin, and oh, you could just cry—

But this is not what you need. What you want. And he knows. He always does. Knows the inside of you like it's written down—inked on paper. Thumbs through the makeup of you, chapter by chapter, until no mystery remains.

“Tell me what you need, pet. Beg for it.”

“Let me—” his hands tighten, choking the air from your throat. Crushing your collar against your neck. “Lemme—kiss you, please, please—”

Tighter. Tighter. The world around you swims under a thin ocean. Phosphenes swim, untethered, in your periphery, ghosting along the curve of his shoulders. He might kill you yet. Keeping going, going, until those brittle, bird-like bones in your neck snap—

You'd let him, you think, muscles falling lax. Submissive. Just the way he says he likes even though you know he fucks you harder, touches you more, more, when you act out. Misbehave.

“Kiss me?” He taunts, words abrasive. Strident. Scrubbing hard against your skin. “Ain't that jus’ the sweetest thing I ever ‘eard.”

You burn, blister. “Please—”

“Reckon I ought to. Kissed your pretty cunt ‘fore I even kissed your lips, huh, pet?”

Your chest folds over itself. Stomach knotting. Balling tight. Unease is a razor blade scraping your nerves.

“Simon—”

“Ah, ah—” his hand tightens. Vicious. Chiding. “You ‘aven’t earned the privilege of sayin’ my name, ‘ave you? Cheeky thing. Might ‘ave to take a cane to you next.”

“No, no, no—! I'm—”

“Sorry?” He mocks, cocking his head. Condescension drips from the corners of his eyes.

“Please, sir—”

“Dad is gettin’ tired of this attitude of yours, pet—” his fingers dig into your skin, hard. Biting. A warning, you know. The blunt press of a blade to your jugular. But it thrums along the suture line to your desire, a wellspool of murk coiling low in your guts. You throb, cunt clenching down around nothing. Achingly empty. “Thought we got rid of it this time ‘round. Learned our lesson.”

The words are frank, prosaic. Had you any sense of self still malingering in the back of your head, you might have struck him for the blatant disrespect. But as you struggle to reach for it, pawing around in the vacuous abyss for any fragment of who you were before this, before him, you know—without any doubt—that none exists. Nothing. He’s too ingrained in your marrow, hewn into your skin. Copper sutures holding his filament within you. Cradled between your thighs, nestled in the rotting vacancy of your heart.

He knows you. Every part—

“We did—we did, da—daddy, please—”

It’s shallow. Muffled, like he’s trying to swallow it down, but you feel it rumble through his broad chest. A guttural sound. A groan. Drenched in pleasure, in want. So thick, you could almost taste it.

He hides his need under a layer of derision.

“Such a needy thing, ain't you? Desperate little slag like you wouldn't last out there, would you?”

His hand digs into your hip, pushing you off of his thigh. Eyes skewering into the wet stain on his trousers. A huff spills out—the sound a near perfect mimicry of crushing charcoal in your hand.

“No. You'd be eaten alive. Torn to pieces. World's too big for somethin' like you.”

Mindless, dazed, you nod. Arching into him. The leather leash snaps against your chest. “Yes, yes—”

His cock presses into your thigh, hard, fat. Your mouth waters. Drool dribbles down your chin.

He smells of tinder when he leans in close, blood drenched words biting into your skin. “messy today, aren't you? Be lost without me. Tha’s why you wear a collar, isn't it?”

Pitifully, you nod. Eyes full of tears. Each word is a bludgeon into your resolve. Into your sense of self.

But it earns you his affection, and his thumb presses into the corner of your mouth, unhinging your jaw until it falls open, lax. He holds you like that, mouth lax with his hand still around your neck. The other lifts away from your lips, goes to the thick band around the bridge of his nose, slips inside.

There's no buildup to it. No lingering sense of anticipation. Practical, detached, he merely tugs it down, and lets it snap under his chin.

Your breath is punched out of your lungs at the sight of him. Barefaced. Scarred. His nose is crooked; a jagged hook with scar tissue delineating the spots where it's been broken too many times. His lips are—

Full.

Mangled.

Scars run in thick slashes over them, denting the flesh in places. Burn marks line his pale flesh. Charcoal rubs into his eyes, highlighting the whites of his lashes against smeared soot.

He's—

Pretty.

Like a car crash. Calamity. The broken remains of a town after a hurricane, a tornado, ripped it apart. Ugly, brutal. His face looks like it's been mauled by a bear, a tiger. Scarred and hideous, and—

You shiver. His eyes drop, landing on your own lips. The soot on his brow flutters down, lands on his eyelashes when he lifts his brow up mockingly. Derision curdling an awful smirk on the corner of his mouth. Crooked. Like him. Like his teeth. His nose. His boxy jaw. His lips—

You kiss him.

Can't help yourself, really. There's a pull. Gravitational. Magnetic. You need, need, to taste him. To quench this ache in your jaw that makes you want to wrap your tongue around something, play with it between your teeth. Soft and sweet—

Ghost's lips are plump beneath yours. The thick scar tissue is almost velveteen when it glides over your bottom lip. You moan into it, into the feeling; victory—however pyrrhic—swims like mercury in your veins. Finally.

And he doesn't kiss you back. Doesn't make any effort to reciprocate at all, but he's not tense beneath you. Not stunned. Or reluctant. He’s pliant. Malleable. Agreeable, willing to let you devour his mouth, his taste, as much as you want. Doting. Letting you spoil yourself on him. With him.

Because you need him, don't you?

Like the air you breathe. The food he gives you—apples, always, on rainy days; salmon and rice in a pretty bowl with your name etched into the porcelain—and the attention, the affection—

(suck my cock, pretty girl. don't make me put a gag on you—deeper, you can take it, can't you? take my fat cock all the way up inside your sweet little cunt—my pretty girl—)

—it’s all so divine.

His hands on your body, your throat, spasm. Once. Just once. Against your leg, his cock twitches. Leaks prespend into the demin. You rut against his thigh, aching for it. Whimpering—

And then he's groaning into the kiss, snarling out your name until it wedges between your lungs, syphoned in from his scorching breath. Another brand in the shape of him.

Ghost kisses the same way he eats—messy, sloppy; all teeth and tongue, and full pretty lips. Clumsy, like no one taught him how to properly hold his silverware and he's trying to mock what he saw on television. Brumish. A broken, contemptuous pastiche of sumptuosity. A starving dog, snarling around its plundered morsel. Protective. Possessive.

It coils around you. Thick, smothering.

He sucks your tongue into his mouth, catching it between his teeth. The sting brings tears to the corner of your eyes, and when you pry them open, you find him already staring at you (always, always, always—), lidded. Heavy pools of desire shaded in the brume of a winter dawn. A bonfire flickering in the distance of a whiteout. Sanctuary from the cold—

He seems to catch himself. Expression flickering. Warbling around the edges. It closes off in a blink. He pulls back. Locks into the ashlar veneer of this indifference he wears like a suit of armour.

But you saw it. It was there. Within reach—

“Need me, don't you?” He drawls, timber a needlepoint between cruelty and desire. Sultry, low. Husky. He knows what it does to you. How he can unravel you at the seams with just his voice alone. “Need me so fuckin’ much, pet. Would be lost without me—”

“Please, Simon,” you whisper, feather-soft. Cunt throbbing, pulsing. Needy. “Please—”

The strident reprimand for using his name doesn't come. His hand tightens around your throat, unconscious. A paroxysm that has pleasure carving itself down your spine, electric.

“Come get it, then,” he rasps, voice wrecked. Raw. Curling at the edges, thickening his accent until the words elide.

Hand to your throat, he drags you close. Closer still. Keeps you sat pretty on his lap as he pulls you in for a bruising, hungry kiss. Tongue shoving between your teeth when you gasp.

His kisses are always hungry, but this is different. Greedy. He devours you whole. Eats you alive. His hand falls to your lower back, holding you tight to his chest.

You moan into it, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. Squeezing until your knuckles blanche, joints twinging in discomfort.

After months of nothing, this alone is bliss. His taste soaking onto your tongue, drenching it in the bitter tang of sage, wheatgrass, and stale cigarettes. Intoxicating. It leaks into you, nocuous. Infects from the inside out.

His plan coming to fruition, you think. What he sought out to do all along, ever since you wandered close to this untameable Tartarean guard, and offered yourself up to the jowls of a starving beast.

He pulls away with a heavy breath, eyes charing around the edges; brittle briquette.

“Gonna be a good girl from now on? Come upstairs, be a good mum for dad? Or am I gonna ‘ave to cane this—” his hand drops, grabbing a fistful of your ass in his hand, fingers digging into the skin between your cheeks. Possessive. It cracks like a whip down your nerves. “—tight lit’le arse?”

You shake your head instantly. Quickly. “I'll be good,” you whisper into his chin, tongue flicking out to lick across his scars. The dried sweat on his skin tastes briny. Reminds you of the ocean on a brumous November evening. The incipient yawn of a ravenous hurricane gathering its lot on the shore.

Sirens blare in the distance. Fear curdles in your guts, sits heavy like a stone. An anchor.

“So sweet f’me,” he mutters, words deepening as his head falls back, letting you pepper kisses across the underside of his jaw. Mouthing along the constellation of scars. His voice is rumble. It shivers across your lips, tongue. Shakes the marrow in your bones. “Better stay this way, pet.”

Into his pulse, you murmur, “I think you like it better when I’m bad.”

You can feel the snarl brimming in the back of his throat. Your ass stings with the phantom burn of when he lashed out with the whip. It drags a whimper out from deep within your chest.

His hand tightens around your neck. A warning. “Got some guests over f’dinner tonight. Would love to finally introduce them to my sweet little wife—” deft fingers slip across the dewy skin of your folds, knuckles grazing over your drenched hole. The touch makes you squirm. “But if you’re gonna be bad, then I’ll leave you locked up down ‘ere.”

“I’ll be good,” you swear, words a hushed breath over his jugular. His finger flattens, drawls soft, slow circles around your clit. “Ah, I’ll—I’ll be so, so good, Simon—”

“Good girls deserve rewards, don’t they?” His palm flexes possessively around your throat when you nip at old scar tissue. “Maybe I’ll let you sleep in our bed tonight instead of in your dog house. We can ‘ouse together. I’ll fuck you proper—” he roughly shoves two fingers into your hole, leering when you gasp, back arching in a bow. “Know this pretty pussy has been achin’ for me, ‘asn’t it? Gonna breed it full—”

There’s static in your head, ringing in your ear. The noise distorted, pulled underwater. You think you say something, plead—no, no, no, anything but that—but his hand tightens around your throat, fingers pushing up, up into you, notching against that spot inside that makes your head swim, your vision flicker. The abyssal chasm inside of you aches, rages; its waters swell, currents frothing, slamming against the ceiling of its iron prison, and—

Simon pulls away. Fingers stilling inside of you. No friction, no relief. Hypoxia renders the world silent. Muted. Held in stasis, stagnating at the edge of a gaping precipice he holds you over, secured by the fragile curve of your neck, fine bone china.

Phosphenes swim by. The chossy wobbles.

This distance is agony. You need to be closer, closer, to crawl inside of him, to live in the brackets of his ribs, safe and protected from the world he warns you about. Stone cold. You mewl, whine—

“Gonna be my good little wife?”

Gasping with broken lungs, you nod. Nod, nod until you’re nauseous. Dizzy. Sick—

His spit cools on your lip. Your hackles raise, body shuddering in revulsion—some primal part rears, hisses it’s infectious. Wrong. Get rid of it—

“Not gonna run?”

Slowly, you lick your lips, catching his sickness on your tongue. Swallowing it down until it sinks like a stone to the bottom of your belly. Heavy, for such a small, damning thing.

How absurd, you think. How absolutely mad.

Then you whisper, paperthin, “kiss me again, please, Simon—”

And he moves. Liquid in the gloam. Made more for shadows, midnight, than for golden apricity, where the light is harsh on his face, unveiling ruins and ravines; monoliths meant to be paid tribute to in the dark. Your hands lift to his jaw when he moves in, catching your lips in a bruising, biting kiss.

His touch is searing. Owning. He isn't laying claim: no, you're already his.

It's possessive and angry. No finesse. All slate teeth and tender tongue. They slide together in a strange game; little fawn stupidly nipping at the tiger's heel. He lets you, groaning into your mouth when you arch back, hips pushing into his fingers, taking him deeper. A pale pantomime of what's to come when he lays you on his soft bed, sweet and divine, and buries himself deep.

It should scare you. Ought to. And maybe it does. Survival, you think, but you still pull him closer. Deeper. Because it’s bliss, you find. The world around you falling dead. Silent. Pulled into a vacuum. Teetering on the edge of a black hole, event horizon. He drags you in.

Simon hums, pulling you closer. Touching you—soft, sweet. Palms a gyve. Shackles, chains. His fingers lift from your neck, trailing down the slope of your throat until he reaches the golden loop of your collar's hook. His gaze glides, magmatic, down to where your leash dangles between your heaving breasts.

It's almost tender when he grabs it into his fist. When he pulls, pulls—

Your back arching. His fingers slipping deeper inside your cunt. Obedient little doll.

When he lifts his eyes, the look you find is hot enough to char bone. You taste blood in the back of your throat—

Into the seam of your mouth, he purrs, “good girl.”

—and you swallow it down with a moan.

(after all, you know better than to run from starving dogs—)

#when your kidnapper is mean and rude as hell but you've been dtf since day one: the manifesto #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #i forget where i put peoples hands sometimes and then have to go back and remind myself where everyone's at lmao #hope you enjoyedddddddddddd #i'm gonna go pour myself a glass of bleach bye #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod #ghost #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #ghost x you

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lassieposting · 10 months

Text

Been thinking a lot lately about romanced Astarion post-spawn ending.

Because like. The Funnest™ thing about cptsd is how much of it gets delayed. When you're trapped in a lengthy, ongoing traumatic situation, you do not have the ability to process and start healing your mental wounds. Your brain and body go into survival mode, and all that matters in the moment is that you somehow cope with the horrors. He wouldn't have been able to even begin dealing with the physical, mental and emotional toll of two hundred years of torture, brutalization and dehumanization while he was under Cazador's control; he is in constant danger, surrounded by sharks in the water, and survival means not letting them smell blood. He can't afford to fall apart, to show weakness. He is shockingly functional and competent in-game, partly because he has to be to work as a game character, but also partly because...it do be like that, to some degree. When death, for whatever reason, is not an option, you just have to shut down and keep going. People adapt in order to survive, and when we learn that showing an "injury" (physical or psychological) only gets us punished, we learn to hide it.

Early-game Astarion is terrified - of Cazador, of Godey, of being hunted down by his siblings, of being staked or sold off at the first opportunity by Tav and the other companions, of turning into a mindflayer, of another painful transformation, of losing himself when he's only just regained his autonomy after two centuries, of what Cazador will do to him if he ever finds him - the man is overwhelmed by fear. He's on thin ice as a vampire, and he's not going to give them any more reason to want him gone. Survival instinct is still in control, and in this new situation, crafting some fragile safety for himself means not only selling his body for protection, but also being useful. Clear-headed. Good in a fight.

Endgame Astarion finds himself in a completely different situation. The time-sensitive overarching threats - Cazador and impending ceremorphosis - have been dealt with. He has a loving, supportive partner he's really starting to feel safe with - Tav/Durge has proved that they're on his side, that their affection is genuine, that they don't just want him for the one thing he's been told he's good for. They've told him they're going to help him find a workaround for his sun allergy. He's getting fed regularly. He has time to stop, and breathe, and just. Recuperate.

For the first time in 200 years, he is safe.

And it will probably take a while to catch up, during which time he will seem to be coping really well, but at some point, his brain is going to realise that he's safe, and it's going to finally start processing the sheer fucking horror he's been through. Since I haven't seen anyone talking about this particular fun aspect of cptsd, allow me to offer u some thoughts on issues Astarion and Tav might end up dealing with in the months/years postgame, during the

✨ Delayed Trauma Response ✨

Memory Gaps: Astarion realising, as he opens up to Tav, that there are entire years or decades of his life from which he has only a handful of memories. Great big blank stretches where he has no idea where he was, who he was with, what was happening to him. Some of the gaps cover years at a time where he was so dissociated and shut down that he just didn't retain any memories of what was going on around him. Some are shorter periods of particularly horrific torture that his brain has deliberately blocked out to protect him.

