#and high off paint fumes | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

borathae · 1 month ago

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↳ Index [Day 03 - Cum]

Pairing: Rough Dom!Yoongi x Needy sub!Taehyung

Genre: Vampire!Yoongi, Vampire!Taehyung, Magic!AU

Kinks: accidental consumption of a lust potion which has very fateful consequences, monster fucker smut, anything and everything cum, cum eating, using cum as lube, multiple creampies, cum being everywhere, blowjob, deep-throating, rough face fucking, unnaturally long tongues, spit, hair pulling, sloppy rimjob, rough spontaneous anal sex against the bathroom sink, choking with the monster tongue around Tae’s neck :), biting, mirror sex in a sense, dirty talk, praise, subby boy tears, multiple orgasms, gentle and nurturing aftercare

Wordcount: 5.4k

a/n: this was requested by me :) listen. i was ovulating as i wrote this. this is not at all canon JFASDJF but what if it was?? what if they were actually alone one day and did that?? what if they agree to never ever fucking mention it again?? no but in reality, this is definitely not canon, i just wanted to make them fuck violently :) and what better opportunity for that than kinktober aka the most unhinged time on this blog where everything is allowed?

Yoongi thought that he will surprise you by cleaning your wing. He has already managed to go through your living room and the hallways and is now busy in your magic kitchen.

Yoongi really wanted to be helpful, nothing else. So when he drops one of your potions accidentally and inhales its fumes, he knows that he fucked up. A lust potion. One which is meant to be consumed carefully because getting too much of it in one’s system bears uncontrollable consequences. You made it with the help of one of Taehyung’s many sex magic books and were planning to use it in future sessions with your lovers. One drop of it, to be more exact. One fucking drop is enough. It is so strong in fact that not even Yoongi, the strongest of the supernatural creatures, is immune to it. And he fucking inhaled the entire bottle of it.

Yoongi groans and throws his hand over his nose, but too late, the magic is doing its job. His eyes are hazy, his vision blurry, his head dizzy. He tries to flee, but every step he takes aches. Sex. Sex. Cum. Sex. Cum. His thoughts are reduced to two words. His cock is so hard, his balls suddenly so heavy that his pants hurts. He rips the clothes, leaving a trail of wet desperation as he claws his way out of your kitchen. He stumbles from side to side as he tries to leave your wing, gasping for fresh air in hopes of clearing his lungs.

He needs help. His ears are ringing. It is as if he was high on five different drugs. And every drug wants him to fuck. Fuck. He needs sex. He needs to fuck.

Your bedroom. Your scents just make it worse. Yoongi moans and groans as he drags himself to the bathroom. You aren’t home right now. As a matter of fact, nobody is home because you all went on a trip to the coast.

Yoongi is all alone. And he needs help. Otherwise he might rip this whole room to shreds.

Maybe a shower will help. He tears the shirt off his body and collapses into the shower, turning on the freezing water with his last remaining clarity. The water hurts on his skin, Yoongi is panting as he takes it, forehead resting against the cold tiles while his heavy cock leaks on the floor. It doesn’t help. His cock stays hard, his bloodstream is drugged up. Yoongi blacks out.

The next moments are unable to be put onto paper because Yoongi has no recollection of them and this author must use this moment to apologise. A lie had been spread. There was one other person home during the time Yoongi accidentally drugged himself. Taehyung.

Taehyung was clear in the head and planned on going for a stroll in the forest to move his stiffened body after a very captivating painting session. Taehyung was very close to leaving the estate when his ears picked up on very worrying sounds. Yoongi whimpering in pain. Such noises, Taehyung has never heard from him before.

“Hyung”, he gasps and runs off to your wing. He considers calling you first, but then is too busy being worried. And his phone was upstairs. Too much time would have been wasted.

He breaks through your door, calling out Yoongi’s name.

He doesn’t answer him, but the tortured noises remain. They come from your bedroom. Did he fall and hurt himself? Perhaps he fell on a stake and now struggles to get it out.

Taehyung takes off his shoes by the door, because he still had manners, and hurries to the bedroom. It is empty. The bathroom door is open. The noises come from it.

“Hyung! What’s the matter?” He hurries to it. “What happ-”

Taehyung quite frankly loses the abilities to properly function. The view before him is way too unbelievable.

Yoongi is in front of the sink mirror, body wet from the shower and completely naked. He is covered in his own cum, as is the sink and the counter. Puddles of it had formed on the floor as well. His eyes spill tears. His huge hand is around his completely grown vampire cock and to top it all off, it is very obvious that he had his own fingers in his ass before Taehyung crashed into the room.

“Leave!” Yoongi screams. His voice is distorted in agony, bouncing off the walls.

“I, I”, Taehyung stutters, pressing his hand to his own crotch to hide the instant boner the view and scents give him. He is scared for his life. He knows how much Yoongi values privacy and this is beyond an invasion of it. “I am so sorry. I believed that you hurt yourself I, shit, I’m leaving already.”

“Wait, no.”

Taehyung turns, gulps.

Yoongi is staring at him with glassy helpless eyes. His hand is moving around his cock as if he had no control over it. Taehyung feels dizzy. He is watching his very private friend jerk off as if it was normal to do.

“I can’t stop cumming”, Yoongi gets out and tenses up as another orgasm shakes him, “help me please”, he whimpers, eyes crossing and cock squirting white cream on the tiles behind the sink.

“Are you out of your mind? What do you mean?!” Taehyung exclaims, feeling as if he was going crazy. Is he in the wrong movie? Yoongi is currently orgasming mere five feet from him and begging him for help.

“Argh!” Yoongi gets out, convulsing in the aftershocks with wobbly legs. He hits the sink, gritting his exposed fangs. He is panting and growling, trying to get the words out like this. “I poisoned myself. Argh. One of her lust potions from your stupid fucking sex books.”

“Why would you do this to yourself? Oh heavens.”

“Cause I get off to it. No you motherfucker, it was an accident. Urgh fuck please not again”, he growled at first but then whimpers as he releases into the sink another time. He grabs the edge of the counter, opening his mouth so widely that Taehyung can watch the acid drip from his fangs. Dizzy, he looks at his cock next. The cum Yoongi spills is thick and aggressively white, spilling out of him in huge globs and sticking to the furniture in slimy strings.

“Why is it so thick? It is as if you are ejaculating slime, hyung” Taehyung gasps, knowing that Yoongi won’t be able to answer him.

“Are you going to help me or not, you bastard?” Yoongi spits to his surprise.

“I, I mean if you are asking me to”, Taehyung stutters and closes the distance. He falls to his knees before Yoongi, moaning when his legs get soaked in the puddles of cum.

“What-”

Yoongi never gets to finish his sentence. Yoongi instead gets his cock buried deep in Taehyung’s throat as the younger vampire sucks eagerly.

Yoongi screams up, throwing his head back and gripping Taehyung’s dark locks. He stumbles, almost falling to his knees if Taehyung hadn’t grabbed his buttocks with such vigour. He begins bopping his head up and down on his huge cock, gurgling happily from the heavy girth in his throat.

Yoongi climaxes instantly, screaming Taehyung’s name and twisting his hair. Not that the mention of this orgasm is important. On the contrary, it is rather useless, because Yoongi feels just as horny afterwards than he did before. Maybe with his balls a little lighter, but his head is still incredibly drugged.

Taehyung swallows every single glob of Yoongi’s thick cum. It drags itself down his throat, covering every inch of his insides and coating his stomach. It warms him, making him crave more. Taehyung slips off and concentrates his sucks on Yoongi’s engorged tip. He slurps hungrily, swirling his tongue as quickly as possible. His veins are swollen, throbbing under his tongue.

“You’re fucking insane. Fuck, ah”, Yoongi growls, staring down at Taehyung. “Look at me.”

Taehyung obeys, eyes so very submissive as he looks up at Yoongi.

“Lilac is your safeword. Think it and I’ll stop.”

“Yes…Master.”

“Fuck, shut the fuck up”, Yoongi spits and forces his mouth onto his cock.

Taehyung mewls and gurgles, tilting his head back as Yoongi fills his throat out.

“Are you okay?”

Taehyung nods his head, showing Yoongi that he wasn’t made of glass by moving his hips for him. Tears leave his eyes, but he doesn’t gag. He simply moans and clenches his throat around his heavy length.

“You crazy fucking bastard”, Yoongi moans and picks up a punishing speed instantly, drilling Taehyung’s pretty face as if he hated it. “Take it. Fucking take it.”

But he doesn’t hate his face. He sees salvation in his ethereal features. It feels so good to fuck it. His hand could have never felt this way. Taehyung’s lips move and stretch around his girth, his throat bulges to make space.

“Shit, you’re looking so good with cock in your mouth. I hope you get your pretty face fucked regularly. Mhm? Do they fuck your dripping mouth hole regularly?” Yoongi is talking complete shit, tongue loose in an intense drug trip.

And Taehyung loves. He loves it so much that he wets his pants in excitement and feels his eyes cross a little. He moans around Yoongi’s cock, tilting his head back further in a willingness to completely become his’.

“Yeah you know you look good, don’t you. Urgh! Urgh, fuck argh it’s not helping-ah!’ Yoongi growls and orgasms again, throwing his head back as he fucks his cum deep down Taehyung’s throat.

Taehyung expected it, but still ends up having to gag from it. It is so much, he can barely keep up with swallowing, being forced to his luck as Yoongi makes sure the only thing he’ll have in his stomach today was his cream. Taehyung’s cries, scratching down Yoongi’s thighs in desperate search for support. It draws blood but heals instantly.

“I’m sorry Tae, I’m sorry”, Yoongi whimpers as his cock squirts cum against his will.

Taehyung mewls and shakes his head, dragging his big hands up the back of Yoongi’s legs until he reaches his hips. His hugs them, pressing his face into his pubes while his mouth still carries his heavy cock.

He can take more. Yoongi’s cum is so sweet, although much, it is so sweet. Taehyung feels droopier by the second, craving more of it like an addict having a relapse.

“Tae ah!” Yoongi slows down after his high but only because he is too weakened from it. He uses Taehyung’s head to support himself on it, hips shaking as Taehyung sucks on his cock loudly. “I can’t stop, it’s so painful”, he gets out, almost sobbing the words.

Taehyung puts distance between their bodies, mouth leaking cum as he speaks.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yeah.” Yoongi answers him, eyes taking in the view hungrily. Taehyung’s lips are so puffy and pink. His face is so messy in sticky cum. It somehow managed to get in his hair as well.

Taehyung sticks two of his fingers into his own mouth, coating them in the cum he still has sticking to his gums. Once they are slick in it, he exchanges them for Yoongi’s cock, guiding them to Yoongi’s ass. He applies pressure, slipping them into his tight hole. He instantly finds his prostate, rubbing it vigorously as he begins moving his throat on Yoongi’s cock.

Yoongi bends his own body into unnatural positions, writhing standing up and screaming silently. He is submerged in painful fire and Taehyung just made it worse. Or better. He can’t decide. He cums again, spilling down Taehyung’s throat to the point his stomach is starting to get a little bloated from all the cum he has to keep inside.

Taehyung takes it gladly, dimpling Yoongi’s hip with his other hand while he fingers his hole quickly. He is going crazy. Yoongi is so soft inside. So tight. And warm. Holy fuck, he is fingering his hole. Not even in his nastiest dreams would Taehyung have dared to imagine such a thing and yet here he is. He curls his fingers deeper, listening to Yoongi’s desperate noises.

“Again, argh!”

It feels too good. This is so good. This is the sex the poison craves. The skilled touch of another. Yoongi swears he fucking kisses the very creator of the univesre herself as he climaxes in Taehyung’s mouth. Both hands are gripping his head while his hips pound into him in search of sweet relief.

And then something happens. Relief. There is actual relief after the high.

“Stop it, stop”, Yoongi croaks, pulling him off his cock with little effort. Taehyung slips out of his ass, gazing up at him. His nose is snotty and burns because Yoongi came so hard the last time that it went out through his nose. His eyes are crying. His stomach feels like bursting.

Yoongi touches him. It is gentle and nurturing. Taehyung feels taken aback by it, but melts into it nonetheless.

“You’re actually fucking mad.”

Taehyung tries to answer him but has to come to the conclusion that Yoongi fucked his vocal chords raw. Thankfully he is a quick healer.

Yoongi pulls Taehyung to his feet, forehead falling against his’ and dirty hands cradling his equally as dirty face. Taehyung melts into the affection with closed eyes, breathing heavily.

“Why the fuck did you do that?” Yoongi whispers, voice deep and raspy.

“You wanted my help”, Taehyung whispers as well, voice just as deep and raspy.

“Yes, as in getting an antidote, not throat fucking my cock and fingering my ass.”

“This was the antidote, hyung. I’m your antidote.”

Yoongi bares his fangs, fighting against his instincts of dragging his long tongue up Taehyung’s face. Taehyung watches it, head pounding from the high he currently finds himself on. Who knew that enchanted Creator cum is so intoxicating. He hasn’t felt that high ever since the last blood orgie he had years ago. Taehyung is currently floating on cloud nine.

Yoongi suddenly groans and scrunches his face, touching roughening on Taehyung.

“Not done?”

“No, urgh fuck. Fuck Tae, leave. I can’t promise your safety anymore.”

“I’m not leaving you like this.”

“Tae, I’m dangerous.”

“I know, I tasted it. It’s still in my stomach, feel it.” He presses Yoongi’s hand to his stomach, making him feel the sticky liquid move around. “I’m so bloated with your cum, hyung. I feel fucking high.”

“Urgh Tae”, Yoongi growls, squeezing his head painfully. “Tae leave.”

Taehyung however shakes him off and pushes at his chest, giving himself enough space to rip off his ruined clothes. Yoongi moans at the view, blackened eyes staring at his exposed cock. It is huge and throbbing, leaking cum as if he was enchanted himself.

“I can’t leave like this. I can take it, hyung. I’m not as fragile as you all think me to be”, Taehyung says and turns around. He bends over the sink, reaching behind himself to spread open his ass and therefore reveal his willing hole to Yoongi.

Yoongi swears the view almost brings him to his knees so he could bury his tongue into the deepest depths of Taehyung’s insides. He fights the voices, twisting his own hair for it.

“No. No, I’ll hurt you.”

“I will heal. I can take it.”

“Taehyung, just leave.”

“Please hyung, you don’t have to be scared of yourself. We’re both monsters.”

Yoongi meets Taehyung's exposed face in the reflection. They are both monsters. Taehyung is okay with it.

He can’t hold back anymore. He growls and drops to his knees. He can’t take Taehyung unprepared. He is poisoned and not clear in the head, but his refusal to be a source of pain to his friend is stronger than any drug. He promised him to never cause him agony again and means it. He will still fuck his ass, don’t be mistaken, first he simply needs to give in to the voices in his head and stick his tongue into Taehyung’s hole.

Because he is drooling like an animal, it is an easy task to fill him. He wastes no time holding back. He is a monster and Taehyung is the very last person who would want him to hide parts of himself. Yoongi knows how he treats Jungkook, how he gets off to his Ripper nature. He feels confident in letting himself go as well. He doesn’t even let go to such length when he is with you, mostly because your pussy has limits when it comes to depth. There are no limits to the depths of Taehyung’s ass and so Yoongi buries his long, slimy tongue deep inside his walls, moving it like a wiggling tentacle.

Taehyung, who up until now has never experienced such a sensation before, reacts accordingly. He screams, which he never does when he gets fucked. He writhes in fleeing, but has to realise that this only makes Yoongi’s tongue grow more to make up for the space created. Taehyung, who is greedy for a stuffing, moves back again, taking the new girthy inches. He still continues to scream, shaking out of control.

Yoongi growls, finding his satisfaction in the deepest creases of Taehyung’s tight insides. There is nothing better than filling out something so tight. It is so useless for vampires. Its once human purpose long gone. Yoongi is going to give it a new purpose today. He is going to reach parts no other person has ever reached before.

“Hyung please, ple-please”, Taehyung begs in fear, reaching for Yoongi’s hair. The latter simply growls and punishes him with a hard thrust of his tongue, fingers gripping his hand to instead press it to his own stomach. He picks up an angry pace with his tongue, forcing Taehyung to feel how his stomach gets filled with it.

Taehyung’s eyes cross and stay like this, his fangs grow, his own tongue drips drool. He can’t scream anymore. He can only squeak and try to breathe. He is no stranger to feeling his belly bulge, but this is something different. Something so carnal and sinful that even Taehyung feels as if he did something forbidden. But he is a sinner and sinners get off to the forbidden. Something about Yoongi’s saliva makes every inch it touches aware that it was being touched. Taehyung has never felt penetration so deep inside his guts before. It was also never that wet before, that wriggly and fast.

“You are making me climax”, Taehyung sobs, hoping that Yoongi would pull out and edge him. But there is no hope left for him. Yoongi makes him climax so deep inside that Taehyung actually sees black for a while. He screams his throat raw then begins begging to please be released of it. Yoongi growls and grants him the wish, pulling his tongue out. Taehyung cries, legs shaking and body convulsing. He feels every inch, feels how his wriggly thick tongue slips out of him. It is so quick and rough and never ending. By the very end of it, once his tip slips out, Taehyung actually collapses onto the sink in relief, standing on his tiptoes and flinching repeatedly as his gaped hole leaks Yoongi’s thick saliva. He can’t think straight. Taehyung has never felt this way before. His insides have never been cleaned so far up. He should want no more, but he does. Yoongi’s saliva is poisoning him in the most sinful of ways. He wants to be filled again.

Yoongi stands up, dragging his long tongue up Taehyung’s sweaty spine. He wraps it around his neck, using it to tug him up. Taehyung gurgles and sobs, burning eyes staring at their reflection. Yoongi’s true face is staring back at him, his red tongue is wrapped around Taehyung’s neck multiple times. Something in his eyes however is being kind to him, asking him if he could continue. Taehyung sobs miserably and reaches behind himself with trembling hands so he could align Yoongi’s cock with his hole. Yoongi growls, tongue tightening around his neck and eyes darkening. He takes his consent, finally sinking his huge cock into his hole. The face Taehyung pulls and the noise he makes is what Yoongi wanted. No pain, just relief. That is why he cursed him with his saliva, this face right here and now is the very reason for it.

He chases his depth instantly, turning Taehyung’s deep yelps to high pitched squeals. Yoongi answers him in animalistic growls and his huge hands bruising his trembling hips as he pulls him back onto his cock over and over and fucking over again.

Taehyung tries to somehow make sense of it. He is on his tiptoes, standing only because Yoongi makes him. His nails hurt from clawing at the counter. His lower stomach aches too from getting it pounded into said counter over and over again. He drools and cries, unable to stop either of those reactions.

Yoongi growls behind him and then Taehyung feels his cum shoot up his inside. It almost hurts in a way, forcing him to cramp up and bend forward with an agonised groan.

Yoongi however pulls him back up, forcing him to make eye contact with his whorish reflection.

“A-ah”, Taehyung lets out, convulsing on his cock. First his stomach is being filled to its bursting point and now his intestines are getting the same treatment. Taehyung swears he might actually leave this room feeling fucking impregnanted.

“Are you doing okay?” Taehyung suddenly hears Yoongi’s voice in his head. His demonic mouth is unmoving, his tongue is still around his neck. Yoongi is actually using his compulsion to talk to Taehyung telepathically. His hips are fucking into him, moving as if he never orgasmed before. The cum makes it easier and a lot noisier.

Taehyung can only think his answer as well.

“It feels so good. It feels so good. It feels so good.”

“That’s good. You’re taking me so well. Fuck, you’re such a good boy.”

“You’re praising me?! Master please don’t stop, please, I’m so filled up. I love praise so much. Please Master, breed me till I carry your babies.”