Recovered Memories: At some point, years into the future when he's done A Lot of healing, he might find that every now and then, a fragment of those lost memories will unexpectedly come back to him. He'll catch a particular scent on the breeze, or overhear a specific phrase in the street, or cross paths with someone whose face is oddly familiar, and he'll get a glimpse of an acute horror he'd filed neatly away where it couldn't hurt him anymore. He very rarely remembers all the context to those flashes of his past. He might recall that he was punished, but not what he was punished for, or he might remember words spoken by a greedy conquest, but be unable to recall the man's face.

Dissociation: Tav knows going into this relationship that Astarion has basically made an art out of dissociating during sex. They also know, from their shared encounter with the drow twins, that he's not great at enforcing his own boundaries - he'll always say he'll speak up and back out if he stops having fun, but in practice he rarely does; he's not used to having the option of saying no to his partner, and being punished if he tries. So they know there's going to be some practice and experimentation and negotiation necessary there, to figure out the rough limits of his comfort zone. But once he starts really processing, there may be days where he just checks out completely. Tav will touch his shoulder, and he'll startle and apologise - "Terribly sorry, darling, I was miles away for a moment there." And Tav will gently point out that he's been sat in the same spot vacantly staring into the middle distance for hours. They've been checking in on him occasionally and this is the first time he's responded. It's unsettling, to say the least.

Lost Time: Astarion was very young when he was turned, physically mature but emotionally juvenile. He was basically an overgrown teenager, in the phase of life where elves are just starting to learn who they are and what they want, and figure out their place in the world. But he never got to do that, because he spent his formative young adult years in a world where everyone became an abuser, where his only means of surviving was to smile and charm and obey while even his basic human dignity was stripped away. He learned that communication is based on manipulation. He learned that the powerful can do whatever they like to the weak. He learned an incredibly toxic, abusive way of life, and that was his family dynamic, his everyday life, for as long as he can remember. Now that he's free and safe, he's realising that the world doesn't actually work that way and that he's now far behind even shorter-lived races in social/emotional development. He's grieving for the person he could've been. He's grieving for the life he could've lived. He's grieving for all the years he already lost, and the ones he'll lose in the future as he flounders to catch up. A decent chunk of his life was stolen from him, and that's time he will never get back.

Flashbacks & Night Terrors: Specifically the kind where your brain convinces you that an injury you had a long time ago is actually an injury you have (or are receiving) right now. There are nights where he'll wake Tav in a panic, because his back feels like it's on fire, he can feel every freshly-carved wound dripping blood and he's in so much pain he doesn't know what else to do. If Tav looks, they see nothing out of the ordinary - old, long-healed scars, same as always. But the pain and the fear and the distress are all very real to him, and all they can do is try to comfort him, cover his back with cool damp cloths or healing salves, remind him he's safe now and they're not leaving him.

Boundary Shifting: Sometimes, Tav can come up and hug him from behind, and he'll melt into them a little bit and go all soft and happy. Other times, he might flinch away or go rigid at the same gesture. A lot of the time, it really depends on how he's feeling on the day, but at least a little bit of it is deliberate - he's pushing to find the limit of just how much autonomy Tav is willing to give him. He wants to know at what point they'll stop respecting his "no". Will they accept it if he doesn't want a hug? If he wants to sleep in his own room tonight? At what point will understanding turn to anger at being rejected? From the drow twins four/fivesome, we also know he's got a tendency to push his own boundaries, and jump into things he's actually not ready for, and Tav would be the one holding his hand through the fallout as he tries to figure out what his own boundaries even are.

Frustration! So, so much frustration. He wants to be Over It already. He wants to move past everything that ever happened to him and never think about it again. He hates that Cazador still has a grip on him, even in death - he doesn't want to give the bastard the satisfaction of dwelling on all his punishments, his cruelties. Sometimes, that frustration is going to explode outwards at Tav - he'll get angry at them for coddling him, or find something small to start a fight over, or he'll set an unreasonable boundary and try to defend it because he's still learning what healthy boundaries look like. Sometimes, it will implode inwards, and that won't be about Tav at all, but they'll get the brunt of it all the same - it might come out as self-loathing or self-punishment, and he'll react by doing something stupid, like trying to drive them away, because having a secure, relatively healthy relationship is terrifying and the instinct is to destroy it before Tav can. There will be yelling and angry tears and deeply unhealthy coping mechanisms, and they'd have to work through that. Trauma is ugly, and Astarion is right at the beginning of a very long journey towards healing.

Abandonment Issues: Astarion wants the relationship to be one between equals, but he's kind of got Tav on a pedestal all the same. They saved him. They helped him get rid of Cazador for good. They chose him and love him despite a wealth of better (in his eyes) options, and all his baggage. They stayed with him even when he has very little to offer them. We know his vanity and obnoxious self-absorption is a fragile attempt to obscure the fact that his self-esteem is in the dirt and he has virtually no self-worth, and there are a couple of occasions in-game where it becomes clear that he's afraid of losing the one person who somehow considers him lovable. After seeing Sebastian and all the other conquests, he begs Tav not to hate him, saying that he did what he had to. If he has a rival for Tav's affections, and Tav informs him that they broke up with the rival to be with Astarion, he's shocked and the first thing out of his mouth is, "You ended things with them for me? Why?" And if Durge tries to break up with him for his own safety, his facade drops and he immediately asks if he did something wrong. So while he's not afraid to argue with Tav, if something happens - like an angry outburst - that upsets or angers them, and he thinks he's at risk of losing that one steady, stable person in his life, he might well cling and overcompensate to try and repair what he thinks is a fracture in their relationship. He'll fawn or beg or crawl into Tav's bed to "apologise" and "make it up to them" because, well, very occasionally it worked on Cazador. With patience and good communication and lots of repeatedly driving the lesson home to overcome 200 years of education to the contrary, he will eventually start to believe that "I'm really pissed off at you right now," does not equate to, "You are the worst mistake I've ever made and I am leaving you."

Panic Attacks: I feel like honestly he'd get some symptoms of these on a fairly regular basis, but he's never been given any option other than just trying to power through them. He's used to realising he's shaking, he's used to feeling like he's watching himself from outside his body, or like he can't breathe even though he doesn't need to. He's very familiar with the sickening fear in his gut, so intense it makes his head spin. He's not used to being comforted or reassured about them - he thinks they're normal. Tav disagrees.

Anyway, cptsd is messy and complicated and often looks very different from person to person so these will not represent everyone's but these are just some ideas for what the ongoing recovery process might make them work through, based on the aspects I'm most familiar with.

Projecting? Who's projecting? I'm not projecting. Shut up.

#bg3 #bg3 headcanons #bg3 meta #astarion x tav #astarion x durge #mom said it's my turn to project on the blorbo #astarion ancunin

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diejager · 9 months

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More Wolfie plz🥺? Idk what you’d right but I love the universe you built up with it and would love more of it, even if it’s just a sliver

Training Cw: smut, training, collar, ring gag, doggy style, creampie, unprotected sex, PinV, fingering, tell me if I missed any.

“What did I tell you about growling, pup?” He sounded so demeaning, his hand laid heavy on your nape, holding your face down and away from the two men in the room with you.

Ghost had pulled you to Price’s office under the guise of this being training, wanting to work through your aggression you’d thrived on while living in the wild. You were jerky and a biter, baring your teeth after a low growl, threatening to sink into someone’s hand or arm as retaliation. They were getting a lot of complaints from people who would approach you and attempt to pet your ears and tail, wanting to touch the softness of your washed fur and disregarding your personal space and boundaries.

“None of that,” his grip tightened around your neck when your throat rumbled, a growl slipping through your gagged mouth, drool rolling down your cheek.

They gave you a pretty, black ring gag, placed behind your teeth to keep your mouth open from biting them and showing off your sweet and fiery mouth. The black leather looped behind your head, a thin strap connecting it to your collar, a smooth, black leather that sat comfortably around your neck without irritating it, but thin enough for you to feel everything. They had you wear it as a sign of possession, the silver insignia of their Task Force hanging from the front, a skull and winged sword proudly gleaming under the light wherever you go.

You mellowed down, growls quieting to loud pants, exhausted from your skirmish with Ghost, doing your best ignore your Captain’s rough handling, his calloused fingers kneading the flesh of your hips and stomach, his hands smoothing over the arch of your back to your tail. Your fur was matted and wet, dirtied with slick that - prior to being forced into this position - pooled down your rim and wetting your soft fur. You’d long given up in fighting Price, he was much stronger than you and smelled of power and strength —like alpha. He was the leader of your little pack, a fiercely protective leader who had every intent of putting his group first, but it was his scent that made you stop. He smelled of strong musk, a heady scent of cigar and cedar, less smoky and sweet than your Lieutenant’s sandalwood that kept flooding your sensitive nose.

“Good pup, you’re doing so well,” Price cooed, running his fingers through your hair, scratching the reactive nerve behind your ears. It made you whine, a high sound that had both of them shush you, “That’s it, you’re all right, pup.”

Your panting grew louder, mewls slipping out as a final sign of submission, letting them bend your body to their pleasure. You arched your back, bucking against the bearded man that was ploughing into you, driving his hard cock into your wet cunt, slick squelching out of you with every snap of his hips, his balls slapping your twitching clit. You couldn’t deny how good it felt to give up all autonomy after having taken care of yourself on your own for years, letting another care for you and manhandle you in the best way. His veined girth laid heavy in your cunt, your gummy walls wrapped round him in a tight hold, just a hair away from coming.

Canting his hips and leaning forward, your world exploded in bright lights when Price’s head tapped your cervix, punching the air out of your body with every thrust. He was guiding you through your orgasm just as he had his, his cock throbbing and veins pulsing before the tip spurted ropes of cum, painting your walls white with his tangy lad, hot and thick. Price groaned lowly, palms holding your hips flushed to his, giving a few jerky thrusts before he hilted inside of you, unmoving but grounding you with the smooth touch of his thumb and Ghost’s grip on your scruff.

When he pulled out, his cum oozed out of you, dripping down your mound and landing on the old couch in his office. He admired the gift with a slight twitch of his cock, it leaked out of you like an unending fall. Wasteful, truly. His fingers slid down your thighs, gathering his cum and pushed it back in, fingering his load with a few wet sounds.

“Stay good for Ghost, pup. Can you do that?”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @aldis-nuts @randominstake

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bpmiranda · 16 days

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hi! i adore everything you write and i just wanted to request dbf!logan who is obsessed with getting you to squirt. maybe you lied once to impress him or something and he calls your bluff, now making it his mission to make you actually do it. <3

Liar (Logan Howlett) nsfw

A/N: age gap, dbf!logan, 18+ f!reader, fingering, oral f! receiving, unprotected sex, mean!logan

“Seems like you lied, baby doll,” Logan says, watching you squirm on his bed, your little hands fisting desperately at the bedsheet, tears streaming down your eyes as you’ve came nearly three times tonight already. “Did you lie to me?”

Your bottom lips juts out as you pout at him, whining and whimpering an apology. “Just wanted to-uh-wanted to-” You can’t reach the end of your sentence as he is relentlessly pumping two thick fingers in and out of you, curling into your sweet spot to get you to cry more.

“Wanted to impress me?” He smirked and you nodded, your head rolled back as his lips circled around your puffy, aching clit. “You don’t have to lie to me, baby. I’m already so impressed by how much you can take from me.” He coos and you sob. His lips circle around your clit as he keeps his fingers shoved deep inside you, petting sweetly at the spot that makes your lower belly tense with pleasure. You push weakly on his shoulders, wanting him to stop, but you’re unable to say anything, all the thoughts fucked out of your head. “Now I don’t take kindly to liars, so you owe me one good squirt before we finish up for the night.”

His fingers slip out of you and you whine as the head of his cock teasingly rubs against your overstimulated clit. Logan watches hungrily as you shake violently from that feeling alone and he cruely drives himself deep inside you, pulling a hoarse cry from you. “Logan, please, I can’t anymore.” You sobbed as he started pumping into you mercilessly, his thumb rubbing circles on your abused clit as you writhed underneath him.

“You shouldn’t have lied to me, baby doll.” Logan grunts, his large hand wraps gently around your throat to keep you in place as he fucks you with the sole purpose of ruining you. His thumb doesn’t let up on the pressure and you can feel the tension becoming too much to handle, too intense to control. “C’mon, baby, I intend to make an honest woman out of you.” He smirks as your tears fall freely and you’re pulling the sheets as your orgasm takes over the autonomy of your body. You feel a warmth gush onto your thighs as he finally gets you to squirt and Logan growls in approval, fucking deep into you as you drench him. His hands move to grip tightly onto the pillow behind your head and he plows hard into you, chasing his own release while you lay weakly underneath the weight of his body. Your arms wrap around him as you cry into his chest and you feel his muscles spasming, his grunts choked as he fills you to the brim with his load.

“Logan,” You whisper in a weak voice, your throat dry from the crying and the yelling of his name. “I’m sorry I lied to you.”

Logan chuckles as he kisses your head, carefully resting over you as he caressed your sweaty hair out of your face. “I forgive you, baby doll. I think you more than made up for it.”

🏷️: @dontfeedthebigbadwolf @peterparkernotfound @httpsells @evasmlp @ayatotiddies @thatlittlered @seasonofthenerd @littlemisscantloveyouback @scorpiosaintt @simpingfor-wakasa @spencerswh0r3

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x y/n #wolverine x reader #wolverine #wolverine smut #x men wolverine #deadpool and wolverine #hugh jackman

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atyourmerci · 6 months

Text

☀︎To the light is to the darkness✩

Abby X reader X Ellie

Prologue to vengeance (can be read alone)

☀︎ ☀︎

Summary: Abby is your childhood best friend, you did everything together, taught each other everything. You were utterly infatuated with each other until Ellie Williams enters your world.

Warning: smut, MDNI, porn w lots of plot, innocence arc, mutual pining, lots of sexual tension, mutual masturbation (in the same room, together), fingering if you squint, useless lesbians, lesbian love triangle, abby needs a hug, phoebe bridgers as her own warning, no use of y/n, no physical description of reader

A/N: okay so holy fuck did I get carried away with this one. I didn’t want to leave yall on a cliffhanger but this dynamic deserves more and I don’t want to rush through it. I hope yall enjoy. This chapter is mostly just abby but there will be lots more Ellie in the next chapter promise :)

✩ ✩

“Someone you couldn’t lose. You said we’re not together, so now when we kiss I have anger issues.”

She asked when it had all started. The truth was you weren’t really sure. There was no definitive date or period of time that signified the beginning or end of it.

A relationship that felt more of interlacing two souls into one that resided in two structures. Shared autonomy of mind, breath, word, and body. Unspoken feelings, touches, and stares.

What started in green fields of pink flowers and brown roots ended in dark rooms and pining embraces. Hand shakes turning into interlaced fingers, laughter filled glances turning into tense stares, and experimental pecks turning into open mouthed pants.

The first time you meet abby was at school at 15. Bright eyed and bushy tailed still untainted from the reality of the world around you. You were quite shy in those years, keeping yourself away from the wild hairs of children ready to grow up and take charge. You were okay with the stability of childhood, the sticky sweet feeling of safety and uncharted terror.

Before Abby’s dad had died, before the muscles and long locks of golden blonde hair she was reserved too. Abby was wrapped in a bubble of comfort, a loving community that doted on her. She felt no need to join the crowd of chaos when she had everything she needed.

Well she thought she did…and then she met you.

In class you had your face shoved into a notebook doodling away of ferns and dandelions you had seen in the fields early that day. If it were up to you, you’d spend every last dying breath in the fields, soaking in sunlight and trailing your fingers through the rows of flowers.

Abby sat next to you in class, always too shy to speak up to you. You always seemed so busy, either reading, drawing, or with your head in the clouds, never truly listening to the lecture ahead. She admired your creativity, attention to detail, and the utter sense of unawareness to your surroundings. She wondered why you didn’t talk to the others, you were so inviting, so pretty. She once wished to look like you, how effortlessly magnificent you looked.

She grew too curious, over zealous at the thought of being close to you, understanding you. She knew she had to speak up.