“You’ve got the sweetest thoughts, Tae. It’s a shame, they’re not mine constantly. Bet you’d be so fun to command around.” Yoongi taunts, giving him deep harsh thrusts. The kind which squirts cum out of his ass everywhere and which makes Taehyung go more and more cross eyed. “I’d make you do the sweetest tasks then. Make you take me like a good boy, tell you how to fucking moan for me.”

Did Jungkook talk to Yoongi? Did he tell him that Taehyung has a fetish for being controlled? Or is he that obvious that Yoongi picked up on it? No matter the answer, it makes Taehyung orgasm. Again. This orgasm feels familiar because it is done by a thick cock in his asshole, but it doesn’t feel any less magnificent because of that. On the contrary, Yoongi’s salvia made him so sensitive inside that Taehyung loses any kind of strength in his body, dropping like a limp doll.

Yoongi lifts him and flips him in his arms. His tongue is inside his mouth again, having left purple marks all over Taehyung’s neck. Speaking of Taehyung. He is currently slacking and tangling in Yoongi’s strong arms, being held up under his bent legs as Yoongi bounces his body on his cock. His head is on his shoulder, his arms barely have strength to hug him.

“Breathe, I’m almost done, breathe”, Yoongi speaks, sounding clearer than before.

Taehyung still can’t speak, thinking his words.

“I’m bursting please Master it hurts.”

“Hurts? Lilac?”

Taehyung shakes his head, twisting Yoongi’s hair.

“I don’t want it to stop. I need more, please.”

“I can provide, don’t you worry”, Yoongi assures him as he easily uses his body as a fleshlight.

And Taehyung is in paradise. He is the second strongest in this coven. At least physical wise. He is always the second strongest and it will always stay this way even if he pretends to be weaker than others. Not anymore, not with Yoongi. He is finally, fucking finally, weaker than someone else. Yoongi never shows how much stronger he is than the rest of you, so Taehyung has almost forgotten how superior in strength he actually is. He gets reminded with each bounce of his body, each stretch of his cock as he drills it deep inside his gaped hole. Yoongi is so strong and Taehyung is his limp sexdoll.

This is everything he ever wished for.

“Master, I have to cum.”

“I know Tae, I know. Me too. Just be patient, Master’s almost done”, Yoongi tells him, dropping Taehyung on his cock to the point his hole takes his balls as well.

Taehyung sobs, squirming in his arms.

“I know, you’re so stuffed. You gotta feel it Tae, feel how I unload the last time.”

“Hyung, I’m cumming.”

“No, you’re not.”

Taehyung squeaks, lifting his head in shock. He lost control over his body. He wants to climax but can’t. Yoongi meets his scared eyes, cocking his brow up tauntingly.

“You think she is the only one who can control your orgasm? I’m the fucking master of control if only I wanted to.”

Taehyung opens his mouth, making noises. They are unable to be described, but they both know that they are the most carnal noises he could ever make.

“Mhm, so pretty. Fuck, you’re making me cum”, Yoongi lulls. He broadens his stance and throws his head back, moaning loudly. This is going to be the last one. He finally feels it. This one is going to be explosive and messy, but it's going to be the last one.

Taehyung takes it screaming, shaking in his arms in a desperate attempt to fight the compulsion. But he can’t. He is destined to have his intestines filled and feel Yoongi’s huge balls throb inside his hole.

Taehyung buries his fangs in Yoongi’s shoulder not for blood but for help. He couldn’t possibly handle it any other way. He is so filled up with cum that he is scared to walk afterwards. He won’t be able to stroll through the forest that much is sure. He will have to lie on his side and hope that his body can digest it as quickly as possible.

“There we gooooo fuuuuuck”, Yoongi comes down with a guttural moan.

“Please”, Taehyung sobs in a squeak.

Yoongi smirks, biting down on his lower lip sensually as his eyes race over his ruined features.

“Please, I can’t do this anymore please.”

“Cum for me, doll.”

The compulsion drops, forcing Taehyung’s orgasm to hit him with such force he sees black again. Pleasure so ancient it feels as if god herself was making him climax fills him. He rips his mouth open, body falling back. Yoongi doesn’t struggle with holding it, neither with bouncing it on his cock for Taehyung’s pleasure.

“Shit your face….holy fuck those noises….you’re driving me insane. Keep squeezing my cock and balls, Tae. Good doll, good fucking doll”, Yoongi talks him through it, skin tingling where Taehyung releases on it.

“Li….lac”, Taehyung chokes out once the overstimulation hits. He never thought that he could be brought to the point of having to use his safeword, but Yoongi quite truly fucked him to the point of exhaustion. Taehyung has never felt that cured of The Horny before. Normally sex always leaves him craving more, but not right now. He needs off now.

“Good boy” Yoongi finishes instantly, lifting Taehyung off his cock. “Fuck, urgh fuck, finally. My balls were in agony in your tight hole. Take deep breaths, Tae. You did so well.”

He stumbles weakly, sitting Taehyung on the counter and falling into his body in a hug. Taehyung cries quietly on Yoongi’s shoulder, feeling high and happy but also like a dirty disgusting slut.

Now that the spell stopped, how will Yoongi react? They have never done such things before, they swore that they never would. Will he be angry at him now that he is clear headed? Will he send him away after making him feel shitty for what they did?

“Are you okay?”

Taehyung shakes and nods his head at the same time.

“Are you in pain? Do you need to throw up? I filled you with so much, I’m sorry.”

“I’m okay”, he croaks.

“But?”

“Please don’t be angry please.”

“I’m not angry, just…I guess I’m embarrassed too.”

Taehyung lifts his head, meeting Yoongi’s eyes. Well, as best as Yoongi allows him to now that he was clear headed and shy.

“What we just did. I never would have done this with you if I wasn’t enchanted. I’m so embarrassed.”

“Don’t be please. Not with me. I am the last person who would ever judge you for wanting sex.”

“That wasn’t sex. That was fucking rutting.”

They chuckle, ridding themselves of the worst embarrassment this way.

“And it felt good. So good. Hyung, I’ve been on this earth almost nine centuries now and neve experienced such stimulation before.”

Yoongi smirks lopsidedly, reaching up to cradle Taehyung’s cheeks. He caresses his skin with his thumbs.

“I guess being the strongest has to come with some surprises too. Did you like it mhm? You took my tongue like a fucking champ.”

“Hyung I-”, Taehyung suddenly feels very vulnerable, burying his face in his own hands as he sobs.

“What’s the matter? Did you not like it?”

“I loved it so much, but I’m so shaken up. I do not know.”

Yoongi understands his feelings very well. He gets like this too sometimes when he submits. He gets embarrassed about how good he felt and then feels like crying.

“Hey there, Tae. You’ve got no reason to feel embarrassed”, Yoongi speaks softly, picking him up in his arms to cradle him soothingly. Taehyung leaks onto the floor like this, writhing in embarrassment. “Relax doll, relax.”

Taehyung whimpers, growing limp in comfort. Yoongi carries him to the bathtub and turns the warm water on.

“How do you know me so well?” Taehyung asks in a ruined yet happy lull.

“I’ve been your friend for more than five hundred years now, Tae. You get drunk sometimes and tell me stuff.”

“I do?”

“Yeah, you can’t remember the next day, but I know a great deal about you actually.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, I do. I know you like being controlled and to be dollified. I also know that it’s trauma which has manifested this way, but that you don’t think about these moments when you have sex this way. You’re an open book when you drink magic wine, Tae”, Yoongi sinks their bodies into warm bathwater.

Taehyung gasps, squirming on Yoongi’s lap.

“Sssh relax. Let me take care of you”, Yoongi soothes him in a gentle voice and with nurturing touches all over his body.

Taehyung melts, limps refusing to work as he sits on Yoongi’s safe lap and lets him clean him.

“There we go. Relax, little doll, relax. It’ll make the cum bloat easier to bear too. Are you okay? Is it very painful?”

“No, just feels like I ate too much.”

“You definitely did. Fuck, sorry for this. That’s what I get for trying to be helpful. She is going to kill me if she finds out I dropped it.”

“She will ask what happened.”

“What are we gonna tell her?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to think about this.”

“Alright. Let’s just relax for now.” Yoongi cradles the back of Taehyung’s head and tilts it to his lips for a loving kiss to his cheek. “My friend of centuries.”

Taehyung whimpers, having to hug Yoongi as tightly as his weak arms allow him. He knew how loving his friend is. The healthy and happy relationship he has with both you and Jungkook are proof enough. Taehyung always knew that he was someone who makes people feel safe, but he never thought it would be to this extent.

Taehyung feels so safe, so nurtured and healed, thinking such sweet things that Yoongi has to smile as he cleans him.

This won’t ever be talked about by either of them again. It will be as if it never happened. But for only a small moment in endless time, they are naked together sharing a bath after intense and fulfilling sex.

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 months ago

Text

Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 4: Read Between The Lines]

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, Jace is here unfortunately.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Boulevard Of Broken Dreams” by Green Day.

Word count: 5.6k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🥰

It is your first week of basic training at Great Lakes on the north side of Chicago, and as you lie in the top bunk of your assigned bed you wonder what the hell you’ve done. You enlisted right out of high school, eighteen, no driver’s license, no work history, never been more than fifty miles outside of Soft Shell, Kentucky. The drill sergeants are always yelling and you’re bad at push-ups; you can’t understand the recruits from big cities like Los Angeles, Miami, Las Vegas, Detroit, Houston, and they don’t seem to get you either, and aren’t interested enough to try. Sometimes you wish you hadn’t signed that five-year contract, but where would you be if you weren’t here? Home is not words but textures, colors, fumes that still burn in your sinuses: cigarette ash on rose pink carpets, red embers glowing in the wood stove, Hamburger Helper and Mountain Dew, coffee creamer in Hungry Jack potatoes, laughter and heavy footsteps and slamming doors, scratch-off games, dogs barking, collecting coins from couch cushions for gas money, scrubbing clothes in the bathtub when the washer quits, Mama taking gulps from her favorite cup—plastic, Virginia Beach, filled with equal parts Hawaiian Punch and vodka—when she thinks no one is looking, blue shows flickering on the television, Family Feud, Maury, Good Morning America, WWE SmackDown. For as long as you can remember you’ve known you couldn’t stay. Now you’re getting out, but nothing in life is free.

You are at Class A Technical School in Gulfport, Mississippi, and even though it’s hotter than some noxious, volcanic hellscape—Mercury, Venus, Io—you are beginning to like it. You taste the salt of sweat when you lick your lips, sugar in the sweet tea they serve in the chow hall. There’s a magic in building something where there was only empty space before, in patching roofs and painting walls. Here being quiet and watchful is exactly what they want from you: head down, hammer striking nails, measurements and angles and long hours under the sun with no complaints. You’re not just running away anymore. You are creating something new.

You are sitting beneath swaying palm trees and a full moon on Diego Garcia, draining cans of Guinness with Rio, and he’s telling you things he shouldn’t, too personal, too honest: Sophie wants to try for a baby next time he’s home on leave, and part of him wants that too but he’s terrified. As thunder rumbles in the distance and raindrops begin to patter on the waves of the Indian Ocean, you tell Rio you think he’d be a good father. He wonders how you figure that, and you say because he’s not like any of the men from home. He gives you one of his crooked smiles—a flash of teeth, knowing dark eyes—and doesn’t ask what you mean.

But of course, when you swim up from the inky currents of sleep you are in none of these places. You are curled up on the floor of a bowling alley in Shenandoah, Ohio, cheap worn black carpet peppered with stars and swirls in neon green, pink, blue. You stretch out with a yawn. Someone has left a Lemon Tea Snapple within reach; you twist it open and guzzle it, hoping to extinguish the pounding in your skull, a rhythmic thudding of warm maroon, half Captain Morgan and half misery. The music isn’t helping. From the green Toshiba CD player, a man is singing in Spanish. Aegon and Rio are sitting at the nearest table and playing Uno.

Aegon says as he ponders his cards: “You know Enrique Iglesias, right Rio?”

“You are so racist.” Rio puts down a wild. “And the new color is red. Racist.”

“So what’s he saying?”

“Aegon, buddy, I told you, I was born here. My grandparents came over in the 60s. I don’t speak Spanish.”

“You can’t understand any of it?” Aegon is skeptical. He plays a skip, a reverse, and a seven. “My dad never taught me a word of Greek but I can recognize plenty of phrases. Vlákas means idiot. Spatáli chórou is a waste of space.”

Rio sighs, relenting. He puts down a two. “The song is called Súbeme La Radio, Turn Up The Radio For Me. Bring me the alcohol that numbs the pain… I don’t care about anything anymore…You’ve left me in the shadows…”

“Damn, now I’m sad. Draw four, bitch.”

“When the night comes and you don’t answer, I swear to you I’ll stay waiting at your door…” Rio studies his cards. “What’s the new color?”

“Green.”

“Yes!” Rio slams down a skip. “Fleeing from the past in every dawn, I can’t find any way to erase our history…”

Everyone else is awake already. As muted late-morning daylight streams in through the small tinted windows, Aemond is weaving between tables, pointedly checking on each person. He glances at you, says nothing, turns around and walks the other way.

“That’s tough,” Rio says sympathetically, popping open the tab on a can of Chef Boyardee and shoveling ravioli into his mouth with a plastic fork.

Aegon gives you a smirk. “You want to fake date now?”

“I’ll think about it.” No you won’t.

Helaena appears, a prairie girl vision in a modest blue sundress and with her hair tied back with a matching scarf. She reaches into her burlap messenger bag and offers you a choice between a ranch-flavored tuna pouch or a silvery pack of Pop-Tarts. “Strawberry,” she tells you.

“I’ll take the Pop-Tarts.”

Helaena gives them to you and then shakes a bottle of Advil. You’re so groggy it takes you a few seconds to figure out what she wants, then you obediently hold out a hand. Helaena lays two tablets in the center of your palm and moves on, soundlessly like a rabbit or a spider.

You wash the pills down with Snapple. As you nibble half-heartedly on a Pop-Tart—trying not to look at Aemond, multicolored sprinkles falling down onto the carpet—your eyes drift to the tattoo on the underside of Aegon’s forearm. It’s not over ‘til you’re underground. You’ve spotted it before. Only now do you remember where you recognize the lyric from. “Is that Green Day?”

“Yeah,” Aegon says, enthused that you noticed. “Letterbomb.”

“I love that whole album.”

“Me too. I could sing it front to back if you asked me to.”

“I’m not asking.”

Aegon cackles and resumes his Uno game with Rio. Baela is wearing denim shorts and a crop top, slathering her belly with Palmer’s cocoa butter from Walmart as she chats with Rhaena and eats Teddy Grahams. Daeron is waxing the string of his compound bow. Jace is gnawing on a Twizzler as he scrutinizes Aegon’s map, annotated with Xs and circles and arrows in sparkling gel pen green.

“I’m going to be a thousand years old by the time we get there,” Jace mutters.

Aegon hits the table with his fist. The discard pile collapses and cascades, an avalanche of Uno cards. Rio, undisturbed, continues contemplating his next move. “You know what, Jace? The cities are full of zombies, the interstates are blocked by fifty-car pileups, if we bump into anyone else who’s still alive they’re just as likely to rob and murder us as want to be friends, and on top of all that I’m trying to do you the favor of preventing you from getting so irradiated you turn into Spider-Man. If you have a better route in mind, I’d love to hear it.”

“Spider-Man…? You’re such a dumbass, what are you talking about?!”

Luke says from where he stands by a window: “Aemond, someone’s outside.”

“What?” Aemond stares at him. “Zombies?”

“No. People.”

Aemond bolts to the doors, the rest of you close behind him. Rhaena turns off the CD player. You, Rio, and Aegon squeeze together to peer out of one of the windows. There are men—three of them, no, four, all appearing to be in their forties—passing by on the main road through town. They are armed with what are either AR-15s or M16s, you can’t tell which.

Rio whistles. “If you get shot by one of those, the exit wound will be the size of an orange.” Everyone looks at him. This was not an encouraging thing to say.

You elaborate: “Thirty-round magazines. Semiautomatic, assuming they’re AR-15s for civilian use. I guess they could have gotten ahold of M16s somehow. Those have a fully automatic setting.”

“So regardless, we’re out-gunned,” Jace says.

“If they know how to use them. Some men think guns are wall decorations, like deer heads or fish.”

Aegon recoils. “Fish?! What the fuck. I’m glad the colonies left.”

“Maybe they’ll keep walking,” Daeron says hopefully. One of the men stops and points at the bowling alley, saying something to his companions. They laugh and begin crossing the small parking lot. They are less than two minutes from the door. “Oh, great…”

“There’s an emergency exit in the back,” Baela says.

Aegon snorts. “Yeah, that we stacked about twenty boxes of bowling pins in front of to zombie-proof.”

“We won’t be able to get out before they hear us,” Aemond says. Then he abruptly orders: “Grab your guns, let’s go. Helaena, Baela, Rhaena, you’re staying here.” Aemond’s remaining eye—briefly, reluctantly—skates over you as Rio, Aegon, Jace, Luke, and Daeron scatter to obey him. “You too.”

“But I’m the best shot.”

“I don’t want them to know we have women with us.”

“I’m of more use to you outside.”

Aemond rips his Glock out of its holster, pointing it at the floor. His frustration is palpable, an electric shock, heat that refracts light rays until they become mirages on the horizon. “You’re going to stay here, and if a stranger comes through those doors you’re going to kill them. Okay?”

His urgency stuns you; his eye is blue-white summer storm lightning. “Okay.”

“Now get back.”

You soar to the nearest table, duck under it, reach for your Beretta M9 and double-check the clip, fully loaded. You click off the safety.

“Aemond, wait, let me go first,” Aegon is saying by the door. “I’m better at de-escalation, I’m less…uh…intimidating.”

“Less socially incompetent, you mean,” Jace quips.

“I’ll lead,” Aemond insists. “Aegon can talk. Rio, you’re up front with me.”

Rio pumps his Remington 12 gauge. “I’d be delighted.”

Jace is amused. “I’ve been demoted, huh?”

“He’s bigger,” Aemond replies simply, then opens the door and vanishes through a blinding curtain of daylight. The others follow closely; Daeron, the last one out—his compound bow in hand, the strap of his Marlin .22 slung over his shoulder—shuts the door behind him.

Very faintly, you can hear Aegon: “Hey, guys! What’s happening? How’s the apocalypse treating you…?”

Baela, Rhaena, and Helaena are under the table with you. They deserve to have options. You tell them: “If you want to go hide behind the lanes or try to get out the back door, now’s your chance.”

Helaena shakes her head, clutching your t-shirt: black, Star Wars, pawed off a shelf at the Walmart. “I want to stay with you.”

“Same,” Baela says determinedly, gripping her Ruger. She barely knows how to use it, but she’ll try. Rhaena is shaking, her eyes filling up her face, small fragile bones like a bird’s.

You can’t hear voices from outside anymore, but there are no gunshots either. You keep your M9 aimed at the doors, your breathing slow and deep, your heart rate low. Your hands are steady. Your eyes hunt for the slightest movement, for the momentary shadow of someone passing by a window. Against your will, your thoughts wander to Aemond. I hope Aegon is on his left side. Aemond can’t see there.

“Rhaena, get your gun out,” Baela says sharply. “Come on. Turn the safety off. What if you were alone right now? What if we weren’t here to protect you?”

Rhaena nods, fumbling to free her revolver from its holster. “I’m sorry…I’m trying…”

Now there is a stranger’s voice, gruff and deep. He must be just beyond the door, the farthest one to the right. There is a creak of hinges, a sliver of sunlight. “That’s just too damn bad, fellas. You got a nice little hideout here, and you’re gonna have to share it—”

The door opens. Two unfamiliar faces, too shellshocked to raise their rifles in time. You close an eye, line up your sights, fire twice, and that’s all it takes: one headshot, one in the throat, blood like a fountain, spurting scarlet ruin, thuds against the carpet strewn with neon stars, gurgling and spasms as their brains send out those final electrical impulses: danger, catastrophe, apocalypse. Rhaena is screaming. Helaena is covering her ears with both hands.