“H-hey you draw pretty cool- I mean- it’s really good…what you draw.”

You had never taken more than a glance at the freckled girl until then. She always seemed just as busy as you, so you never bothered her.

You let out a bellied laugh at the now crimson red faced girl- completely embarrassed by her attempt at recognition.

And that was that. The two of you were inseparable, attached at the hip from then on out.

Abby seemed to understand your weird quirks and odd fascinations. Even when she didn’t, she was there open minded and wide eyed to hear your lengthy ramblings on about nothingness.

Sometimes it felt like you did most of the talking. Not that it was one sided or you wouldn’t let her butt in, but rather she was completely enamored by what you thought. Sometimes all she wanted to do was to hear you talk, you were her favorite person, the own mold of herself.

She wanted to think what you thought, feel what you felt, see the world through your eyes.

As the years went on you only seemed to grow closer to abby as she grew fonder of you.

Some could call it an obsession, the way you treated each other. Not a single thought went by that the other didn’t know. If you were there, so was abby. If you knew something, so did she.

Everyday she would follow you to the fields after school, your special escape you’d learn to share with the other half of your being.

You’d make her lay across the flower ridden fields so you could draw her glistening hair kissed by the whisk of wind. She let her hair grow longer since you’d ask to braid it for her every morning. She liked it short but she wanted to let you have room to make intricate designs and lace them with weeds you’d found.

Abby would playfully nudge you when you’d draw the hump on her nose in the drawings, but you loved it too much to not appreciate it. You loved all the things she couldn’t in herself.

You two spent hours out in the field daily, even when it rained you’d make her dance around like fairies as mud splattered across your shins. Anything you wanted, she’d do as long as it was with you.

That’s when you asked her to try kissing, she’d obliged.

“Have you ever…kissed anyone?” You ask staring off into the cloud painted sky, tall grass framing your bodies.

She lets out a breathy giggle, “no… you would know if I did.”

You shrug, shoulder crashing gently into hers, “I don’t know, maybe it was too embarrassing to say.”

She trails off, “h-have you?”

“No dumbass you would know…” you push your shoulder into her turning to give her a toothy smile, “what if I’m not good when a boy kisses me?”

Her eyes remained trained onto the pillowy cloud, “you can try on me- I-if you want to.”

It was a good idea, she wasn’t going to judge you, she was your best friend, she was only there to help.

“Okay.” And without a second thought your upper body shot up and lent over hers, pressing your lips into her plush pink ones. It was gentle, only a placement amongst the flesh, yet so charged. Butterflies fluttered through your stomach and up to your throat, something you had only felt once before when you and abby went swimming.

Closeness you thought. Being close to someone causes that. How nice it was to be so close to your favorite person, maybe one day you could feel close to someone again.

After that you continued to experiment kissing. At sleepovers you’d talk about the boys you wanted to kiss, then show each other how you would kiss them. It turned into an innocent routine, pecking her before she would leave, kissing her in the fields when you felt the butterflies.

You’d told her about them- the fluttering in your stomach. Whenever you felt them she told you that she wanted to feel them too. Transferring them through the soft pink flesh, she’d say she’d feel them after.

Soon she’d tell you when she got them, to which you’d return the gesture back. As time went on, the butterflies came more often.

People were starting to notice the relationship, started talking about how close the two of you were. You’d shoo off the irrational comments and over zealous accusations, but abby never did. She just didn’t respond.

“Who am I to ask for more? But you’re breathing in my open mouth. You’re the gun in my lips that will blow my brains out.”

Abby started spending the night daily, she practically lived in your room at that point. After her dad died your relationship grew stronger than ever. In such a treacherous time she clung to the only person who truly understood her. Many a nights she spent huddled into a ball in your lap weeping as you smoothed the hair behind her ear and rubbing circles into the grown muscles in her back.

Abby had taken to working her emotions out in physical labor. Now being a solider full time out of school she had grown muscular and more rough. Her heart was still the same for you, but had grown caged off to the people around you.

Her pleasantries for the rest of the community had grown stale, only allowing a few to get near her. But you… there was always an indefinite spot inside her for you.

Since abby was always around now, in the darkness of every night, privacy had flown right out the window. Not that you had minded- there wasn’t much of really anything abby didn’t know or hadn’t seen.

But when that eery sense of familiarity crept up, when the butterflies would come at night.

She had started out sleeping on the extra bed in your room. Before she had practically moved in she’d sleep with you, but since her stay turned to no vacancy she’d taken to given you the last sense of space, even when you hadn’t asked.

In the middle of darkness as the crickets chirped outside the window you’d tell her the feeling had come back, and she’d always agree, and the room would fall silent again.

“Abby?” You call out to a darkened room, illuminated by the shine of the moon.

“Yeah?” She’d call back from the other side.

“Do you ever…fix the feelings of the butterflies. Like make them go away?”

“Uh yeah- sometimes…when it gets bad.”

“I think mine are…bad right now,” it felt embarrassing almost, there was nothing she could do to help, fix your issue. Transferring the butterflies to abby only made them worse sometimes, and you were boiling.

“M-mine too,” she admits.

“You can fix it- if you need to.”

“A-re you going to stop yours?”

“Is that okay?” You say reluctantly into the tense air coating you. Every slight move felt with a million nerves.

“Mhmm,” she responds, a rustling heard coming from her direction.

Soft hums filled the air from the feeling of release you had allowed yourself in the presence of your best friend. Abby’s breathy moans would only follow quickly after your own, never before.

Dual release become a routine. Allowing the sticky sweet sensations of climaxing in the same bedroom of your other half. It became another thing you shared with her, another check on the list of the endeavors you’d participated in with her.

Talks of the butterflies and the unleashing of them never left those four chipping walls. Some things were meant for just Abby’s ears. All best friends must do the same. You’d never heard of others talk of sorts so you sealed your lips, a secret kept like a bird in a cage.

As you both had grown accustomed to the routine things gradually got more intense. Sometimes you couldn’t get the butterflies to fly away even when you tried for hours, panting out whimpers of frustration. Even when they would go away sometimes they would crept back in immediately, your body unable to be satiated.

Abby begun sleeping in the bed with you, to calm the frustrating unnerve you felt after no avail. She’d tell you she wish she could help you, make them go away. She’d do anything to make you happy.

That’s when you started touching yourselves next to each other. The routine was upheld for so long that it felt natural to do it even when she was right next to you. First fully covered, then in undergarments, to finally completely bare.

Seeing Abby’s bare flesh only made it worse. You weren’t stupid, the pieces were falling into place before your eyes. But you hadn’t seen anyone else naked before, maybe it would be the same. Her flesh so pale, her nipples shades of pale pink roses, and the hair that trailed down to her folds as golden as wheat. You had never seen something so magnificent, so beautifully crafted.

That was something you didn’t share with her. The drawings of her bare flesh. You made sure to memorize each chisel, line, and freckle to be as accurate as possible once you got to your notebook. With every piece of her revealed opening thousands of opportunities to draw her art. She was so fucking beautiful.

“When was the first time?” The auburn girl had asked you.

It all had meshed into a blur, what had happened and when it did. When you and abby had started sleeping together it started on opposite ends. Heat not close enough to sting your flesh but the air still tense enough to be cut clean with a blade. As time grew on and the routine becoming daily, the space between you started to close in. Knees brushing as your legs wavered, arms transferring sticky sweat in the blistering heat of arousal.

The inevitable placement of foreheads touching as you watched each other fall apart, watching the butterflies flutter out of her throat with every pant.

From what you could call the ‘beginning’ of sorts, rather an act of mercy, came from her.

You found yourself in the familiar position of unnerve. Rubbing aimless quick circles on your abused clit. It became a matter of principle at the point, needing to fulfill the urge even knowing the outcome would leave you more helpless than before. Abby’s butterflies were far gone, now rubbing lazy stripes down her slit in attempt to not let you feel alone. She never wanted you to feel like she wasn’t completely enthralled by your every move.

Your leg sprawled across her own, wide open, bucking your hips into the air as you let out frustrated grunts, eyes sealed shut in concentration. She just watched. She loved watching you touch yourself. Abby felt like the luckiest girl in the world getting to watch you, kiss you, feel you. She wanted to feel more of you, every atom in your body she’d kiss if you’d allow it.

“Let me help” she said, eyes trained on your open mouth.

Your brain was too fuzzy to even comprehend the depth of the act, so pent up and eager.

“Mhmm,” was all you could muster up. As her calloused fingers transferred from her skin to your abdomen, your body jolted up. You had never been touched by another. Not like this. She took her time running the tips of her fingers from your side to the mound, taking your hand and moving it your thigh so she could replace it with her own.

Something deep in your belly erupted when you felt her fingers meet your clit. A flock of doves released from their cage, a gasping goldfish meeting water. An exaggerated sigh of relief came out as a depraved moan. Every nerve in your body heightened by her gentle touch.

She drew cautious and attentive swipes across the newly swollen bud, watching for when your breath would hitch.

“You’re so warm,” she said studying your face as it contorted in pleasure. Your chin raised high, burying your scalp into the frilly pillows below. She had then studied the flesh around your neck, oh why had she never noticed that. How thin the skin was there, how close she could get to you in that space.

“I-it feels b-better when you do it,” you admit to her, water in her hands, hips grinding into the soft touch of her. “Y-yeah really?” She says, perking up, so pleased with knowing she could make you feel better. She’d do anything to make you feel better.

You let your stagnant hand run down her chiseled chest to meet her mound, her sticky slit pooling at her core. You meant to return the favor, an eye for an eye. “It’s okay- just let me help you.”

You shook your head in agreement, but let your hand rest on the pulsing flesh, you wanted to feel her like she felt you.

With every gentle circle she took you closer to release. It was so much faster when she did it. When you did it together before you would lie there for hours flicking at the raw skin to no avail, but in minutes she had you tipping at your edge.

Her strokes felt akin to the ones on your notebook, gentle and cautious direction, seeking a desirable outcome. You’d thought to picture this, able to recreate this on paper shielded from her eyes. What would she think if she saw them? Maybe you’d grown too fond of the other half of your heart.

“Abby!” You scream out, nearing your pending release.

“Y-yeah? D-does it feel okay- are you okay?” She perks up in concern, helplessly worried she had hurt you.

“Yes- Yes! It- it’s coming,” you pant out, body slick with sweat as your arousal pools below you. A sloppy mess of bodies interlaced with remorseless pleasure.

“Let me feel them, I want to feel them,” abby says inches from your face, intently watching the contortions of your face below her. The butterflies, oh how she wished she could flutter in your tummy as they do so effortlessly.

You cave shamelessly, pressing into the soft pink flesh. You try to keep them stable, but as you reach the cliffs edge you can’t help but moan pathetically into her throat. Your hips thrust into the calloused fingers, chasing the lasting feelings of her, escaping your doom and passing the burden through your lips onto hers.

You did draw of this, and every time after that. It became an obsession, mental images snapshotted to accuracy for replication later.

The routine increased in frequency and intensity. Exploring each other’s most sacred places. She would let you touch her sometimes, but only when she was touching you. Abby seemed more interested in your pleasure than her own. But she cared about you, she never wanted you unsettled. She wanted to be your salvation.

“I ask you how you’re doing and I let you lie. But we don’t have to talk about it, I can walk you home and practice method acting. I’ll pretend being with you doesn’t feel like drowning.”

“Does she make you feel them?”

She asked when it had all started. The truth was you weren’t really sure. There was no definitive date or period of time that signified the beginning or end of it.

Ellie Williams was so…vulgar, erratic, a ticking time bomb. The pieces of the puzzle connected at last when you lied eyes on the auburn haired girl.

She had entered the WLF as gentle as a bomb to a building. Fiery hot attitude, a chip on her shoulder, and drowning green eyes. At first glance she utterly captivated your ever fleeting thoughts.

When she first walked through the corridors of the stadium your eyes fixed on her, staring rudely at her every move. “Who is that, the girl?” You ask the unfazed blonde next to you, too busy working at sharpening a blade, “names Ellie, they say she’s trouble. By the looks of her, checks out.”

“What did she do? Why is she here?” You continue your glare, taking note of the pink scare rippled along the crest of her eye.

You had never drawn anyone other than abby, but the girls features were so strong, the strokes would come naturally in your grasp. A secret muse possibly, even from a far.

“I don’t know- stay away from her. She reeks of trouble,” she’d remark, finishing off the blade and leading you off to a pending mission.

You tried, you really did. She was so compelling, and you? You were a bee to honey. Was she soft unlike her features? Did she speak of the world beyond her? Did she like to watch the clouds mesh into unlikely objects? Did she know of the butterflies and their ever present existence in your lungs?

Your notebook grew of only her, the short frayed hair, the pink scare, the freckles that littered her face. So effortlessly magnificent she was, unknowingly your own secret work of art.

Until abby found them.

Related to this work

Song lyrics: casual , waiting room , cool about it

Moodboard

If you enjoy the childhood best friend trope with abby highly recommend this fic by @kieranscaren she writes beautifully and gave me great inspiration for this work:)

Taglist: @wishbones999 @bookpagecandlescent @littlegingerperson5 @lookforthelight1 @fict1onallyobsessed @shewantstoknow @a-little-bit-of-everybody

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graphedpaper · 2 months

Text

Renter Problems 4

yandere!celebrity x fem!reader

Synopsis: Your once childhood nuisance turned celebrity, turned aggressor, is advancing further and further into his delusions, pushing past your boundaries in any way he sees fit. He won't even let you shower by yourself or get a cup of water to quench your dry throat. Just how much of your autonomy is he going to invade, and why is he doing this? Details: Verbal abuse, NSFW, manipulation, fem reader, kidnapping, non-con, masturbation, delusional thinking Warning: NSFW, Non-Con

The warm late morning sunlight glows on your face as you rustle up from your slumber. Your eyelids drudge open, and you blink a couple of times to wake yourself. You slowly sit up using your tied arms, your elbows digging into the biggest mattress you've ever seen.

The first thought that comes into your hazy mind is the sore hunger pains coming from your empty stomach. You look down at yourself. You're still wearing your top and pants from almost 2 or 3 days ago, and you're not sure what day it is exactly.

And when you hear heavy footsteps nearing the bedroom door you immediately remember what happened yesterday and the tenseness returns, making your whole body sore. You try not to dwell on it, but you remember where you are now fully and completely.

You need to escape.

As the tall, smooth white panel door opens inwards you slump back down into bed. You don't have the energy to stay on guard, and you're past starving. Everything feels light, especially your limbs, yet they also simultaneously feel tied down by ten ton weights.

"Hey, did you sleep well?" He asks walking towards you with a cup of hot tea. Good, you were parched.

You manage to croak out a 'yes' and he sits beside you, placing down the beverage to help you up. He strokes your hair as he picks the mug back up with his right hand. You reach for it, bracing for the hot ceramic to touch your palms, but instead, Jacob brings it to his lips, leaving you dumbfounded at his blatant selfishness.

"Oh, you wanted it?" He asks, with a dumbfounded look on his face.

You stare blankly at him back.

'Oh, no Jacob, it's fine, I don't want something to drink after being starved and kidnapped for days.' You think, sarcastic and bitter. Yes, you did want the fucking tea after he threw you around, threatened to cut your finger and neck, and came in your mouth.

"Of course my pretty girl can share with me." He adds sweetly. So sweetly in fact, it makes you question if what happened yesterday truly happened. What was going on? Were you being kidnapped? He hands you the steaming drink and with awkward T-rex arms you manage to lift the cup to your dry lips and take a few sips. The restraints on your wrist... It's awkward, it's janky, it's uncomfortable. The metal cuffs keep cutting into your skin and you can barely do anything.

"Jacob-" You start, attempting to ask him to unlock the handcuffs.

He shoots you a look. A 'don't say it and ruin the mood' look. It sends you a gut-tossing chill, muting whatever you were going to ask him to do.

" Babe, I found this great brunch place for us to try. You must be starving huh?" He quickly jumps to a different subject, before you even have a chance to ask him to take the handcuffs off of you, or let that dangerous stare of his sink in.

Brunch? Like as in a restaurant in public? Somewhere you could get help? Your scheming begins and your heartbeat rises at the chance of being saved.