You run to the doorway; there are more booms of gunfire out in the parking lot. You cross into the late-morning light to see the other two men on the pavement: one with an arrow through the eye, the other with a gaping, hemorrhaging hole where his heart once was. Rio is admiring his work, holding his shotgun aloft. He scoops a handful of Cheddar Whales out of his shorts pocket and shovels them into his mouth.

“Goddamn, I love Remington Arms Company.”

“Oh, that was awesome,” Aegon says, wan and panting, hands on his waist. “Yeah, that was…that was…” He bends over and vomits Snapple and Cool Ranch Doritos onto the asphalt.

“Everyone okay in there?” Rio asks you.

“Yeah.” Behind you, Baela, Rhaena, and Helaena are stepping through the doorway. Your thoughts are whirling sickly: I killed someone. I killed someone. “They wouldn’t leave?”

“We told them the bowling alley was ours,” Aemond says, not looking at you. “We asked them very politely to keep moving. They chose to try to intimidate us into letting them stay. They weren’t good people, and these are the consequences.”

You click on the safety and re-holster your M9. You’re wearing Rio’s on your other hip. They seem to weigh so much more than they did ten minutes ago. I’m not supposed to be a killer. I’m a builder.

“Aegon, are you okay?” Daeron asks, a palm on his brother’s back.

Aegon retches again. “Shut up. You can’t even buy fireworks.”

“Zombies.” Luke is peering through his binoculars. “Not many, just two. Way up the road.”

“There will be more.” Baela’s cradling her belly; you don’t even think she’s aware of it. “They heard the gunshots, the sound carries for miles.”

“We’re leaving,” Aemond says. “Right now. Everyone get your things.”

As backpacks are hastily zipped and Daeron and Aegon stand guard in the parking lot, you kneel down beside the men you murdered and check their rifles. They are M16s, either stolen or illegally purchased: there’s a little switch by the trigger to choose between semi-automatic or the so-called machine gun mode.

“They barely had any bullets left,” you tell Rio. Just like us when we were trapped on that transmission tower.

“Yeah, same story for the other two guys. Four bullets in one magazine, a half dozen in the other. But it only takes once. We don’t have any ammo that will work with M16s, do we?”

“No, we definitely don’t.”

“Fantastic. Well, we’ll throw them in a Walmart cart and take them with us just in case.”

You’re staring down at the man you shot through the head. His eternal resting place is a puddle of blood and brains in a bowling alley in rural Ohio; surely no one deserves that. “He was a real person,” you say, dazed. “Not a zombie. Just a person.”

“Hey.” Rio grabs your shoulders and spins you towards him. From where he is helping Luke gather up the remaining food, Aemond’s head snaps up to watch. “You hurt him before he could hurt us. You did the right thing.”

“Sure.”

“I killed a dude too. I blew his heart right out of his chest. You think I’m going to hell for that?”

“No,” you admit, smiling. “And if you’d be there with me, I guess I wouldn’t mind so much.”

Rio grins, wide and toothy. “Well alright then. Let’s finish packing.”

The ten of you depart from Shenandoah, Ohio heading northwest on Route 603 just like Aegon marked on his map, Jace chauffeuring Baela in one shopping cart, Rio pushing another loaded high with food and M16s.

“It looks like rain,” Helaena says.

Everyone else peers up into a clear, cerulean sky, wondering what she means.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re a few miles north of Shiloh when the storm rolls in, cold rain and furious wind, daylight that vanishes behind dark churning thunderheads, jagged scars of lightning in an opaque sky. The road is only two lanes, surrounded by fields of wildflowers and ravaged crops and untilled earth; it would look like the patchwork of a quilt if you were gazing down from an airplane, but of course the FAA grounded all flights over a month ago when the world went mad: Revelations, Ragnarök, the fabric of the universe unweaving as death burned through families, cities, nations like a fever, like plague.

“Maybe we should cut across one of these fields,” Jace says, pointing. He is soaked with rain; it drips from his curls, runs into his eyes. Baela is in her cart again; each time she tries to get out and walk, she’s gasping and can’t keep up within half an hour. You’ve all taken turns pushing her, much to Baela’s dismay. She’d be humiliated if she wasn’t too exhausted to keep her eyes open.

“Here, let me do it,” you offer, and Jace gratefully relinquishes the cart. Baela gives you a frail wave of appreciation.

“We stay on the road,” Aemond insists, flinching as rain pelts his scarred face. “Farmhouses have driveways and mailboxes, we’ll pass one eventually. If we lose the road, we might not be able to find it again. We’ll end up wandering around in circles in the woods.”

“Just like the Blair Witch Project,” Aegon says glumly, his Sperry Bahama sneakers audibly soggy.

“There!” Luke announces, spotting something with his binoculars. “Up ahead on the left. Past the bridge.”

You can’t see what Luke does until there is an especially brilliant flash of lightning: a farmhouse, old but seemingly not derelict, and with a number of accompanying buildings, guest houses and stables and barns and towering silos.

“Home sweet home!” Rio says. “And I don’t care if I have to kill a hundred of those undead bastards to get in, it’s mine.”

“Well, hopefully not a hundred,” you reply, in better spirits now that a sanctuary has been found. Aemond keeps glancing back at you as you push Baela’s cart. If he wants to say something, he’s doing a good job of resisting the temptation. “We don’t have that much ammo.”

There is a concrete bridge over a river, probably unremarkable and only five or ten feet deep normally but now torrential with rain. Water rushes by beneath, a muddy incline on each side as the earth rises back up to meet the road. A reflective green sign proclaims that you are only two miles from Plymouth, which Aegon plans to skirt along the edges of. It’s a decent-sized town; he thinks you might be able to find a car to steal there, something with gas in the tank and keys on a hook just inside the house.

“I call the master bedroom,” Jace says craftily, rubbing his palms together. You’re near the center of the bridge now, another ten yards to go. “Nice big bed, warm cozy blankets, and I was up for half of last night keeping watch so tonight I am off duty, I am a free man, it’s going to just be me and my girl and eight glorious uninterrupted hours of sleep—”

Rhaena shrieks, and then you hear it over the noise of the storm, pounding rain and rumbling thunder: moans, growls, hisses like snakes. Not one zombie. A lot more than one. They’re crawling up from under the bridge, from the filthy quagmire at both ends. There was a hoard of them waiting, aimless, dormant, almost hibernating. But now they are awake. They are grasping for you with bony, dirt-covered claws. They are snapping with jaws that leak blood and pus and bile as their organs curdle to a putrid soup.

“Get off the bridge!” Aemond is shouting. He has his Glock in his right hand, a baseball bat in his left. He’ll shoot until he’s out of bullets, and then, and then…

Rio helps you get Baela out of the cart, then opens fire. His Remington doesn’t just pierce skulls, it vaporizes them. When he’s out of shells—there are more in his backpack, but no time to reload—he yanks the M16s out of the other Walmart cart and empties each of them, mowing down zombies as the rest of you scramble across the bridge. All around you are explosions of gunshots, thunder, lightning, zombie skulls crushed by bullets and blunt force trauma. Baela is firing her Ruger as you half-drag her, one arm hooked beneath hers and around her back. When the last M16 is empty, Rio starts clubbing zombies with the butt of it. You’ve all reached the north side of the bridge, except…

“Fuck off, you freaks!” Jace is screaming. They’ve backed him up against the guardrail, a swarm of ten or more. His Remington shotgun is out of ammo; he’s swinging it wildly, but he doesn’t even have enough room to maneuver. There are still more zombies emerging from under the bridge. You can hear them snarling and groaning. You swipe an M9 off your belt and put a bullet in the brain of a zombie as its fingers close around your ankle, then you start picking off the ones mobbing Jace. You aren’t fast enough. As they lean in to bite him, teeth gnashing at the delicious throbbing heat of his jugular, Jace throws himself over the barrier and into the surging water below.

“No!” Baela cries. She careens off the road and into the field, running parallel to the river as swiftly as she can. You are helping her, steadying her, firing at any zombies you have a clear line of sight on. The others are here too: slipping in the muck of the flooding earth, shouting for Jace. He surfaces through the frothing current, flails pitifully, disappears beneath the water again. You glimpse a white hand, a shadow of his dark hair, a kicking shoe. There are more zombies on the opposite side of the river, trailing after Jace, lurching and slobbering viscous, gory saliva. They cannot swim, but they can follow him until he washes ashore.

Jace bursts up through the waves, gasping. “Help! Aemond…Aemond, for the love of God, help me…” He blubbers and then is dragged under. Aemond and Luke are continuing frantically after him. Baela is hysterical, sobbing, trembling with adrenaline. Aegon is yowling as he swings at zombies with his bloodied golf club. Helaena is darting around almost invisibly, always cowering behind Daeron or Aegon or Rio.

You glance north towards the farmhouse, growing not closer but farther away. We can’t leave shelter. We can’t leave the road. You lock eyes with Rio. He’s thinking the same thing.

“Aemond, we have to go,” Rio says, but in the midst of the rain and the turmoil it barely registers.

“Jace, we’re coming to get you!” Aemond swears. The ground is increasingly sodden, deep, difficult to trudge through. Jace resurfaces, coughing and sputtering.

“Jace!” Aegon wails. He caves in the skull of a zombie who was once a registered nurse as Helaena crouches behind him. “Jace, I’m sorry! I’m gonna miss you, man!”

Jace splashes in the rising river, his arms flailing helplessly. He is being swept away far faster than any of you can move on foot. “Aegon, you dumb bitch!” Jace manages, then slips beneath the water and doesn’t reappear.

“Where is he?!” Baela is saying. “Aemond, where…?”