"I was so worried, because you haven't eaten in a while."

Jacob can see it on your face and he can see it in your eyes. That flash of determination that he hated throughout childhood. The cancer that was infecting this pure love, it had to be cut out and blazed. He could almost hear you plotting your escape from the relationship.

"I ordered it to go, it'll be here soon." He tells He announces to you.

"Oh." You say in crestfallen hopelessness. Your stomach growls.

"I hope this can count as our new start." He adds on.

You try to hide your desperation from his observant eyes as your chance of escaping seems to start withering away. Perhaps focus on something else?

You look into his golden eyes. Today he's wearing a soft-looking grey long-sleeve and loose-fitting cargos. His silver watch on his left hand had been making a ticking sound this whole time, and you hadn't noticed in your narrow-sighted distress. He had clean clothes and a lovely shiny watch, while your hair was a mess, your clothes old.

"What can I wear? Can I take a shower?" You ask him abruptly. You didn't feel like a human anymore, you felt more like an animal. You needed to get away from him, at least temporarily. He scared you, his weird switches in behaviour, from doting to violent.

"I'll give you a bath, and your old clothes are in the other closet." He responds smiling.

Oh god, please, god if you're real don't allow him to give me a bath, please god.

"Jacob, please, just let me shower on my own." You beg. He hadn't seen you naked yet, and it was one of the last dignities you could hold on to.

"You're too weak, now stop it." He snaps, annoyance flashing his face.

And you do, you shut up like the helpless prey you are. And now he'll to see you stripped and all, his hands over your bare body-

'You're not a helpless prey,' you think to yourself. 'Don't ever think like that, especially not in a situation like this.' Didn't you know this well enough? For humans, morale was the most important thing in survival, it didn't matter if the heart was beating or not, first and foremost it was mind had to stay alive.

You blink back tears and slide yourself off the bed, following him to the washroom. He sees it, and perhaps he feels pity for your pathetic form, because he tells you to give him your hands. Hesitantly, you place your restrained hands in his, unsure what he'll do. You wait for him to reach into his left pocket, where he brings out a small flat key, which he uses to unlock your handcuffs.

So that's where he keeps the keys to the handcuff.

You shake out your wrists, free from the restraints and you feel- so light. You try not to look too hard at the red cuts and marks around them from the prolonged use, they give you mind-numbingly painful reminders of the terror you're facing.

"I'll put some ointment on it, okay?" He says, gently, while hovering his fingers above the injuries.

He leads you across his wide bedroom to his bathroom. It's like another room on its own, grand with marble, and a great bathtub overlooking the view of the vast backyard pool.

He turns the faucet of the sleek bathtub, as the water rushes down and echoes the room with the sound of falling splashes hitting porcelain.

You stand near him, not daring to move an inch without the weight of your cuffs. He turns back to you and starts to pull your shirt off. You reluctantly lift your arms up to help him and you quickly cover yourself. You cross your arms over your bare chest and avoid Jacob's burning stare at you. To Jacob, you were overreacting. Why were you so insistent on acting innocent and shy in a relationship? What's the big deal seeing his girlfriend's tits? For fuck's sake, you'd already sucked him off, hadn't you?

You try to take yourself out of this experience while he pulls your pants down, leaving you down to your underwear. You knew this was his motive, but you can almost hear his arousal. The hot, buzzing excitement, disguised as a caring gesture revolts you. He wasn't really washing you out of concern of you being 'too weak', he just wanted to control you and see you naked.

"I can do it!" You exclaim, breaking the silent tension. His fingers linger on the waistband of your underwear. You don't dare to push his hands off of you, but you do step away from his touch.

Jacob brushes his loose hair back with his hand and sighs.

"Babe, please, let's not fight over this, let me take care of you." He says, seemingly exasperated.

He pinches the elastic of your underwear and slowly pulls it down in not very well concealed anticipation. It's a light pink pantie with a small ribbon, you probably got it as a value set from a cheap store. If it was up to you, you wouldn't have to wear this juvenile shit anymore, you'd wear something... tinier. Lacier.

He holds his breath in excitement and when the last piece of your self-preserved dignity on you falls in a pile to your feet he takes a good look. Quick, but a good look nonetheless. That was a mistake though, because now he's harder than steel. He desperately wants to push you against the wall. Hear your heart start to beat faster as your arousal drips between your legs.

He won't do it now, don't worry, you're too weak at the moment. He may get excited at times, but he's no rapist. Instead, he lifts you up onto the sinktop. Dipping his finger into a small pot, he gathers a dollop of clear gel. As he starts to apply the cool gel on your sore wrists, an herbal smell invades your nose. You try to observe him, see if he feels guilt that these injuries were from him. But he remains seemingly unfazed and without shame, as if these cuts appeared from nowhere.

"Shouldn't you apply it after the wash?" You ask.

"Oh, right." He says, laughing.

You force yourself to crack a smile. Jacob wipes the gel off his fingers.

"It's fine, we can apply it before and after, anything for you." Jacob tells you.

Jacob can't help but feel hopeful. It seemed like you were already warming up to him. Of course, right now, maybe you were just faking it, but soon, it would become habit, then it would become a part of you. Then, it would be you, truly you. You would love him, laughing by his side, whether in bed or on the red carpet. No one could deny it, could they? You wanted to drink the tea from the cup he drank from, and you let him help you change out of your clothes, you even smiled at him. Yeah, you were definitely falling for him as well, slowly, but surely. He saw you as a mother of his children, but he could also see you on all fours, being fucked into whenever he wished for. You were so special to him.

The splattering sound of the water quiets down, and the swirling steam rises from the water.

He uses his right hand to check the temperature, and when he decides it's fine, he comes over to lift you from the waist into bridal position, carefully lowering you into the wide tub, akin to a baptism of a baby. He's gentle and caring, allowing you to adust to the hot water.

You turn your head to the wide window, and you can see atop the long, large trees, lush green leaves shaking in the gentle breeze. You can almost imagine that warm sunlight smell, the one that saturates the world in richness and sticks on your clothes, the wind blowing your hair. That summer bliss you experienced as a young girl. You didn't deserve this, to be held captive. You deserved to be a teen girl with her friends looking forward to starting college. Jacob's turned his back, reaching into the drawers for soap, or something, and for those few seconds, his distracted self tempts you to escape like honey to an ant. You want so badly to get up and sprint out, but the fear stops you. When he comes back you avert your eyes to the clear water. Jacob smiles. Your bare skin under the slow-moving water ripples, it's distorted but there.

"You like waffles?" He asks suddenly, kneeling down behind your head as he squirts a cool liquid onto your scalp, sending tingles down your spine. He massages it into your hair as a fresh, rosemary scent wafts around you, the aromatic bubbles starting to form into suds.

"Waffles? They're okay." You reply, uncomfortable at how comfortable you were becoming. Fuck, why was this relaxing? The hot water invaded all your senses and it soothed your tense body.

"What do you want to eat then?" He asks, his hands working at your wet hair.

"Anything's fine, I'm starving." You reply

And it's true, you couldn't possibly care if it's a waffle or a pancake. Hell, give the peeled skin of a potato and you just might eat it with the fervor of a child and a chocolate cake.

Jacob bristles at the word 'starving'. It's just how you said it, almost as if you're accusing him of your pain. It's not his fault, it's yours that you couldn't stay up until a few minutes to eat. It's not like he prevented you from eating, so why were you saying it like that? Why were you constantly treating him like that?

"You fell asleep before dinnertime." He states accusively, his voice going from calm to stiff.

"I know." You reply back, sensing his rigid form behind you.

You don't have to look back to visualize his face, dark twisted eyebrows and a deep, wronged frown. It's best to agree with him in a passive, neutral manner, at least when he's swinging from one emotion to the next. He doesn't feel like a person, he feels like a bomb you must cradle to your chest, one wrong move causing it to detonate and kill you.

There falls a moment of quiet while he rinses the soap from your hair. The only sounds are the gentle splashes of water and scrubbing of soap. He takes a sweet citrus-smelling body wash scrub, washing your arms and torso. He takes his time to wash your legs, and his fingers linger in between your thighs. His fingers brush against your clit and you sit up straighter, alert.

"You might get an infection if I don't clean it well enough, I've heard about it," He explains.

But it's a lame justification, because you both know what he's actually doing. Infection, my ass. He's at the side of the tub now, still knelt down, and his index finger makes a light circle clockwise on your bud, twice. It may have been a mistake the first time, but now it's intentional. You can't help but gasp in horror. You mentally smack yourself in the face, and pray he doesn't take the gasp as encouragement to continue.

"Jacob," You whisper, turning to his face to look at his expression.

His eyes stare back at you, a dark greed filling his face.

"Jacob, not right now," You try to tell him again.

"You'll like it, I promise. It'll feel good." He replies, focusing on making tight circles on your clit as you fidget your legs and splash some water over the edge. Your clit swells with a new type of arousal, and you don't know if it's the heat from the water, or something more internal. Jacob enjoys the scene playing out before him, your body contorting to handle the pleasure he's giving to you, while you try to stay still for him. You're so compliant. You contain any sound that might escape, in fear of egging him on to continue further.

"You wanted this to happen, huh? You asked for a shower? Knowing I wouldn't be able to resist your naked body?" He asks mockingly. He rubs your engorged clit faster, and you clutch the sides of the tub with knuckle-white hands.

You want to deny his words but a moan slips past your lips as that familiar pressure builds up inside you. You want to scream at him to stop but your mind flashes back to the knife he held to your neck, the needle he used to sedate you. He finds satisfaction in your unravelling, all by him, and he can't help but palm his own arousal underneath his pants.

"Jacob, too much!" You whimper.

Oh god, it feels good, but if I come he'll take it as encouragement, oh god, oh no,

"It's okay, you can come, I know I'm making you feel good, so don't shy away." He tells you sweetly, adoring that flushed look on your face, the warmth that comes from your gratification of his touch. It validates him, to see you lose control like this. All those celebrity bitches were already sluts that were used to sex, but you were simpler to please. He could never let you go, you were the only one he could do this to. He's too distracted by his fantasies of you and him, to notice your orgasm as your legs tremble and your moans become a background as he mindlessly draws more circles on your sensitive clit. How would you react to him proposing? Somewhere public, of course, where everyone could see the love you two shared. What about a sweet baby boy, who could grow up to be another successful actor, just like his dad? After that, a beautiful young girl, that looked just like you and him. She could easily become a model with those looks.

Your pleas for him to stop over-stimulating your poor self brings him back to ground as he smiles at your exhausted face.

"Good girl, now let's get you dressed so we can eat."

-----

You two are sitting down on the sofa to have brunch. Jacob finds it more intimate, and casual, than sitting at the dining table. Besides, the dining table brings back bad memories, don't they? While you're devouring liège waffles with intense speed, Jacob has an egg sandwich.

"Is it good?" Jacob asks you.

Jacob wishes you'd instigate more conversations. He wants you to thank him for the orgasm, and the food. Throw up some compliments, and smile at him like you did in the washroom. Can't you stop eating for just a minute and talk to him?

"It's good, where'd you get them?" You ask, and you instantly raise an eyebrow at your own tone after you say this. You said it a little too normal for your own liking.

Could you be getting used to this? How could you act so nonchalant in a kidnapping? Was this kidnapping?

"There's this stupid guy I know. He cooks, owns a few restaurants." He responds vaguely.

"Why stupid?" You ask him, noticing the look of distaste on his face.

"He's an heir to the throne of some country, but he put it on pause and now he causes trouble here." Jacob says. He looks agitated just talking about him.

You're surprised.

"Really? He turned down the chance to be king?" You prod more, eager for any chance to bring Jacob's guard down.

"Yeah." He answers curtly.

Jacob sighs and looks back at you enjoying your waffles and he can almost feel a warm happiness filling everything broken inside him, like molten gold. You were the best girlfriend, you made him want to be better.

You can feel his eyes on you.

It's disturbing.

"Do you have work today?" You ask, avoiding eye contact with him and staring at a painting on the wall.

"No, today's off." He answers, still looking at you, with his arm over the couch in a relaxed manner.

Well, any predator would be relaxed when faced with a puny prey.

You realize then and there that you've lost track of the date.

"Wait, what's the date today?" You ask him.

Jacob hesitates to tell you. He doesn't know why, why he wants to with hold this information from you, it simply feels wrong to tell you something that relates to the outside world. It's a strange feeling that he's never sensed before, he's really not sure of the reasoning he has inside for his avoidance to tell you the date. It then irritates him a bit, that you would ask something like that when you two were enjoying a meal together. You weren't eating with the whole world, you were eating with him. So your attention should be on him.

"Saturday." He finally answers after a few seconds, lying through his playful grin.

You accept his answer, and make a note to not lose track again. You each go back to working at your individual late breakfast when another question forms rapidly in your mind and blurts out from your mouth before you can stop it.

"Where's my laptop and phone?" You ask him.

Jacob pauses eating and turns his body towards you. You can't decipher this look. But it's dangerous, it's dark, it's a warning. You look back at him, not daring to break this twisted version of a staring contest.

"Maybe you'd like to go outside." He says, ignoring your question.

And you immediately understand what he means. Perhaps you wouldn't have before, but you're starting to understand his nature. This is not just an aversion of your question, it's a threat, that he will keep you inside for however long he pleases if you don't act the way he wants you to act. That reply serves as a reminder to you that he's in control here. That it's either you do what he wants and gain some freedom, or remain locked up.

"Yes, that would be nice," You reply, meekly.

"Good, we can go sometime when you're ready."

Jacob pauses, in thought.

"But for now let's stay inside. We can watch my new movie."

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340 notes · View notes

starlightomatic · 1 year

Note

I'm asking this in good faith, but also in an admitted lack of full understanding. If you don't have the energy to engage with this topic anymore please disregard it.

Someone on your post noted the comparison of Israel-Palestine to that of the Native Americans, but the way I read it it seemed like they were putting Palestinians in the role of the native Americans and Israel as the colonizing force, but historically wouldn't it be the Jewish people who are the Native Americans in that comparison? I ask because from what I know it would be the Jewish people in what is now Israel at the same time in history as the Natives in the Americas. Am I misinformed about that? I'm not trying to say Palestine would be the colonizing force in that comparison btw, just that if we're talking about natives to the land, it seems to me like it'd be the Jewish people.

tbh neither maps on exactly

the expulsion of jews from what is now israel/palestine started in 70 AD and then was a gradual process over the next few hundred years as people moved out due to oppression by various rulers, poverty, etc

palestinians, as far as i understand it, likely descend from a mix of some of the jews who were left behind and arabs who conquered the land. they've been there for hundreds of years, and some families have owned the same land for all of that time

the thing about indigeneity as it's been explained to me is that it's not about origin so much as relationship to colonization. and the founding of israel was colonization -- herzl actually used that word himself in his writings.

you know the jnf? the original purpose was to exploit a feature of ottoman land law. if you planted a tree on someone's land and they didn't remove it for a certain number of years, you could claim ownership of that land. this and other methods were used to steal parcels of land from palestinians.

"your ethnicity stole the land from our ethnicity, to whom the land belongs" is a fucked up framework that seems really akin to blood and soil (as does "our ethnicity has rightful ownership of this land from ancient times, so your ethnicity needs to clear out"), but genuinely wresting ownership from individuals owners really can be said to be stealing land.

also, the nakba was a series of massacres and fighting that led to a huge influx of palestinian refugees from many areas in israel/palestine, and israel seized control of the land and homes they vacated to hand over to jews. israel used the jnf, again, to cover the ruins of many palestinian villages with trees to obscure the fact that they were ever there. in general israel built over many palestinian villages and the mindset in israel is not to know and not to think about it.

personally i think the indigeneity debate is not useful. it feels sometimes that jews think that if we can prove we lived in israel in ancient times (we did, a lot of people insist we didn't because it is inconvenient), we can justify things like the above. my position is that it does not justify it, because it is not an excuse for causing human suffering.

however, many people use a framework that is not about human suffering, but about how invading foreign jews stole the land from the "rightful" ethnic group. i don't agree with that either. especially when it becomes an excuse to support ethnic cleansing in the other direction. that is to say: they locate the crime not in the invasion but in the foreignness. such people are motivated to deny the historical fact of jewish origins in israel, because their argument is based on jewish foreignness.

but anyway, the comparison to indigenous peoples in the americas refers to the way that palestinians experienced the establishment of the state of israel -- starting with small groups of settlers, involving violence early on and then massacres, and later ethnic cleansing and displacement. cities and towns destroyed. shoved into small areas with few resources. lack of power and autonomy.

in addition, the way the early zionist leaders conceptualized themselves as enlightened europeans colonizing land with disdain for the existing residents.

#israel palestine #indigeneity #ask #loon original

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communicationthroughlyrics · 3 months

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Fuck Me Like You Mean It

Your best friend, unable to bear your post-breakup malaise, decides to take action. Despite your deep emotional pain following the betrayal by your ex-girlfriend, and your subsequent withdrawal from life, she believes it's time for you to move on. She suggests a night out to reinvigorate your social life. At the bar, your attention is drawn to a redhead and her brunette partner, whose infectious laughter and captivating dance moves stir feelings of attraction.

TW: smut, intersex r, wandanat, mommy/daddy kink, pretty smutty if i'm honest 18+

Word Count: 4.8k

You looked over at the two of them, Natasha's head on Wanda's shoulder, both of them watching you with a mix of satisfaction and curiosity. Wanda's hand slid down to Natasha's stomach, her fingers tracing lazy circles, as Natasha purred contentedly. You felt a warmth spread through you, a feeling you hadn't experienced in a long time. It wasn't just the afterglow of amazing sex; it was the sense of belonging, of being seen and desired.

"You know," Natasha began, her voice a little hoarse from her moaning, "Wanda and I, we have a...a particular way of life. It's not all glamour and parties." She looked at you seriously, her eyes searching yours. "But we're good to each other, we care for each other."

Wanda's hand tightened around Natasha's, and she nodded in agreement. "We are looking for someone to share that with, who can handle us both."

You swallowed hard, feeling both thrilled and terrified by the prospect. "What...what does that mean?" Wanda laughed as your voice cracked in the middle of your sentence.

"It means," she started, her eyes dancing with excitement, "that we like to share our bed, our hearts, and our...adventures." Natasha's hand slid down to Wanda's thigh, squeezing it gently. "But only with someone strong enough to handle us." She winked at you, and you felt your cheeks heat up. You weren't sure if you were up for this, but the thought of being with these two powerful, alluring women was too tempting to pass up.

"Detka," Wanda started, an enraptured gaze setting into her features. "We know it's... unconventional, and we will date each other separately and together. There is still a lot to learn, but if you would like, we want to extend the offer to you." She paused, her eyes never leaving yours. "To be with us, to be part of us."

You sat there, the words 'dating' and 'us' echoing in your mind. The gravity of the situation hit you like a ton of bricks. You had just had the most mind-blowing experience of your life with Natasha, and now Wanda was proposing something more. Your heart was racing, your mind trying to piece together the reality of what they were saying. This wasn't just a one-night stand, they were offering you a place in their lives.

Natasha, sensing your slight distress, chimes in. "You were the only one who caught our eyes tonight," she leaned forward, grabbing your hand and rubbing the back of it softly. "And let's face it, you're pretty amazing, from what we've experienced so far." You felt your cheeks flush, your heart skipping a beat. "But," she added, her eyes gleaming with mischief, "you can't just jump into the deep end without knowing how to swim."

Wanda nodded solemnly. "We are not just looking for a plaything, Y/N. We want someone who can stand alongside us, who can handle what we throw at them, and maybe even throw some surprises our way." She leaned in, her breath hot against your cheek. "Can you handle that? We will take it slow, and you have all the power and autonomy to leave if it ever becomes too much."

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of their proposal. "I...I think so," you murmured, your voice still shaky from the aftershocks of pleasure. "Can we... can we sleep on it?" you asked, still in deep thought about all the information just thrown at you.

Wanda nodded, a gentle smile playing on her lips. "Of course," she said, her eyes warm and understanding. "This is a big decision, and we wouldn't want you to make it hastily." Natasha nodded in agreement, her smile just as soft.

Natasha stood, albeit shakily, and you instinctively reached out, catching her as she nearly fell. She giggled, her legs still trembling. "You know, we're not asking you to marry us," she said, her voice light and playful. "But if it's what you want, we're not opposed to it." A contented smile became apparent on Wanda's face, watching you and Natasha interact. Natasha leaned in and quickly pecked at your lips, before regaining her composure and standing on less shaky legs.

Wanda slid off the bed, standing before you in all her naked glory. She held out her hand, and you took it, allowing her to pull you to your feet. "Let's get you cleaned up," she said, her voice still thick with lust. The three of you made your way to a luxurious bathroom, the tiles cold against your bare feet. The room was steamy from a recent shower, and the scent of their combined perfumes lingered in the air.

Natasha turned the shower on, the water cascading down from the rainfall showerhead, creating a soothing sound that filled the room. She stepped aside, gesturing for you to enter first. You stepped under the warm spray, feeling the tension melt from your body as the water washed away the sweat and the residue of your encounter. Wanda followed, her body pressing against yours from behind, her arms wrapping around your waist. Natasha stepped in front of you, her red hair plastered to her face as the water rained down on you both.

Wanda began pecking light kisses across the top of your back and shoulders, before stepping out from behind you and sliding in between you and Natasha. You leaned down slightly, nuzzling into Wanda's neck. The warm water cascaded over the three of you, mixing with the steam to create a cloud around your bodies. Natasha's hands began to explore yours, her soapy fingers gliding over your skin, making you shiver. Wanda's eyes gleamed as she watched, her hand sliding down to caress your cock, which was already beginning to stir again.

Suddenly, thier attention was turned to each other, you left to watch as the pair began to soap each other up, their hands gliding over their bodies in a way that was both erotic and affectionate. The sight of them together was mesmerizing, and you couldn't help but get hard again, watching the suds slide down Natasha's curves and Wanda's strong arms. They giggled, their eyes sparkling with mischief, and you realized that this was what they meant by 'adventures'. They were a package deal, and the thought was both thrilling and slightly intimidating.

Natasha's hand reached out, tugging at your chin to bring your attention back to her. "Don't just stand there, love," she said, her Russian accent thick with seduction. "Join us." And with that, she began to lather your chest, her touch light and teasing. You close your eyes, letting the sensations wash over you, feeling the tightness in your chest ease as you become one with them under the warm spray.

Wanda's hand slid down Natasha's back, her soapy palm pressing against Natasha's ass, pulling her closer to you. The redhead giggled, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she stepped aside, allowing Wanda to take her place in front of you. "My turn," Wanda murmured, her eyes locked onto yours as she began to lather your chest, her hands moving in circles, her thumbs brushing against your nipples, making them harden. The sensation was exquisite, and you couldn't help but moan, your hands finding Wanda's hips as you pulled her closer. Wanda rose on her toes, placing her lips dangerously close to the shell of your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

"I bet you taste so good," she whispered, her breath hot and sweet. You felt Natasha's hand slide down your back, her fingers ghosting over your ass before she stepped closer, her soapy hand caressing your cock, making it throb anew. The sensation of the two of them touching you was overwhelming, and you had to lean against the wall for support. The steam was thick around you, the only sounds were the water hitting the tiles and the soft moans that filled the room. "I want Daddy to put me in my place," she whispered, kissing down your chest as a dangerous glimmer flashed in her eyes.

Wanda dropped to her knees, taking your length in her mouth, her eyes never leaving yours. Natasha stepped behind you, her hands sliding around your waist, her breasts pressing against your back. You felt her teeth graze your shoulder, her breathing heavily in your ear. "You're going to love this," she promised, her hands moving to cup your breasts, her thumbs teasing the nipples. You groaned at the feeling of your tip now prodding the back of Wanda's throat, her moaning sending a vibration throughout your body.

The two of them worked in tandem, Natasha's hands on your breasts, Wanda's mouth on your cock, both of them driving you wild with pleasure. The feeling of Natasha's teeth on your neck was a stark contrast to the wet heat of Wanda's mouth, and you couldn't decide which sensation was more intense. Your hands found Natasha's hair, holding her in place as you pushed back into Wanda's throat, feeling her tongue swirl around you. A deep growl came from your chest before you slid your hands away from the redhead behind you and carded through Wanda's now-saturated chestnut locks. You grabbed the back of her head firmly, forcing her down onto your length, her gags filling the shower as Nat moaned behind you.

Wanda's eyes watered, but she didn't pull away, her eyes locked onto yours in a silent challenge. You smirked, pushing her down further, feeling Natasha's hands slide down to grip your ass, helping to drive Wanda's face into your crotch. "Mmm," Natasha murmured, her voice like honey in your ear. "Wanda loves it when you're rough." Wanda's eyes fluttered up to meet yours, and she nodded, her cheeks hollowing out as she took you deeper.

"Oh, does she now?" you growled, looking down at the watery gaze as she peered through her thick eyelashes. You tightened your grip on Wanda's hair, pushing her down even further, feeling Natasha's grip on your hips tighten as she whispered sweet nothings into your ear, her breath hot and moist. "Mommy is gonna learn today, princess," you snarl at Natasha, turning your head to kiss her fiercely. You pull away too soon for Natasha's liking, as Wanda detaches herself from your member.

"Printsessa," Wanda foggily gazed at Natasha. "Now it's my turn, you get to watch, milyy." The way she said it sent a thrill down Natasha's spine, her eyes widening with excitement. You stepped back, watching as Wanda took Natasha's face in her hands, pulling her in for a passionate kiss. You could hear them both whining and moaning, as Natasha's hand snuck down to her heat, circling her clit vigorously.

Wanda broke the kiss and pushed Natasha back against the shower wall, her soapy hands sliding down Natasha's body until they reached her pussy. She pushed Natasha's hand away, replacing it with her own, her thumb rubbing circles around Natasha's clit. Natasha gasped, her eyes rolling back in pleasure. You watched, mesmerized, as Wanda's hand moved faster and faster, Natasha's legs starting to shake. The water was now a mix of soap and desire, the sound of their skin slapping together echoing in the tiles. "Mama will give you this one," Wanda growled at her lover, hitting all the sweet spots she knew would result in Natasha's climax.

Natasha's moans grew louder, her body trembling under Wanda's touch. Her hands grabbed onto the shower wall for support, her nails digging into the tiles. You could see her getting closer, her breaths coming in short gasps. Wanda looked at you, her eyes dark with lust. "Isn't our princess beautiful, Y/N?" she moaned seductively, keeping her eyes trained on you as Natasha began to clench her wet heat around Wanda's deft fingers.

You nodded, unable to tear your gaze away from Natasha's contorted face of pleasure. "Very," you husked, your voice thick with arousal. Wanda smirked before turning her attention back to Natasha, her fingers moving with purpose. Natasha's eyes snapped open, meeting yours, and you watched as she bit her lip, trying to hold back. But Wanda was relentless, her thumb pressing harder, her other hand sliding into Natasha's mouth, muffling her cries. You stepped behind Wanda, rubbing yourself through her folds, causing her to momentarily falter, just as Natasha peaked and came with a rush over Wanda's fingers.

"Fuck," Wanda leaned her back against your chest as you continued to tease her with your cock, prodding and coating yourself in her arousal. Natasha leaned heavily against the shower wall, her chest heaving as she tried to regain her breath. "You're so...good," she murmured, her eyes glazed over. You couldn't help but chuckle, feeling a sense of pride swell in your chest. Natasha slid down to the bench in the corner, her hazy gaze following the two of you who now stood in the center of the shower. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," Wanda began chanting as you continued to tease and work her up.

Her hands found your ass, her nails digging in, urging you to fill her. you laughed darkly at her building desperation, your nose sliding in behind her ear as you kissed up and down her neck. "You think you're in control, don't you, Wanda?" you growl, nipping at her neck as you pull away. She moaned at the loss, quickly turning around to face you.

"Show me that I'm not?" she challenged a glimmer in her eyes. You smirked, gripping her hips and spinning her around so she faced Natasha. "I think Natasha would love to see how good you can be," you whispered, your hand sliding around Wanda's waist to guide her back onto Natasha's awaiting mouth. Natasha looked up at you with a mix of excitement and trepidation, before she leaned forward, trapping Wanda in a passionate liplock. You watched briefly as the two kissed before you lined yourself up with Wanda's waiting hole, and rammed your full length into her.

Wanda gasped, her eyes rolling back as Natasha pulled Wanda's bottom lip with her teeth. You took the opportunity to pull almost out, only to slam into her, feeling her tightness clench around you as she moaned into Natasha's mouth. Natasha's eyes widened, but she didn't pull away, instead, her tongue darted out to taste Wanda's bottom lip. You watched in amazement as Natasha began to suck on Wanda's lip, her teeth grazing the sensitive flesh as Wanda's moans grew louder.

You felt your orgasm building, Wanda's pussy around your cock too much to handle. "Oh fuck," you groaned, your hands tightening on Wanda's hips as you began to thrust faster. Wanda pulled away from the redhead, her moans and gasps becoming too much for her to continue kissing her wife before you. Wrapping your hand in the auburn locks that were pushed to the side of Wanda's face, you pulled her back by her hair till her back rested against your front, changing the angle with which you grazed the spongy, soft spot within her.

Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and she let out a deep, primal scream that was quickly cut short by your hand sliding around to her throat, squeezing slightly, her eyes flying open to watch you. Taking the opportunity before you, you set a torrid pace as you licked and sucked at Wanda's neck, marking up and down her throat as Natasha whimpered in the corner. Wanda's hand snaked down to Natasha's pussy, her fingers easily slipping into the sopping wetness as Natasha's hips jerked up to meet them.

"You see that, our princess loves to watch mommy get railed," you growled in Wanda's ear. Natasha's eyes were glued to the scene before her, her cheeks flushed as she watched you claim Wanda's body. Wanda's eyes rolled back in pleasure, her breaths coming in quick pants as you hammered into her. The sight of Natasha's fingers moving in and out of herself was too much, and you could feel Wanda's walls tighten around you. "Look at her, Wanda," you bark in her ear, directing her attention to the redhead as she milked her fingers with her sloppy cunt.

Wanda's gaze snapped to Natasha, her eyes wide with desire. Natasha's hand worked faster, her other hand reaching up to pinch her nipple. You could feel Wanda's orgasm approaching, her moans growing louder. "That's it," you encouraged your voice a dark whisper. "Make mommy cum for daddy." Wanda's hand began to move faster, her hips grinding back into you as Natasha watched, her eyes hooded with lust.

Natasha suddenly moved to her knees, wrapping her arms around Wanda's thighs as she began to lick at her clit, while simultaneously cupping your sack, massaging them, and sending your senses into overdrive. Wanda's eyes widened, and she threw her head back, a guttural moan escaping her lips as Natasha's tongue worked her clit in a way that only Natasha knew how to do. You watched in amazement as Natasha's tongue darted in and out of Wanda's folds, her face a mask of pure desire. You could feel Natasha's tongue and lips occasionally grace your hardened member, sending a shudder down your spine.

Wanda's legs began to quiver as Natasha's mouth worked its magic, her eyes rolling back in her head as she got closer and closer to the edge. You took a moment to appreciate the view, the two most beautiful women you've ever seen pleasuring each other and you. Your grip on Wanda's hair tightened as you watched Natasha's nimble tongue work Wanda's clit, her other hand now stroking her own, the sight of Natasha's knuckles disappearing into herself was too much to handle. "Fuck," Wanda breathed out, her eyes snapping open to meet yours. "I'm going to cum."

"Not until I say, mama," you command, thrusting yourself harder into her now gaping hole. "Fuck, it's like you were made for me." you groaned at the feeling of her walls pulsing around you. Natasha smirks up at you, her eyes glazed with arousal as she continues to lick and kiss Wanda's clit.

Wanda's nails dig into your forearm, her body taut with the effort of holding off. "Fuck, please," she pants out, her voice strained. Natasha giggles, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through Wanda, her entire being shuddering in your grasp.

"Look at her, Natasha," you say, your voice thick with lust. "So eager for it." Natasha smiles up at you, her eyes gleaming with a hunger that matches your own. You slow your pace, teasing Wanda's clit before sliding your hand back up to rest around her throat. Wanda's eyes roll back in her head, and she lets out a low, guttural moan.