You are trying to soothe her, to bring her back to reality. She was always so pragmatic before; you have to wake her up. “Baela, listen, we can’t stay here, he would want you and the baby to be safe—”

“Aemond! Aemond, we have to go!” Rio catches him, wrenches him around, roars into his face as driving rain pummels them both: “We have to go, or we’re going to die here too!”

It hits Aemond all at once; he understands, horror and agony in his sole blue eye. “We have to go,” he agrees. And then louder, to everyone: “Get to the farmhouse!”

Baela collapses into the mud, howling, tears flooding down her face. “No, he’s still alive, he’s still alive, we can’t leave him!”

You and Rhaena are trying to haul Baela to her feet. Now Aemond is here, pulling you away from her—his fingers tight and urgent around your wrist—as he and Luke take your place. “Go,” he commands. “You run. Don’t wait for us. Rio?”

“I got her,” Rio replies, grabbing your free hand with an iron grip. Gales of wind rip at you; every millimeter of your skin is soaked with rain. As you flee across the fields towards the farmhouse, dozens of zombies pursue you. More are still staggering along the banks of the river, swept up in the hoards chasing Jace and the promise of his waterlogged corpse when it reaches its final destination. Daeron has run out of arrows and is shooting with his .22, which is very much not his preference. Aegon trips, getting covered in mud as he rolls, and Rio stops to help him. While he is distracted, you look back at Aemond. He, Luke, and Baela are moving quickly, but not quickly enough. A drove of zombies is closing in on them. You have a spare few seconds at last. You yank your backpack off, grab a box of ammo inside, and reload your M9.

“Chips?!” Rio calls over his shoulder.

“I’m fine.”

He knows you well enough to listen. The world goes quiet as your finger settles on the trigger. There’s a rhythm one slips into, an impassionate lethal efficiency. It’s easier to keep going than to stop and have to find it again. You fire over and over, dropping eight zombies. You sheath your M9 and whip Rio’s out of your other holster, the sights finding grotesque decaying faces illuminated by lightning. You pull the trigger: blood, bones, brains, corpses jerking and convulsing as they fall harmlessly to the mud. Aemond is here; when did he get here?

“I told you to run!” he’s shouting through the storm, furious. He’s shoving you towards the farmhouse. You resist him.

“Let me kill as many as I can—”

“Go! Now!” Aemond orders over the clashing thunder, and then sprints with you all the way to the front porch to make sure you listen. Everyone else is already there. Helaena has fetched a spare key from under the doormat and is turning it in the lock.

Daeron observes her anxiously. “We don’t know if it’s safe in there, Helaena.”

“Not in,” she says, insistent. “Through.” Through this building, and maybe through the next one too. The average zombie is not terribly clever. If they lose sight of you, without the benefit of the momentum of a hoard they are lost. Helaena opens the door. The living rush inside, and she locks it behind you. As you are bursting out the back door, you can hear zombies pounding their rotting palms against the front one. You soar through a stable full of dead horses and donkeys, leaving the doors open; this should keep the zombies distracted if they make it this far. Then you race to the farthest guest house. Luke, swiveling with his binoculars, spies no zombies approaching as you steal inside. There is no spare key this time; Rio punches out a first-floor window for you to climb through. Once everyone is inside, he and Aegon move a bookshelf to cover the opening.

You all stand in the living room, gasping and shivering, dripping rain down onto the rug and the hardwood floor. The air is dusty but clean of any trace of vile, swampy decay. Outside, thunder booms and lightning flashes bright enough to illuminate the lightless house. The sky is so dark it might as well be nightfall. Baela sinks to her knees, clamping both hands over her mouth so she won’t sob loudly enough for a zombie to hear. Rhaena and Luke are beside her, both weeping quiet rivulets of tears, trying to comfort her in whispers. Helaena is rummaging around searching for candles; she has already taken a lighter out of her soaked burlap messenger bag.

“Daeron, bro, come over here,” Aegon chokes out. He embraces Daeron, clutches him tightly and desperately, doesn’t let go. Rio is reloading his Remington 12 gauge.

Jace is dead. Jace is dead.

Aemond says to you, his voice low but seething: “What the fuck was that?”

You blink the raindrops out of your eyes as you stare at him, bewildered. “You needed help.”

“I told you to run.”

“I’m an asset, I have skills that can keep you alive, why am I here if I’m not going to be useful—?”

“You’re not in the fucking Navy anymore!” he hisses. “When I tell you to run, you run, you don’t stop, you don’t look back, because I can’t worry about you and take care of everyone else.”

“Nobody asked you to worry about me.”

“But I do.”

“Aemond,” Aegon pleads, waving him over. Aegon’s plump sunburned cheeks are glistening with rain and tears. “Man, it doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters now. Please come here.”

“I’m going to clear the house,” Aemond says instead.

Rio raises an eyebrow at you—this is one fucked up guy, Chips—and then pumps his shotgun. “Me too.” He sweeps with Aemond through the main floor and then vanishes up the staircase.

Helaena is lightning candles she found in the kitchen and arranging them around the living room. Daeron starts gathering food from the pantry. Rhaena and Baela are murmuring to each other softly, mournfully. It doesn’t feel like something you should intrude on. Luke is peeking out of a window with his binoculars, vigilant for threats. Aegon sniffles, wanders over to you with large, sad, shimmering eyes, pats your shoulder awkwardly.

“Hey, Chocolate Chip. You doing okay?”

“No,” you answer honestly.

“Yeah. Me either.” Then he flops down on the hideous burnt orange couch and lies there motionless until Daeron brings him a can of Dr. Pepper. Aegon pops the tab, slurps up foam, and then begins singing to himself very quietly, a song so old you can remember your grandfather saying it was one of his favorites as a boy: A Tombstone Every Mile.

When Rio comes back downstairs—heavy footsteps, he can’t help that—you meet him at the bottom of the steps. “The house is good,” Rio says. “And Aemond’s in the big bedroom on the right if you’d like to go up there and talk to him.”

“I don’t think he wants to see me right now.”

“I could not disagree more,” Rio says with a miserable, exhausted smile. Then he goes to the couch to check on Aegon.

You pick up one of the flickering candles, white and scentless, and ascend the staircase. You find Aemond in the master bedroom, the same accommodations that Jace laid claim to when he was still alive. He is sitting at the edge of the bed and staring at the wall, at nothing. Tentatively, you sit down beside him, placing the candle on the nightstand.

“Aemond…what happened to Jace…it wasn’t your fault.”

“Criston said I was in charge, that’s the very last thing he told me. They might be the last words I ever hear from him, and I just…” His voice breaks; he wipes the rain and tears from his face with open palms. “I really wanted to get everyone home.”

“I’m so sorry about what I said at the bowling alley,” you confess, like it’s a dire secret. “I don’t want to fight with you, Aemond, I��I want to help you. I can see what you’ve done for everyone here, me and Rio included, and I believe in you. I want to be a part of this.”

He nods, an acceptance of peace, but he still doesn’t look at you.

“Can we start over? I’ll never bring it up again, okay? I wasn’t trying to guilt you or upset you or anything. I should have just dropped it. I overreacted. And I understand why being with someone like me maybe wouldn’t be…super appealing.”

“It’s not about that.”

“Then what’s it about?”

Aemond wrings his hands, shakes his head, at last turns to you, golden candlelight reflected in his eye, his scar cloaked in shadows. His words are hushed, clandestine, soft powerless surrender. “I’m already so afraid of losing you.”

He cares, he hopes, he wants me too? “I’m here right now, Aemond. I don’t know what else I can say. I’d promise you more if I could.”

He reaches out to touch you, to ghost his thumb across your cheekbone, wet with rain. Then he kisses you, so gently you cannot help but imagine the wispy borders of calm white summer clouds, the rustle of leaves as wind blows down the Appalachian Mountains. You don’t have to ask him what he’s thinking, what it feels like. You can read it in the startled, firelit wonder on his face.

You taste like the beginning of something, here at the end of the world.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x y/n

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shankss-magnificent-ass · 1 year ago

Text

Imagine Shanks finding out you're a painter

You: *humming along to some music as you apply a fresh coat of paint to the wall of the galley*

Benn and Lucky Roux: *walk in*

Benn: Hey Kid.

You: Hey

Lucky Roux: Did you make sure to use the mold resistant paint?

You: Yes Roux.

Benn: And you applied the sealant before the paint?

You: *nods your head* And the primer, I got this man, thanks for checking in on me.

Benn: Alright then, I'm just gonna open this here winder to get some fresh air in here, so you don't get high off the paint fumes.

You: aww, but that's the best part.

Lucky Roux: *snorts* Let me know when you're done, so I can start dinner. Also, when you are done, you might want to put up a barrier, so none of the others accidentally lean on it.

You: I enjoy seeing them covered in paint. So I think they're gonna be in for a surprise, or at least the boss will be. Because I bet you a thousand berry that he's definitely gonna lean in the paint.

Lucky Roux: I'll take that bet.

Benn: I ain't, because he'll definitely gonna do it.

The next morning

Shanks: *Still annoyed that he got paint in his hair the night before* is this shit finally dry?

Benn: yeah, the kid didn't paint in straight lines though.

Shanks: what! But they're usually so meticulous about doing tasks perfectly.

Benn: it was on purpose too, take a close look.

Shanks: *leans in and glides his fingers across a floral design in the brush strokes* do you think they like painting?

Benn: I believe so, that, or they inhaled too much paint fumes and decided to have fun with it.

Shanks: both are possible... Didn't they repaint the hallway, and bathrooms?

Benn: yeah? They painted patterns there too.

Weeks later

Shanks: Hey (y/n) I got you something! *Presents you with a colorful variety of house paints, and a bunch of supplies*

You: ... Wow, that's a lot of paint, are you wanting me to repaint every room on the ship?

Shanks: no silly, for you to have fun with. We noticed the patterns you painted in the galley and thought you might like more colors.

You: but where would I paint?

Shanks: where ever you'd like.

You: *Kisses him on the cheek, scoops up the supplies, and runs to your room*, Thank you!

Two days later in the galley

You: I finished my room is it okay if I paint this wall now?

Shanks: Go for it.