"Now," you command, and Natasha's mouth clamps down on Wanda's clit, her tongue flicking rapidly as she sucks and licks. Wanda's legs give out, and you hold her up with one arm wrapped around her chest, the other tightening around her throat. You feel her pussy clamp down on your cock as she cums, her body shaking with the intensity of her orgasm.

"Fuck, Y/N," Wanda started. "Oh my god," she whispered, her voice ragged with pleasure. You chuckled darkly, feeling her spasms around your cock as Natasha's tongue danced around her clit. You thrust into Wanda a few more times, her pussy clenching around you as the aftershocks of her orgasm rolled through her body. "It's too much," she whined, her head leaning back to rest on your shoulder.

"You wanted me to prove who's in control Wanda," you nipped at her neck, before working out to her shoulder. "I'm gonna show you why it isn't you." With a brutal force, you thrust into her one more time before pulling out, spinning her around before leaning down far enough that you could pick the woman up, sliding her up the slick shower wall, her thighs now on either side of your face. The show of power elicited a whimper from both women, Natasha moving over to wrap her lips around you as you buried your face between Wanda’s legs.

The taste of Wanda's sweetness mixed with Natasha's lingering flavor on your tongue was heavenly. You began to lick and kiss along Wanda's slit, her breath hitching as she looked down at you. "Fuck," she whispered, her hands gripping the wall above her head. Natasha watched, her eyes hooded with lust as she took you back into her mouth, her hand reaching down to play with her clit. The sight was incredibly erotic, and you felt your climax building.

You worked Wanda's pussy with your tongue, her legs trembling with each stroke. You could feel Natasha's hands on your ass, her nails digging in as she urged you to go deeper, faster. The water cascaded down your bodies, making everything slick and slippery as you moved in tandem with Natasha's bobbing head. Wanda's moans grew louder, her hips rolling against your face as she approached her peak. "I'm going to cum again," she gasped, her voice strained with pleasure.

"Ask for it, baby," you reached up, tweaking Wanda's nipple before returning it to its place on her thigh. "Beg for it." You could feel Natasha's tongue working you over as Wanda threw her head back, her breath coming in short pants.

"Please," she whimpered, her body tightening around your face. "Please, let me cum."

"It doesn't sound like you want it," you pulled away from her drenched folds, looking up at her heaving chest. You watched the frustration build in Wanda's eyes, her body on the brink of release.

"Oh, please," she begged, her voice a desperate whine. Natasha's eyes flickered to Wanda's, the look on her face a mix of amusement and arousal as she watched her wife's need. You reached down, pushing Natasha away gently, fully intending for Wanda to be the one to finish you off this time.

Wanda looked at you with a fiery gaze, her eyes flashing with desire. "I want it," she breathed, her voice hoarse from the screams of pleasure she'd released moments ago. "Please, Y/N," You tut, a smirk playing on your lips as you stop your ministrations. Looking up at her, her legs still wrapped around your shoulders.

"That's not my name."

Wanda's eyes lock onto yours, a fierce desperation for release behind them. "Daddy, please. Please, fuck. Fuck me, let me cum daddy. Let me show you how good you make me feel." The way she says 'daddy' sends a jolt straight to your cock, and you can't resist the urge to push back into Natasha's mouth, letting her deep-throat you once more.

Her eyes water at the sudden pressure, but she takes it, her throat convulsing around you as she swallows you whole. You look back up at Wanda, your gaze intense. "You want it?" Your question, your voice low and gruff. She nods, her eyes pleading. "Then tell me how much you want it," you demand, your teeth clenched as you hold back your orgasm.

"I want it so badly," Wanda gasps, her voice a whine. "I need it, daddy." Natasha's eyes dart between the two of you, the word 'daddy' spiking her arousal as she continues to suck you off, her hand sliding down to her pussy, mimicking the movements you're about to make inside Wanda. You can feel Natasha's warm breath on your shaft as she takes you deep into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the tip.

With a smirk, you release yourself from Natasha's mouth, her tongue peeking out to catch the last droplets of pre-cum. You slide Wanda down the wall, turning her around so she's now facing Natasha. You lift her slightly, Natasha's mouth immediately finding Wanda's, her tongue slipping inside with ease. Wanda's legs feel like they are about to give way, so you pull up on her waist before driving yourself inside her pulsing warmth.

The sound of skin slapping skin and water bouncing off bodies fills the air as you begin to thrust, your movements in sync with Natasha's tongue. Wanda's moans are muffled by Natasha's mouth, but you can feel her body tightening around you, her orgasm approaching again. Natasha breaks the kiss, her eyes meeting yours, a question in them. You nod, and she moves her mouth down to Wanda's neck, sucking and biting, leaving marks in a line down to her collarbone.

"Gonna fill this bratty pussy fucking full, mama," you grunt, leaning down slightly to reach around and grasp one of Wanda's nipples, rolling it between your fingertips. You hear Natasha's breath hitch in response, her hand moving faster between her legs. Wanda's eyes roll back in her head, and she nods, unable to form coherent words. Pounding into Wanda's pussy, you worked yourself up quickly to your high.

Wanda's orgasm hits her like a ton of bricks, her body convulsing around you as Natasha watches with a mix of awe and envy. Natasha's eyes never leave yours as she brings herself to climax, her hand moving in a blur as her cunt spasms around her fingers. Wanda's pussy tightens around you, her nails digging into Natasha's shoulders as she rides out the waves of pleasure. You feel your orgasm approaching, your cock swelling within her.

"Fuck," Wanda gasps, her eyes rolling back as Natasha's mouth finds her nipple, biting down gently. You can't hold back anymore, your hips jerking as you fill Wanda with your cum, her body shaking with the intensity of it all. Natasha's hand slows, her orgasm subsiding as she watches you claim Wanda's body. Wanda's head falls back, her body going slack against Natasha's, both of them panting heavily.

You pull out of Wanda, your cock still pulsing with the aftermath of your release. Natasha's eyes never leave yours as she takes you back into her mouth, eagerly cleaning every drop of cum from your shaft. You groan, the sensation almost too much after the intense climax. Wanda's legs give out, and Natasha catches her, the two of them now kissing deeply, sharing your taste. The sight is so erotic that you feel yourself hardening again. A deep groan leaves you as you watch them, feeling a mix of possessiveness and arousal that you've never felt before.

You stepped back, pumping yourself as they continued. Wanda's hand slid down Natasha's body, reaching between her legs to continue the gentle ministrations that had brought her to the edge of pleasure. Natasha's eyes never left yours as she licked and kissed her way down Wanda's chest, her tongue tracing the path of your marks. You watched them, the two of them so in sync, so lost in each other's touch, and felt a fierce desire to claim them both, to show them that you were just as much a part of this as they were.

Finally, you felt like you were where you belonged. "Yes." was all you said, the two women before you stopped as they looked at you. "I say yes, to it all." Natasha's eyes sparkled with excitement, while Wanda's were filled with a mix of satisfaction and lust. They shared a knowing smile before Natasha pulled away from Wanda's embrace and moved towards you. She placed her hands on your shoulders, looking up at you with a seductive gaze.

"Are you sure, love?" she asked, her voice filled with a hint of concern. "This isn't a decision to be made lightly."

You nodded, feeling the weight of the decision but also the thrill of the unknown. "I've never felt more sure," you replied, your voice firm. Wanda's smile grew wider, her eyes darkening as her soapy hand slid down your chest.

"Good," she purred, moving closer. Natasha's hand reached for your cock, now standing at attention again, stroking it gently. "We're going to take such good care of you," she whispered. You groaned at the feeling, your head rolling back as they began to lather you up.

Wanda's breasts pressed against your chest, her soapy hands sliding up and down your body, as she wrapped her arms around your neck, kissing you deeply. Natasha stood behind you, gently working thier shampoo into your tousled hair, massaging your head sensually. The combination of their hands and lips on your skin was almost too much to handle, but you managed to keep your composure, your arousal simmering just beneath the surface.

Natasha pecked at your shoulders her hands tracing the muscles in your back as you continued your breathless affair with Wanda. Her touch was light and feathery, sending shivers down your spine. You felt Natasha's breasts press into your back, her body flush against you as her arms wrapped around your waist.

"I can't wait for our first date, detka."

READ PT 1 HERE

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little-star-library · 1 month

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Headcanons: Little things that would make Astarion fall harder for you

The way that you ultimately decided to trust him after he fed from you for the first time was shocking to him because no one else has ever done that before, let alone standing up for him when your other traveling companions were wary and suspicious of him from the beginning; and rightfully so in his opinion. But you were there as a peacemaker not only for him, but for everyone because you were all in this mess together and you vowed to help everyone however you could.

How you were so willing to offer him your blood as opposed to him hunting other animals and creatures for the majority of his diet was a true blessing to him, even if he won’t outright admit it at first. You knew of his past and couldn’t begin to imagine how awful it must have been to be living off of what little blood he could get from eating rats and you wanted him to have a more pleasant and palatable experience while feeding, especially when it came to life-barren areas such as the Shadow Cursed Lands and the Underdark where living creatures were scarce.

Over time as you traveled together, you would notice that Astarion always seemed to have a book in hand and reading in his spare time. And because of this, you would try your best to find other books and dusty old tomes during your exploits and do your best to sneak them into his tent when he wasn’t looking. It didn’t take him very long to figure out who the culprit was since you were “beyond helpless” when it came to being stealthy, but it brought a spark of joy within him every time he found a new book lying upon his bedroll, secretly being elated to see what new books you’ve found for him.

He’s not really sure when this started to happen, but any time you would make eye contact with him across the way while in camp, you would stop whatever you were occupied with and cheekily wave hello at him with a big grin on your face. He thought it was childish at first, but he eventually returned the action and wave back because he found you to be too adorable to ignore if you chose to give him that sort of attention. And ever since then, it’s become a regular occurrence for the two of you to share that funny little moment and wave at each other like the goofballs you are.

Upon learning that Astarion doesn’t have a reflection, your offer to be his mirror and described how you saw him not just physically, but how you saw him as his own person with his own personality and sense of humor and little quirks was both illuminating and disturbing to say the least. He hasn’t been able to see his own face in over two hundred years and yet you somehow find a way to describe his facial features so perfectly and he’s never felt more seen than in that moment.

And if you were inclined to be “artistically gifted”, you would no doubt be able to draw his portrait as a little gift. He was completely awestruck by your craftsmanship in the small drawing that you tore out of your sketchbook, not totally convinced in your words when you said it was a portrait of him. You told him that it was just a sketch and nothing that special, but to him it was the most thoughtful thing anyone could ever give him so that he could look upon his face once again.

When you defended Astarion for his bodily autonomy while being confronted by Araj was when he realized that there were good people in the world and he was grateful to have found one as genuine and kindhearted as you. He’s never had any say over what happened in his life since becoming a vampire and to have someone by his side to protect him helped him immensely in realizing that he is his own person and has free reign in the choices he makes.

It may not have been such a big impact to others, but when you hugged him for the first time after he confessed his feelings toward you, Astarion couldn’t recall the last time someone held him within their arms without eluding to some form of sexual intimacy and from then on he couldn’t get enough of it. He enjoys basking in the warmth of your embrace and breathing in your scent and you let him hold you for as long as he wants, when secretly neither one of you ever want to let go and each hug seems to be prolonged even further than the last.

When there’s a pause from the chaotic turmoil in your travels, you and Astarion like to steal away from camp and watch the sunset and gossip about the other companions and their silly antics with a couple of bottles of wine in tow, sharing stories and making each other laugh all through the night.

Anytime that you come across any chests while scavenging for goods, you both have a habit of putting up a bet to see who can pick the locks the fastest and whoever wins gets first dibs on anything shiny or valuable. He knows that he’s obviously more experienced with thieves’ tools and could easily run you for your money, but “out of the goodness of his undead heart”, he’ll slow down on purpose sometimes just so he can see the smile you give him when you show off your winnings.

Astarion takes full advantage of any opportunity you offer to cuddle with him. Because of his past encounters with other people, he’s never had the chance to put any effort into getting closer to anyone other than his usual encounters and he thought there really was no reason to anyway given the fact that he already knew how most of those encounters ended. But with you, it was simply just for the sake of cuddling with each other without being led on to something more sexual in nature. It was a breath of fresh air to experience something so different, but also a little confusing to him. However, when he would lay his head atop your chest and snuggle close to you and listen to the resounding beating of your heart in the comfort of your arms while you comb your fingers through his hair, time stands still so the two of you can escape the world for just a moment and he melts on the inside; unequivocally content to just let his guard down and know that he was safe with you.

Whenever you kiss him, it’s simply just for a kiss. There’s no hidden agenda behind every one you give him unless he wanted something more and you’re more than happy to go at his pace whenever he’s ready, but he’ll never turn you down when you ask if you can kiss him. Sometimes they’re sweet and affectionate and other times they’re full of love and longing. But his favorites are when you kiss him on the cheek and boop his nose, giving him a wink before continuing your journey on the road; or when you smother his face in kisses all over until he turns into a giggling mess and pushes you off in a playful manner. He’ll never outright admit that he enjoys being given that sort of affection in front of the others, but you know he does anyways.

Two words: back rubs. He’s never felt comfortable with someone touching his back due to the marred scars that are engraved across his skin, but once he trusts you enough he reluctantly accepts your request to give him a back rub and massage his sore muscles after a long day of running around and fighting any enemies that came across your path. Your touch is ever so gentle and soft as you work out the annoying kinks and he turns to putty in your hands, occasionally letting out little sighs and moans when you hit a tender spot that just feels so good when you knead at the tense sinew of his back, almost to the point where he begins purring like a cat and leaning into your touch.

You know that Astarion tends to favor the finer things in life since he hasn’t had much to begin with under Cazador’s reign, so you took it upon yourself to look out for anything he might like. It started out small with rings you’d find on a corpse or a fancy bottle of wine that was stowed away in the tavern of the Shadow Cursed Lands. But then you would go out of your way to take him to a tailor’s shop with all of the extra gold you had stored away for special occasions and let him try on anything that took to his liking, putting on a little fashion show just for you so you could shower him with compliments.

He may have thought it to be irritating at first, but he loves when you tell him all your little jokes and puns so you could cheer him up when he was in a sour mood. He especially enjoys your irreverent impressions of Gale with his long-winded monologues and hand puppets orchestrating the never ending bickering between Shadowheart and Lae’zel behind their backs and it’s difficult to keep himself from keeling over with laughter so he doesn’t give you away.

When you’re being overly flirtatious and sharing cheesy pick up lines with each other. He finds it hilarious when the others groan in unison at your sickly affections you dote on him and it only encourages him to keep playing along.

When you reassure him that you want to be with him for more than just his body and his looks. He’s spent more than enough time with people who only used him for a one night stand and he’s grown self-conscious about actually being in a relationship with someone because he’s never experienced it. He thinks that you deserve someone who can give you more than just a quick fling since that’s all he knows, but you don’t mind telling him why you chose to be with him whenever he has doubts about himself and that there’s no pressure to have sex until he’s ready or not at all, that you’re willing to help him with whatever he needs so he can be just as happy to be with himself as you are to be with him.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #dungeons and dragons #bg3 astarion #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x y/n #fluff #gif is not mine #little star library

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sempersirens · 6 months

Text

DAUGHTER LESSONS | a joel miller oneshot

masterlist

summary: would it kill joel to just touch you?

warnings: established relationship, infidelity, jackson-era, no mention of age, angst

author's note: so... i have been disgustingly obsessed with COWBOY CARTER (duh! i have taste) and have fixated on the duality of daddy lessons and DAUGHTER, which thereby produced this lovechild of the two. you guys know i love me some religious imagery and angst...

Nothing could’ve confined you to a pew in your youth.

Your knees had breathed a sigh of relief at the absence of a blood-red kneeler when you were granted Sunday morning autonomy. Only your grandmother’s morbid prophecies of watching mass from above this time next year herded you between the rows of wooden benches at Easter and Christmas.

Maybe it was her you were trying to reach; chin tipped to the ceiling as if you would be overcome with the smell of potpourri and Irish coffee, heart flooded with all the right answers.

Still, nothing good came.

“Didn’t expect t’find you in here.” His familiar drawl pricks at the hairs on your neck.

“I was trying out solitude.”

Joel had always moved with surprising stealth for someone of his build, but nothing he did these days surprised you anymore.

You had given him everything since meeting shortly after his and Ellie’s arrival in Jackson. It hadn’t taken long for you to witness his undoing.

But this time, Joel doesn’t move.

Rather, he stands in the middle of the aisle taking in the sight of you on your knees four rows ahead and to his left. Your hands are clasped so tightly together he can see the whites of your knuckles from this far back.

Joel knows the back of your head more intimately than he probably should.

You have a habit of turning away from him in bed at night the second you were overcome by the smallest amount of fatigue.

Too damn hot you would mumble from your tenure of the mattress. And he can’t say he minded too much.

Often, he would reach a hand to your hair spilling across the pillow onto his side before regaining sense and propping the hand underneath his head instead.

During your waking hours, languidly reciting the steps of your morning routine around his small kitchen, he feels the want to touch you.

He wants to smooth down the hair that always bobbled around the raised birthmark on your scalp. He wants to feel your cheek against the knuckle of his right index finger. He wants to take the coffee cup from your hands and engulf them in the warmth of his instead.

“She’s not here.” You mumble, so quietly that he’s not sure if that’s what you’ve actually said.

“Who?” He braves, wiping his sweating palms on the sleeves of his flannel shirt.

You respond with a scoff, confirming his hypothesis.

Of course she isn’t here. You both know very well that she isn’t here.

When Tommy had first introduced the two of you, he’d cornered Joel at the bar while ordering their third, or maybe fourth, round of drinks.

“She’s a good woman, Joel.”

“I’m figuring that out just fine.” He’d smirked, taking a preliminary sip of his beer before glancing back at you. Your elbows were perched on the wooden table, chin resting on your palms as you exchanged low-looks and snickers with Maria sat across from you.

“No, you don’t get it. She’s good. She’s kind. Her daddy’s the pastor here.”

“Not settin’ me up with a Bible basher are you, little brother? She gon’ make me wait until I give her a ring?”

He’d felt like an ass as soon as he’d opened his mouth, which was made worse by Tommy’s unchanging expression. He didn’t look irate or tired of Joel’s age-old shit – the face behind his warning was unwaveringly sincere.

“Just don’t hurt her.”

And in that moment, Joel couldn’t fathom anything as desacrating as hurting you. He had returned Tommy’s solemnity with a nod and carried your drinks back to your table; the remainder of the night blurring into the rest of his life.

He hadn’t fallen in love with you that night. Joel is stubborn in love, and it took months of langorous warmth to thaw his roughness.

You didn’t make him wait for a ring.

Nights spent in symphony with one another were the only moments Joel could bring himself to touch you. There, he knew how to work his hands, his tongue, his hips. Not once would he hesitate in reaching out to smooth a thumb across your forehead. He moved like a river, flowing into your body in desperation to meet the ocean.

And you wondered if he did it on purpose, or if he knew that he was doing it at all. Passing him in the intimacy of his home or the vastness of the food hall, you were only ever hungry for his skin against yours.

Slowly, you crept into his skin through his pores. You made his days sweeter and smoother wherever and however you could, hoping perhaps one evening his fingers would brush yours as you set a plate on the table before him.

But here you rise, swallowed in the rosy light of dawn with damp cheeks and all faith robbed from your chest.

“I can’t do this here, Joel.” You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand and attempt to put as much distance between the two of you as you pass him in the aisle.

“Then don’t. Come home.”

For a second he debates reaching out to you, wrapping you in his arms and letting you beat against his chest as your body racks with sobs. But the moment soon escapes him and he’s following you into the morning air.

“I buried my home a week ago.” You spoke flatly, bones void of any remnants of anger or fight. “You know what my daddy told me before he died?”

He thinks he does. Moreso, he can hazard a guess.

Nevertheless, he can’t quite seem to find his voice as you bring yourself to a halt. The morning sun peeks between the buildings behind you.

“Told me one day you’d play me for a fool. And look at me now.” You shook with breathy laughter. “He’s in the ground and there’s another woman keeping the man I love’s bed warm.”

Jackson would soon be rising with the sun. It had almost been a full day since you’d come home from patrol an hour earlier than Joel expected.

In truth, it hadn’t been the clothes strewn over kitchen chairs and draped over the bannisters. Not even the warm smell of salt and latex that hit you before you’d opened the bedroom door.

Joel’s fingers grazed the small of her back, tracing lazy shapes up and down her spine. Your stomach tightened into a small fist, losing all composure you had truly tried to maintain in your ascent up to the bedroom.

You had never even really been one to fight. Your father had taught you to handle yourself, and you’d learnt what was necessary to survive in the new world.

Really, you wanted to pollute the skin beneath Joel’s touch. You wanted for him to never touch anything beautiful again; to never grasp at cold cotton sheets in the middle of the night; to never feel the slow threat of rain tapping against his skin.

Life began to creep in around the two of you. Ellie and Tommy would soon come looking for Joel to set off on morning patrol.

“One day, Joel, someone is going to give you exactly what you deserve. And I pray to God that I’m there to see it.”

You turn on your heel, leaving Joel to watch as your hair sways from side-to-side down your back. He swallows the lump formed in his throat and tilts his chin to the sky, blinking away the threat of tears moistening his lower lashes.

He wipes his hands against his jeans and straightens his torso, forcing a low cough to clear his throat.

Peaches, he thinks. Tonight he will bring you peaches, and he will watch as the juice spills from the side of your mouth. He will reach a thumb to wipe it away, and he will hold you. For as long as you let him; as long as he breathes.

#joel miller x f!reader #joel tlou #the last of us #joel miller x reader #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #my fic #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller tlou #joel miller fanfic #joel x reader #tlou hbo #tlou #tlou2 #dee writes

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yanf4iry · 7 days

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don’t you think, pet? ♡

wc 827

yandere(ish)! capitano x afab bratty! reader

subtle yandere themes. hints at friends with benefits. jealous! capitano. aggressive! capitano. slightly bratty reader. hair tugging. ‘pet’ used a couple times. unprotected sex (pls be safe!). afab autonomy. kinich mentioned. its only short so there isn't much to tag lol.

"what did i tell you about wandering around with all those other boys? hmm?" capitano mumbles, his breath tickling up against the sensitive skin behind your ear, hands trailing down to hold you in place; even his subtle grip being strong enough to do so.

"i've told you already," you sigh, rolling your eyes slightly, growing slightly tired of his possessive and jealous behaviour. "i was just hanging out with kinich, i don't see him like that."

"and i've told you already," capitano trails off, mimicking your previous choice of words, "i don't care how you see him, because i see how he looks at you," he continues, grip getting tighter as his voice progressively turns into a low-toned growl.

he was thankful for the current predicament you were both in; the dining table in front of you made it so easy for him to push you and bend you over, whilst his tall figure was shadowing behind you, making sure there was no room for you to try worm your way out.

and so here you are, chest and face pressed against the cold, wooden surface. capitano gutting as he starts to fumble with your belt and the buttons on your trousers; his slender fingers making work of them.

"i don't like you 'hanging out' with him," he proclaims possessively, "and i also don't like you wearing these trousers, they make my access to you so much harder," capitano adds, huffing as he finally managed to yank them down along with your freshly damp panties.

"you can't control everything i do, you know?" you answer back, voice oozing with disobedience, before gasping slightly at the feeling of the cold air on your slick folds. "you're not my boyfriend."

that comment made him suck his breath in sharply, growing more annoyed by the second. no, he wasn't your boyfriend (yet) but that doesn't mean you weren't his, and that doesn't mean he wasn't going to put you in your place every time you acted out.

"i don't care," he grits through his teeth. "i'm the one that's going to teach you some manners since you obviously don't know how to follow orders, pet."

you'd be lying if you said seeing him like this didn't turn you on; because it did. good god, it did. you knew exactly how to get on his nerve, and you fucking loved the reaction you got from it. capitano was well aware you did these things on purpose as well, yet somehow fell for it every time and couldn't help but let his jealousy get the best of him.

without even giving you time to think, his fingers were trailing against the most inner parts of your thighs, teasing the sensitive skin around there, causing you to tremble subtly. "shit.." you breathe out.

"your lack of patience is aberrant," capitano scolds, slapping the inside of your thigh with some force. "and to think i thought you had manners; you'll get whatever i want to give you, when i want to give it."

you could hear the echoes of clunking and fidgeting once more, and that was when your wetness was met with the tip of his cock, him teasingly brushing it against you; a mewl being forced from your lips. "patience.." he whispers, leaning forward so his mouth was hovering just behind your ear once more.

the thickness of his tip parts your folds, covering himself in your wetness. you sigh in exasperation, pushing yourself back against him. capitano gripped your waist bruisingly tight in one quick motion, halting your actions almost immediately. "have you gone deaf?" he growls, fingernails digging into your skin.

"you'll get whatever i want to give you," he starts up, a low grunt leaving his lips, "when i want to give it to you."

"or i can leave.." you trail off, mischief riddled in your tone before a playful smirk appears on your face; even though he couldn't see it due to your face being pressed against the table, it was apparent from how you spoke. "maybe.. maybe kinich wants to give me what i-"

you weren't even able to finish your sentence, capitano pushed himself up against your entrance and pushed himself in, causing you to moan. a noise he much preferred over you threatening him with running off to another man for pleasure.

"did you really think i'd ever let you finish that fucking sentence?"

his thrusts were harsh, almost violent in a way as he claimed what he believed. no, what he knew, was his. "don't you ever let me hear anything like that nonsense leaving your mouth, ever again? you hear me?" he questions, hand moving to your hair, tugging on it tightly.

"about time i fucked some manners into you.." capitano grunts against your ear, nipping at it slightly with the sharpness of his teeth, enjoying the choked-out moans escaping your gaped lips. "don't you think, pet?"

"because you're mine. only mine."

#genshin #genshin smut #genshin x reader #capitano #capitano genshin #capitano smut #capitano x reader #genshin fluff #genshin imagine #capitano fluff #capitano imagine #genshin angst #capitano angst #genshin impact #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact fluff #ganshin impact angst

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cosmic-ghost-hermit · 3 months

Text

Pick a Card: Message from your Inner-Child

Your inner baby needs you to listen. This reading will help them speak their mind clearly. Will you hear them out? Take what resonates and let go of all the rest but be willing to accept new experiences.

☀️Donate to my CashApp🌙

(fund my inner child's joy)

Feel free to drop any reading suggestions in my inbox. I'll keep them in mind when divining the wisdom that needs delivered to y'all's lil ears. Thank you in advance for all your help and support!

Decks used are The Kawaii Tarot, Pure Magic Oracle, Romantic Lenormand and The Karma Cards.

_____________________________________________________________

PILE ONE

Astrology: Capricorn, Aquarius, Libra

Song: Pantsuit Sasquatch by Molly Lewis

Vibes: Green, red, night sky, thorns, bouquet, red flowers, chess, star gazing, alligator, aroma therapy, herbal remedies, apothecary, rabbits, snake skin, olive branch, Zues, Demeter

Cards: 6 of Swords, Saturn, Tower, Lilies, Herbal Craft, Hallowed Heart

Hello, pile 1. Your inner child is really tired of having to be the adult for people who are older than them. They are tired of playing mentor for those who should be mentoring. They want to be done with those people. They are holding up a building with their tiny arms and their shaking frame. As if someone put the world on their shoulders and asked them to carry it with bones that were not developed enough to hold it and without the mental fortitude to withstand the pressure. They wish to rest. They wish to lash out at the adults who relied on them before they were ready or willing. I see your inner child resembles Alice in Wonderland. After the wicked adults in your inner child's life grew white flowers, they demanded it was your fault and made you paint the white roses, red. They took their purity. They hurt you a lot.

The main message I am hearing from them is, "Please be gentle with my little heart and my small frame. I was treated harshly purely for being alive. I need healing. I need time to rest and recuperate. Please do not yell at me for my mistakes. Please do not hurt me for my shortcomings. I did not ask to be here. I only wish for it to get better than it is now. I'm sorry I wasn't mature. I'm sorry I've been impatient but I have been patient for so long. I've spent so much time waiting for my caretakers to do their jobs. Please. I don't need structure. I need relief."

They do not hold you accountable for everything that happened to you, my dear. They are reaching their little hands out for you to help them up. They want to be more present in your life. They want to have fun again. They didn't have enough of it as a child. They want to play outside. The last message I'll leave you with is some advice I find very important.

"Play is the psychological opposite of Trauma."

____________

PILE TWO

Astrology: Scorpio, Gemini, Cancer (maybe libra)

Song: Burn Your Village by Kiki Rockwell

Vibes: Grey, pink, purple, corvids, pinecones, sage, lavender plant, grizzly bear, spider, scorpio, eagle, hummingbird, long hair, video games, D&D, law, Zephyr, Eurus, Callisto, Artemis, Hecate

Cards: Justice, Clouds, Bear, Hecate's Path, Songbirds, 8th House

Hi, pile 2. Your inner child is full of vengeance. I see that without the vengeful energy they are very respectful and kind. Their anger is extremely understandable and a reaction induced by the environment they grew up in. Your inner child has an intense sense of justice. They know they have been treated unjustly by the authority in their life. Those in control of their circumstance took their autonomy and right of trial. The authorities judged you harshly for no good reason and were unpredictable. The authority would explode at random instances making them hard to anticipate. They were dangerous. Purely because they wanted to make your life miserable to cope with their own miserable life. Your inner child did not deserve that. Your inner innocence was corrupted into a furious and resentful person. They are aware they deserved better. They were conscious of their mistreatment. I see they could have been mistreated because of their race or gender.

The message I am hearing the loudest from your inner child is, "Those filthy horrid people deserve to atone for their wrong doings. No one helped me. They didn't even listen. They took that authorities word for truth and no one heard my side of the story. I am not a liar. I am not guilty. I did nothing wrong and now my older self doesn't even believe me either. The people who did this to me will pay. They will face justice if I have to be the one to dish it out. I hate them. I hate what they turned me into. I was pure. I was innocent. Now look at what they have made me. This isn't fair. This isn't right! Why was I treated this way!? Why does no one believe me?! I will never abuse power like that person did. I will end this cycle of abuse. I release and remove everyone who blamed me without learning the whole story. I am letting go of the pain they put me through. They do not deserve me or my kindness. They only deserve my hatred and resentment. I hope they burn."

Your inner child begs you to protect them from the people who did this to you. I can feel they are still in your life. It might be a father or a brother or an uncle. I also see it could be a pastor. Your inner baby will continue to lash out at random times because they have no where to aim all this negative emotion. They want to be free of guilt that shouldn't be theirs. They want to be free of judgmental eyes. Free them from the illusion that this authority laid over everyones eyes. I leave you with one last message.

"The weakest link will target the strongest link to avoid that they're useless."

_________

PILE THREE

Astrology: Virgo, Leo, Sagittarius

Song: Heart of a Dancer by The Happy Fits

Vibes: Blue, pink, forest green, androgenous, duality, 2b hair texture, robins, blue jays, coffee mugs, sculpting, yin/yang, balance, rose quartz, pearl, magnolia tree, gardening, bonfire, 3rd eye, Aphrodite, Hermaphroditus, archangel Samuel, Lucifer Morningstar, Baphomet

Cards: 8 of Cups, Birds, Woman, Pyro-kinesis, Closing Circle, Virgo, 7th House, North Node

Hey there, pile 3. I feel many complex emotions from your inner child. I see how they were conditioned is much different than how they genuinely are. They were conditioned to be quiet, serene and passive. But when they are acting genuine it is exact opposite. They are loud, angry and active. There is a need to walk away from their conditioning and those who conditioned them. They don't know how to ask that of you because of how they were taught. They do not speak unless spoken too and this makes it difficult for them to communicate with you. They are anxious they will be punished if they ask for anything of you. Invite them forward and allow them to speak their mind. They hold back a lot of emotion that needs to be expressed. You need to be open to hearing what they have to say.