Benn: *watches you run off* they painted their whole room you know.

Shanks: I saw, I was impressed they managed to paint such steady line work with the ship moving so much.

Benn: I think the little maze design the pained on their door frame was my favorite. Do you think they take requests?

Shanks: I dunno.

You: *pushes the box of supplies onto one of the tables*

Benn: is it okay if I asked you to paint something?

You: sure!

Yassop: Wait, you take requests! I want the pillar in my room painted.

The crew: *crowd around you listing off the things they want painted*

Shanks: Guys, let em breathe for fuck's sake! Make a list so they can start painting.

Lucky Roux: I ain't writing down my request because it's simple, don't paint any more realistic bug on the damn walls. I nearly shit myself when I saw the cockroach you painted in the bathroom, that was not a fun surprise at three in the morning.

You: only termite holes, got it.

Lucky Roux: (y/n) no! No termite holes.

You: fine fine, although the fact that the paint on that cockroach didn't even get to dry before one of y'all smacked it, is hilarious.

Shanks: no more realistic bugs, dear, in fact avoid painting realistic critters all together please.

You: ugh fine.

Shanks: I have a project I'd like you to paint, but I'll need to get you a canvas for it. *Winks at you and wiggles his eyebrows*

Benn: Gross.... if he's getting a nude I want one too.

Shanks: You want my nudes too?

Benn: I want a nude of myself, ding-dong.

List of Up-and-coming works

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#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece imagine #akagami no shanks #red haired shanks #shanks #red hair shanks #shanks x reader #benn beckman #yassop #lucky roux #lucky roo #red hair pirates #red haired pirates #from the depths of the dragon's hoard #tma original #9/23/23 #no beta we die like men

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pedge-page · 7 months ago

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Ahhh asking again!!!! I love and laugh about Joel and Preggo. What if she wants Joel to prepare the nursery? They go to pick out paint ….she says needs to see it in the room, he paints sample areas. ……she picks one, he paints it and then she cries because she hates it and accuses him of doing the wrong color. Please change this prompt anyway and every way! Basically about preparing nursery to her whims. Or he does everything and she has changed her mind.!!!!

Joel Dealing with Preggo Wife - Oh the Colors You'll Choose

Warnings: girlie is up to her usual tactics, slight Jealous!Joel at the end

- - - -

One thing Joel’s really excited about with the baby on the way is getting to design the nursery. Finally having an excuse to throw away your old high school gear you haven’t touched in over a decade, the clothes that had no style in the modern era, collecting dust in bins, all the Christmas gifts you never were going to use just stocked up in the spare bedroom for storage. Now the room was vacant. Tarps and old sheet cover the carpet, walls primed and prepped for the first round of paint.

Joel picks out a nice pink neutral tone, something perfectly lovely for the little girl he’s about to have.

You barely glance at the swatch in his hand, just nodding and waving him off as you lie sprawled eagle in bed, trying your best to cool underneath the high speeding fan.

He’s spent the entire afternoon of your nap getting the room partially painted. The whole time, giddy with the idea that he’s going to be changing diapers in here, reading stories, cradling his baby’s soft small head and walking around the room to get her to sleep—

He finally notices you patting gently into the room, just awoken from your fresh nap. He’s halfway to an excited smile until he sees the absolute wrought look of disappointment all over your face.

"What, what's wrong?"

There’s no hint of happiness or enthusiasm in you. You survey the walls disappointingly, crossing your arms with a disgusted look before walking out without a word.

Joel’s not going to let this room be the thing that upsets you—no you’re going to love it, he’ll be damned sure.

He shows you 5 more colors—all ranging from pinks to purples and—

“Does it have to be pink? Why are we forcing the gender thing on her?”

“I mean, I don’t know. Doesn’t have to be. Thought maybe could be something sweet…” his voice trails off as you make a disgruntled frown.

“We can pick a neutral color if ya want.”

Joel pulls out a few colors he had stored in his bag—some greens and blues, grayish whites and browns.

You make a firm decision on one—the light green forest color. It’s bold, but it seems to make you happy.

Until he starts painting:

“No! No it’s not right.”

Joel sighs. “What’s not right? This is the one you picked!”

You shake your head again. “The light from the window makes it look so bland. It just doesn’t look good.”

“I can’t control the sun…”

“You’re doing it all wrong, Joel.”

He wipes the paint off of his beard. It’s been 2 days of painting now, much longer than he expected.

He lays 5 different colors on the walls in tiny samples; this time you’ll be able to see the one exactly as it will be when he finishes painting.

You walk back and forth, finger pressed to your lip in hard concentration. “Oh! This one!” You exclaim: an orange tan.

“Are you sure?”

You nod.

He starts doing the color, now halfway through the room, fumes suffocating his brain, but now you’re telling him it's just not as pretty as it looked on the swatch.

“Why are you painting the wrong color!”

“It’s the same one!”

“No it’s not!”

You've now moved on to the next color of the rainbow on your hit-list since he somehow fucked orange up. He lays out 10 swatches of blue. All of which look the same to him but none appeal to you.

“Can we just pick one and settle on it? This much paint on the walls aint good. Gonna take forever to get the smell out.”

“Joel, this is going to be our BABY’s FIRST COLOR she'll associate with. It has to be perfect for her! She’ll be stuck with it forever!”

He raises his eyebrow unconvinced.

“…Until I decide to change it again,” you add plainly. “Or until she’s old enough to decide for herself. Do you really want a tween picking out her own bedroom color to haunt us?”

He huffs but agrees.

You are eating a banana just as Joel's finishing laying on the neutral ocean blue throughout the whole room. You had come in twice already but hadn’t made a peep either time, so maybe this one is the one—

"Oh my god!" You exclaim. Joel nearly falls off the latter with worry that the baby somehow just dropped from between your legs until he sees you point to the banana peel excitedly.

His shoulders slouch in a ‘you gotta be kidding me’ sort of way. His back fucking hurts. Hands cramped up. There’s gotta be a permanent strike of white in his hair right now. He drops the paintbrush, splashing it into the now wasted paint can of blue before taking your peel and walking out the room. Of course, its already nighttime, so the hardware store is closed and he’s gotta wait till morning to get the new paint.

The next day, he's rolling on the new yellow.

You wrinkle your nose disgustedly. "Ugh what the fuck is this?"

"It’s the banana!"

"No it's not! This is so much darker!"

"BANANAS GET DARKER EACH DAY. YOU WANTED ME TO MATCH FROM A HALF EATEN PEEL.”

“It sucks. You've put this god awful yellow in my mind now I don't want anything like it.”

You turn around and survey the room, repulsed by its bright wrongness. Joel opens his jaw wide and silently screams into the air, pounding his fist into his head angrily without letting a sound out.

You turn around just as he drops into a neutral, emotionless demeanor.

The lightbulb in his brain flickers on. “You know what? I got an idea."

Joel takes you to the Home Depot.

"Hey Rick,” he says towards the man behind the paint counter.

Rick just chuckles. “Hey Joel, getting another paint? Your wife gonna make me match to the crazy fire in your eyes when you tell her to—“

Joel clears his throat when you waddle quickly to hold his hand like a child eager to stay close to dad in an unfamiliar land. Your mouth agape as you stare up at the ceiling and around all of the endless aisles of lumber and tools. Luckily, you were too stunned to hear Rick’s passing words.

"Why is it so big here?” You ask innocently. “And woodsy. And ... orange."

Joel grabs your hand and plops you in front or the swatches wall.

You gasp, “THERES SO MANY OPTIONS,” eyes sparkling and wide like a child in a candy shop.

"Pick a couple to take home, and then we're getting the paint for it. Ok?"

"How much are they?"

"They're 40 bucks each—“ Joel starts.

But Rick, the ever so helpful manager to anyone but Joel, buds in. “The swatches? You don't gotta pay for them darlin,” he winks.

Joel gives him a dagger look, but you smile so wide and start slipping swatches like they’re on fire.

Joel shakes his head and grabs some more rolls and brushes since his are all worn out. By the time he returns to the swatch wall, all 23 seconds later, you’ve got a giant of colored papers pile barely held in your hands of every single color. “We should check them all!”

He grits his teeth but bares a smile.

Joel tapes every single swatch on the wall at home. You walk and study each one. Holding one eye closed, tilting your head to the side, putting a different color next to it. You couldn’t see him pretending to bang his head against the wall on the other side of the room as you debate for an hour now.

Finally, you stand back and take in the entire multicolored wall. “Oh thats it! It’s all of them! We make it like rainbow ombre in like little squares.”

"I would have to buy a can of every single paint. No. We're not doing that. We said one color only.”

"They can't give you like little cups of each color?"

"No.”

"That's dumb. What a scam!"

You wonder downstairs for more inspiration. Something homely. Something familial yet not too obviously Joel or your own style. You come across an old picture of young Tommy and Joel standing in front of Joel's truck, that had just been passed down by their dad. Their smug grins and messy hair, wrinkled clothes and slung arms around one another make you feel pleasantly at ease. Your baby needs to have that same sense of security, youth, and warmth. You study the photo a bit longer, and then it hits you.

Joel wakes up, and the first thing he subconsciously does every morning is to reach for you on your side of the bed until he’s in contact with your warm body. It puts him at ease, touching you, knowing you’re there and he’s home. The only times you wouldn't be there would be if you were in the bathroom. But as he looks through heavy eyes, the bathroom door is open, dark, unoccupied. He furls his eyebrows back to your cold, empty side of the bed.

The sound of his truck rumbles distantly through the open window, growing closer and squeaking to a hault in the driveway.

He throws the blankets off and rushes down the stairs 2 at a time just to see you hauling a big heavy paint can slung down low with both your hands desperately holding the handle, all by yourself, bloated tummy and all, through the front door.

Barreling to you, he snatches the can from your sore fingers.

“Are you crazy??? You can’t drive! You can't carry heavy shit! What were you doing—“

"Yes I can!” You challenge back. He sets the can on the table with a loud slam just as you drop his keys in the tray. “I’m not completely helpless, Joel! I can get my own pain and drive my own ... your own truck!"