The important message I need to tell you from them is, "You will benefit from our collaboration. I'm sorry for speaking up but you are not following your heart anymore. You are following what you have been told. This is not authenticity that you display. It is fake. Even if it is well-meaning you are not yourself. You are pretending to be someone else. Please let me express my rage. Please let me express my heart. I can't hold it anymore. I don't wanna feel this way anymore. Let me chatter and chirp and yell and scream. I wasn't allowed to when I was young. I need the freedom to do so now. Allow me to open doors I was never allowed to enter. Please see me in my full complexity. I am more than just a pretty face. I am more than my body. I am a person. I have personality. I have beliefs. I am a benefit to society when I can speak. I am not a waste. I am good as I am. I don't need to bottle my true self to make others comfortable. Free me, please."

They are asking you to allow yourself and your inner child to be themselves. They deserve space to exist freely without having to hide themselves away. I honestly don't need to say much more but I will leave you with one more piece of advice.

"Authenticity is the most powerful way to exist."

___________

PILE FOUR

Astrology: Taurus, Aries, Pisces (maybe aquarius)

Song: If My Heart Was a House by Owl City

Vibes: Muted colors, yellow, orange, fairies, sunflowers, barn owl, cat mint, raptors, vase, eyes, beards, lotus, candles, chimneys, diamond, playing cards, hobbits, anime, Apollo, Athena, Aphrodite

Cards: King of Pentacles, Sun, Owls, Ancestors, Gnomes, Aquarius, Venus

Hello and welcome, pile 4. Your inner child is asking me to tell you that you won't find the love you are looking for in other people. You won't find it in romance. You won't find it in friendship. At least not until you can find it in them. They didn't have the luxury of building their life on an identity that was theirs. They don't even know who they are. You need to explore them. Discover yourself in them. Be friends with them. They long for connection and the only one who can give that to them is you. They spent their whole life just trying to survive that they found identity in the pain they experienced. There is so much more to them than victimhood. So much more than their trauma. They are bright as the sun and immensely smart. They are funny and creative. Let yourself and your inner child grow beyond your collective pain and become something more. Your family isn't the pinnacle of humanity. I have a feeling that your family might have a narcissist among them. They are only a facet of humanity, my friend. There is so much more to your life than being approved by others. You are made of magic. You need to see that.

The message I hear from your inner child is, "I'm done striving for love from people who never intend on giving it to me no matter how perfectly I perform. I'm tired chasing something I'm never going to catch up too. I've always known I'm better than that. They made me feel so small though. They made me feel so pointless and useless. I worked so hard for their love but they will only ever love themselves. They will never have enough room in their heart for me. They make me feel like I'm not enough. I want to give myself the love they never could afford for me. I want to be loved so much. I want to be held and cherished the way I deserve to be. I am enough even if they say I'm not. I've always been enough even though I'm small. They are a giant black hole of emptiness and nothing. They are jealous of my light. I wish my older self could see that. I'm not selfish for wanting to be loved. I'm not wrong for wanting to be adored. I'm worth the effort. Please, see that it's true. I want to be known for who I am. I want to be discovered. I wish so deeply to be seen and appreciated. I'm the only one who can do it."

Your inner child is asking something of you. They ask you to take the role of mother and father for yourself. A role that was never filled even if you had your parents in your life. They neglected you. So much so you felt like you didn't deserve love but you desperately craved it. My dear, I will leave you with one last message and then the rest is up to you.

"You are worthy of being loved by you."

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daycourtofficial · 9 months

Note

Hello. If you dont mind i have a request for azriel where maybe reader has just given birth and has lately been feeling very insecure about her body and azriel comforts her...with lots of fluff

A New Warmth

Sorry about how long this took anon, but I hope the wait was worth it!

You watch the baby nestled in the crook of your arms, mirroring her deep breaths to keep yourself calm. She was so soft, so sweet, and whenever she reached for you, it made your heart melt. She was everything you and Azriel had hoped for - healthy, chubby, and sweet as can be. She even had the cutest little wings that twitched in her sleep.

The problem with having an Illyrian baby is you develop an Illyrian’s appetite while pregnant with them, along with the other stretching and tearing your body has gone through to accommodate her.

She was two weeks old at this point, and you knew you shouldn’t be too hard on yourself. Your body created this - a perfect mirror of you and your mate. But you couldn’t help the negative thoughts fluttering through your mind as your hand rested on your stomach, knowing the fresh stretch marks that lay underneath. You gained a good deal of weight during the pregnancy, your labor only removing about a dozen of those pounds.

As if sensing your spiraling thoughts, your mate walks in the door of your shared bedroom, his eyes alight with love and adoration at seeing his two girls.

“My loves,” he greets the both of you, setting the mugs of tea he had brought down, lifting the blanket to lat next to you. His presence under the blanket providing a new layer of warmth- not just physical, but the warmth of the three of you being together.

You lean your head against his shoulder as he wraps an arm behind you, slowly to not disturb the baby in your arms. “Will I ever get my body back?” You mumble into his shoulder. His fingers start caressing your shoulder, rubbing soothing circles into it.

“Mmm, no, I don’t think you will.” You want to snap your head up, tell him that’s no way to console someone who had just pushed out his baby out of a tiny opening in their body when he uses his hand to hold your head in place.

“We will never be the same. We cannot go back.” He looks down at the baby in your arms, “maybe one day you’ll have more autonomy again - you won’t have a baby latched to your breast every other hour.”

His hand snakes down to rest on top of the hand you’re using to cradle the baby. “But she’ll always be a part of you.” The baby starts stirring, moving her tiny hands, and he reaches out a finger, which she quickly wraps her delicate fingers around. You both watch the scarred flesh in the pristine grasp of your innocent babe, no idea of an outside world that could cause harm. All she knows is the sanctuary of your home.

You look at Azriel with tears in your eyes, feeling incredibly silly over being upset at stretch marks. But as if he can read your mind, he tells you, “you have constantly given me what I thought I’d never have. You loved me, you gave me a true home, you gave me a mate, and now?” He laughs, flexing his finger in her grasp. “You’ve expanded our family. You gorgeous thing, you.”

He kisses the top of your head, inhaling your scent. “Your love knows no bounds, and I am eternally grateful for you.”

You start crying, post partem hormones taking control of you. “It’s so shallow,” you laugh as a tear falls, “I just was so upset over how weird my body feels. The pregnancy glow is gone so now I just feel heavy and weird in my own skin.”

He uses the hand not gripped by your baby to grab your chin and tilt it towards him. “I couldn’t look at my hands for a long time, after they had done it.”

Azriel always has a way of leaving you speechless, telling you another facet of himself he never had before.

“I could barely look at them before I met you. But you called them beautiful, this part of me I hated so much.” He looks into your eyes, the bond between you two humming in joy and adoration. “It’s okay if you don’t like how you look right now, I will find you beautiful enough for the both of us.”

#acotar fanfiction #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel fluff

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pursuitseternal · 2 months

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#3 from the prompts Tav x spawn Astarion. I could see it playing out different ways. Either Tav says the "I want to please you " to Astarion. Or, specifically at a point where Astarion is reclaiming himself and Tav is feeling a certain way that night. Tav not wanting to make Astarion feel pressured into anything is reluctant. I don't know. They've both been done before though.

“I want to please you…”

Astarion x f!Reader | Smut Ask Prompts

CW: sexual frustration, emotional angst, Astarion’s recovering agency phase, female maturation, voyeurism

It hurts, your heart physically aches. You didn’t know it could do that. Not until Astarion confessed his feelings for you.

True feelings, heartfelt and sincere.

Passionate feelings without a way of expressing them passionately.

And it tears through you, body, heart and soul. You’ve never felt closer to someone.

Or further away.

The ruins outside of Rivington serve as a nice place to make camp for these few days. But since Astarion’s confession, since his new need to reclaim intimacy for his own, you’ve… started making due with your bedroll by the fire once more.

Giving him his tent to himself. Giving him space… privacy… autonomy…

Freedom.

So now, it’s just you, lonely, heart aching you, tending the fire well past midnight. Knees pulled into your chest, you fight the sobs that begin to push on your diaphragm and you hide the tears that sting in the corners of your eyes.

He loves you…

But he doesn’t want you. At least that's what your darkest, most self-loathing thoughts are whispering from the shadows.

You pull your legs in tighter with both arms, squashing your breasts in until they hurt. Maybe if they were bigger, he’d want you… or smaller. Maybe if you were taller… curvier… maybe if you had as much of a knack for seduction as he did…

Now those tears are coming down your cheeks, hot and thick, making your nose run.

A disparaging laugh of self hatred bursts from your snotty throat. Look at you, ugly crying and desperate. Good thing he’s out hunting and can’t see you.

Pathetic. No wonder he doesn’t have desire for you.

You pick up a long stick and stoke the fire, the orange light flaring brightly enough to illuminate the figure opposite you on the other side of the pit.

Astarion.

“What’s wrong, my sweet?” His voice is small, timid. He speaks in gentle tones, as if he isn’t standing there with his bare chest covered in a few remaining smears of whatever animal’s blood was his supper.

“Oh, gods,” you groan, hiding your face into your knees, wishing you had learned the spell for invisibility. Would have been fucking useful right now.

Too late, he’s already come to crouch next to you on your bedroll. His body hums with strength from his feeding as he easily pries your arms off of your legs. “Why are you crying, my darling? Was… was it something I said?”

“N-n-no,” you manage to lie, well… white lie, your voice snuffled with your nose running still. “I’m fine.”

“Ah, the two words that immediately carry a lie,” he purrs, setting down to sit close to you. “What is wrong, my sweet… I’m all… pointy ears, my love,” he grins, attempting to lean into your line of sight.

But you turn even further. Your heart flips into your gut, retreating more and more away from confessing your own truths. “I… I’ll see you in the morning. I just… need sleep.”

Another lie he doesn’t buy. You can feel the tension coiling in those lean muscles of his. Which only makes your body ache more, longing and yearning fanning to life now that he’s so close. You fist your hands into the leather cover of your bedroll to keep yourself from reaching out to touch him.

Icy fingers settle on your fist, and it nearly makes you jump out of your skin, or scream… or jump into his arms. “Darling, I… I know this isn’t easy for you. Taking time to step back from carnal delights, from nights of passion,” you close your eyes as you hear his voice purring over those words. You know he can smell your arousal, he can probably even sense the way your pussy clenches at the memory of just those kinds of nights with him.

“I am thankful,” he continues to whisper, thumb stroking the back of your hand. “I’ve never felt more in command of my own faculties, my own choices… my own body for that matter.”

You give a wet, snot-ridden cough of a laugh. “I’m glad you don’t feel compelled to touch me,” you reply. Oh, that tone is bitter; your words are unfiltered, your voice rife with the days of ache and self-loathing that you’ve hidden fairly well… until now.

“Compelled?” he snips. “Darling, I… I want to touch you, to make love to you… to worship you….”

You stand, awkwardly trying to think of an excuse to get out of this discussion. But his cool, vice-like grip just catches and locks around your wrist. “No, no, my sweet,” he whispers, this time he sounds… pained. “You’re not getting out of this so easily.”

“I’m sorry, Astarion,” you start your apology, turning to see him raised on both knees. His arms pull you in against him, his face burying into your belly. His nose pushes into the soft mound of your stomach.

“Don’t leave… please,” he mutters into the fabric of your shirt, the cloth growing damp with his breath as he just holds you like that, and you can’t resist returning his touch.

First, it’s fingers in his hair, combing and carding through those soft, sweat-damp, silver curls. A brush of your thumb on his cheek, and he looks up at you, crimson eyes wet with unshed tears and wide as if he can’t close them, too afraid you’ll disappear the moment he blinks. His hands skate over you slowly, roaming from your back to your sides… to the loose hem of your tunic.

“How do I feel?” you ask, wanting to hear his words of beautiful praise more than you even crave that touch that unravels your body.

“You feel… like home,” he whispers so quietly, you strain over the crackles of dying fire just to discern his words. “You’re a vision… a vision of love… of belonging and protection. You are the light in my life that keeps the shadows and monsters away, as if I were an elfling all over again, afraid of the dark.” His hands creep that chilling touch to find the skin of your belly, and he presses the hard planes of his torso against your legs. “If I lost you, my light, the shadows would swallow me, I know it.”

You close your eyes, grimacing as if the words he’s whispering aren’t the balm to your self-inflicted wounds, as if his featherlight touch isn't making your cunt ache more and more.

He takes a shaky breath in. “You are as much a part of me as my own flesh and blood…. I… I want to learn more about you… I want to please you…”

Fingers brush the bottom edges of your breasts, thumbs daring to tease the hardening peaks of your nipples. “Astarion…” his name leaves your lips like a prayer. “It’s ok. You don’t have to… I’m nothing special…”

His body goes rigid, his hands freeze as they barely graze your skin. Those crimson eyes burn as they almost glare up at you… “I know I don’t have to,” he finally replies, more confident, less snarky than you thought he could be. “That’s why I want to learn how to please you.”

Pulling you down, he kneels next to you on your bedroll in the dead of night. “Touch yourself,” he dares the words to leave his lips. “Show me how you pleasure yourself so I can learn.”

Your face flames white hot; tears form in your eyes not from self-loathing anymore, but from your body’s visceral reaction to his intense stare. Biting your lip, you slide your shirt up above your navel, and your trousers, you open to shimmy them awkwardly to your ankles.

You couldn’t feel more self-conscious. And then you look at his face. A few streaks of dried animal blood only make him look all the hungrier, the more predatory. And yet, his hands just rest on his knees where he sits on his heels. Those dark, dilated eyes race from your bared legs, to your mound, and then to your face. The right corner of his lip crooks ever so slightly into a smirk as he nods. Your eager student, ready to observe how you like to be pleased… by pleasuring yourself.

You close your eyes, and he grunts, whether in approval or not, you are too afraid to open them back up to find out. So, you start as always.

Your hands brush their way up your thighs, around your lower belly, a few more passes of your warm palms over every inch of skin between your knee and your navel. When you can hear his breathing grow heavy, you reward yourself with your middle finger dipping between your folds to circle straight for your clit. A sweep of your touch, and you draw generous amounts of slick towards it.

The lewd squelch it makes almost makes you open your eyes and stop… almost… until you hear him groan above you.

It’s all the encouragement you need. Eyes shut tight, your fingers, two of them, pump towards your entrance. Faster and faster, you thrust, stopping every now and then to circle your clit on your way. “Fuck,” you curse under your breath when your ears pick up another sound. It’s hands on fabric. Rhythmic… in time with your own tempo of pleasure.

Your hips buck at the sound as it pairs with the image in your mind.

Forcing yourself to open your eyes, you see him, pale hand touching himself through his pants. His tongue peeks from the corner of his lips… just a hint of fang behind as he grins. But he doesn’t notice your gaze, not when his own is locked on your swollen, glistening cunt where your fingers are now rapidly disappearing inside. Over … and over… again.

“Astar…” you breathe, unable to finish his name, your voice rippling with need. Hips bucking, wrist locking up from rapid use, every nerve in your body flares the second that devouring gaze meets yours. A cry swallows the second half of his name from the tip of your tongue as you shatter.

There is nothing but heat in your belly, lightning down your nerves, and arousal gushing from your center as you come at last… At long, long last.

He folds in on himself, his own hand pressing fervently on his erection, hips bucking into his palm. And when he finally lifts his head again, he’s practically drunk with pleasure…. Your name is an incantation of thanksgiving on his lips. “Incredible,” he half-whimpers. “You’re incredible, coming undone like that, just for me.”

“Mmmhmm,” you smile, content and sleepily as you pull your hand from your folds. You reach to fix your pants, but his grip locks on your wrist again.

This time, he pulls it to his mouth. He takes a deep inhale of your scent as if you are the rarest of blossoms, and then… he licks them, suckling gently on them. His tongue dances over your digits, savoring your flavor with every swipe.

“Thank you,” he whispers, pulling your shirt back down as you clumsily slide your trousers back up, “this was… something.”

“Something good?” You try to tease, but the weight of all your carried emotions takes those two words and bogs them down.

“The very best… best I have ever and will ever have,” he smiles tenderly, laying down beside you, snug in your bedroll.

#smut ask #yes I am still collecting prompts 💞#I think this one will go on ao3 #ask box #ask box is open #astarion smut #astarion fic #astarion x reader #astarion x female reader #astarion x f!reader #bg3 #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 smut #bg3 astarion fanfic #astarion bg3 #bg3 astarion fic

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