"Yeah? Go paint the room yourself then, if you're so independent."

You scoff, bemused by his suggestion. “I’m not doing that. That's what I have you for.”

He shakes his head and looks at the new can.

“This better be worth it. "

You smile. “It's the one. Trust me."

Joel finishes lying on the paint. It's a breezy, toned down pinkish salmon. Definitely not something that you would have gotten from a swatch. No, you had this one custom matched, and he can't quite put his finger on why it feels so familiar. And gives him little irksome itch too.

He’s about to call you up when he hears Tommy greeting you at the front door.

The two of you make your way up the stairs, Tommy with a muffin shoved half in his mouth. When you round the corner, your husband stands in the middle of the room, awaiting your response.

"Well?" Joel asks curiously.

To his relief, you've got the brightest, sweetest grin plastered all over your face. "It’s perfect. I told you!"

Its worth it--to see the excitement in your face--this is what he was hoping for the whole time. "Thought we weren't doing the gendered color thing?"

you nuzzle yourself under Joel's broad arm. "Well... this one is special."

Tommy nods in agreement "this looks good!" He walks around the room, more so noting Joel's handiwork rather than the choice of paint. It's kind of funny that Tommy almost disappears like camouflage with how closely his favorite shirt matches—

Joel's satisfied grin immediately drops to a shocked frown.

“You made me match our baby girl’s bedroom to Tommy's old ass shirt??"

You nod happily. “Isn't it so good!"

His arms flex angrily across his chest—it’s not good at all. “What’s next, you two havin’ an affair I don't know about,” he accuses between his brother and his wife.

"Joel!”

"Dude!"

"No! We're not painting our daughter’s room after him! This can't be your favorite color! What about every other color we looked at? What about all my shirts?"

Your eyes feel like they’re about to bug out of your sockets for such a ridiculous suggestion. “Plaid????????????" you ask audaciously.

"I got some denim too!"

Just as you two are screaming at one another over who’s shirt to match the room to, Tommy tiptoes backwards out the room quietly while swallowing the rest of his muffin, hoping to snag one more in the kitchen too before dipping.

"...and I'm just to assume our daughter is MINE when you got me painting HIS shirt—“

"I wouldn't be hanging out with your sensitive ass if it WAS his baby, damnit Joel, its just a color, what is WRONG with you—!”

Suddenly, he dips his hand into the bucket and slaps two saturated handprints onto your breasts.

You gasp, backing away. Two Joel-sized hands in pink are wetly printed onto your large t-shirt, your favorite tee, as you stare down in shock. "You. Did. Not.”

Joel shrugs proudly.

You grab the wet brush on the table next to you and slash it across his face before he could stop you.

you try not to laugh, his face dotted in splotches of pink paint dribbling down his whiskers and neck. He rolls his pursed lips before looking at you, a predator smirking at a silly little bunny who’s just been put herself in a trap.

".... This stuff comes off clothes... right..." you ask hesitantly, backing away as he grasps the roller slowly and strides toward you.

You make a run for it, but the big belly doesn’t let you get far as he closes the distance and snatches you. You squeal out, giggling in his arm arms as he rolls and pats paint all over your clothes and body, the two of you getting soaked by the thick pigment. He pulls you around and smashes his lips for a heated kiss. Pink-colored hands rub paint all over your cheeks and chin affectionately. You rub your nose along his bridge, grinning at one another, covered in the glossy acrylic without a care in the world right now.

You peck his lips once more. “It’s a good color on you too, ya know…”

He rolls his eyes. “Tell ya what. We’ll keep the room like this since ya like it so much. And next time I see Tommy, I’m bleaching that shirt. Win-win.”

“Deal.”

- - - -

Taglist

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop

#joel miller fan fiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #last of us fanfiction #joel miller fic #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fluff #tlou fluff #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #the last of us fluff #the last of us fic #last of us fic #Joel dealing with Preggo wife

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sebsbarnes · 10 months ago

Note

hey love, hope u r doing ok ❤️ i wanted to request a tan x reader where she’s interacting with another guy in a mission (in any way you’d like tbh) and tangerine gets SUPER jealous

it’s kinda like “jealousy” that u already wrote but where the reader makes him jealous this time (i’ve been obsessed with the song u belong to me by the weeknd lately and it’s doing things to me 😭)

hiii i hope you are well also and enjoy this! i am a sucker for jealous tropes i cant even lie so this is perfect

seduction || tangerine

tangerine x f!reader

warnings: none i believe, making the other person jealous

word count: 1.8k+

masterlist

"in and out, okay. i don't want to be here longer than we have to be," tangerine grumbled, fixing the cuffs to his dress shirt.

"why? it's my time to play. i'll take as long as i want," you taunted, throwing tangerine a look over your shoulder and you couldn't help but look him up and down.

tangerine narrowed his eyes at you and though you were no longer facing him, you could see him standing behind you in the large mirror, "we don't want our cover to be blown."

you laughed at the statement, "when do we ever get caught."

tangerine left the room huffing under his breath and you observed yourself in the mirror once more before grabbing your purse. realistically you knew you shouldn't spend so much time trying to pry information out of the man who held the information you, tangerine, and lemon needed, but you knew you could flirt it out of him and that would anger tangerine. so, what's the harm, right? call it cruel, or whatever you want, but tangerine would constantly get possessive or angry when you got a bit too close to other men, but tangerine has never once made a move so what right does he have to get angry.

the air in the car ride over to the gala was tense. all lemon could do was give you and tangerine quizzical looks but refused to ask any questions assuming it was one of your stupid banters. the suv came to a stop outside of the beautiful mansion and the three of you slid out of the car. butlers opened the large glass doors and you were met with beautiful piano music, hundreds of people wandering about, and gold everything.

you adjusted the faux fur scarf that was draped over your shoulders, "i'll see you boys later," you winked at lemon and tangerine before sauntering off, heels clicking as you left.

tangerine pinched the bridge of his nose. 'in and out' he kept internally repeating to himself. lemon nodded his head to tangerine and they followed behind you.

you slinked through the crowd heading for the elevated platform where the man garrett was standing chatting to a group of men who were appeasing his ego and laughing at the pitiful jokes he cracked. you sauntered over to the small table that was next to the group of men and slowly leaned down to grab a drink. you made sure your back was slightly arched, hips dangerously high in the air as you refused to break eye contact with the man who noticed you. garrett swished the brown liquor around in his glass clearly intrigued by you. your eyes raked down his body and your painted lips offered him a smirk. before you turned on your heel you flicked your eyes up to the staircase where a fuming tangerine was staring daggers into you. though you couldn't see it from here tangerine was gripping the railing so hard that it shook. satisfied with the attention from both men, you walked away.

"relax mate," lemon laughed noticing the way tangerine's hands turned white. tangerine glanced at his brother before dropping the railing.

"c'mon she's out of sight."

it was merely a minute later when you felt the gentle tap on your shoulder. spinning around you feigned ignorance at the man.

"i don't mean to bother you, but i wanted to let you know i think you are beautiful," garrett spoke, his eyes briefly looking at your chest as you dropped the scarf to your elbows, exposing the skin to him.

you leaned into him a bit and placed a gentle hand on his forearm, "what's your name, handsome?"

"garrett."

you brought the martini glass to your mouth, your tongue swiping across your bottom lip to remove the drop of vodka.

"garrett," you drawled, "how about we dance?"

tangerine watched from a distance as the man guided you toward the edge of the dance floor. his arms hooked themselves tightly onto your waist and you situated yourself on his shoulders. tangerine's eye twitched as he watched your fingers play with the man's curly hair at the base of his neck. that should be me. he watched the two of you sway back and forth and the deeper you got into conversation, garrett's hand inched its way lower and lower on your back. tangerine felt bile rise up into his throat.

you were working info out of garrett about his uncle and though he seemed like a bit of a fool he wasn't falling into your seduction too easily. he was giving only tidbits of information out at a time and you were internally yelling at the man, begging him to just give it all up so you can stop caressing his body. you threw your head backwards in laughter at some lame joke he made and toyed with the buttons on his open shirt.

"if i laugh anymore i may pop out of this dress," you joked, playfully tapping fake tears off your face.

the emotion in his eyes changed, "that wouldn't be a bad thing now would it, love?"

the way he said love made you cringe. it was forceful and unnatural, much different from the way it would roll off tangerine's tongue. you tried to suppress the grimace on your face and opted to run a finger down his chest and stomach until you hooked it around his belt loop.

you leaned forward to his ear, lips grazing his skin, "there's nothing under this dress."

garrett gripped you tight so your bodies were flushed together. you did everything in your power to not squirm when you felt his fingernails in your skin and the low growl deep in his throat.

"my uncle's room is right down the hall behind me," he breathed into your neck. your eyes flickered to the hallway and you noticed tangerine standing against the wall with a careful eye.

"it would be rude of us to dirty up his room while he's here," you whispered back with hooded eyes.

"he isn't here. he'd never know." the desperate man before you pressed.

"i don't think they'd be able to clean the mess we'd make before he came back," your lips were centimeters away from his.

he brought his hand from your waist to your hair and roughly tugged at it causing your head to jerk upwards, "he's away in the states. at some banquet in new york city at the ritz. he's not coming back for two weeks."

ah, he made it too easy for you. you pondered if you should entertain him and follow him to the bedroom and see if you could pry more info out of him, but this is what you needed and truth be told you wanted to be out of his grip. though you hummed in content and turned your face to press a kiss to his jaw. in your peripheral you saw movement, it was tangerine glaring you down. the look on his face was one you didn't recognize. it was a concoction of emotions but the more evident one was disappointment.

"i need air," tangerine gasped to lemon who had just stood beside the man. you watched as tangerine hurried his way through the crowd and out the door to the balcony. the features on your face pulled together in confusion till you realized you were still wrapped in garrett's arms.

"i'll meet you there in fifteen minutes," you whispered seductively trailing your finger across his bottom lip. garrett didn't move after you retreated away from the dance floor and to the balcony.

tangerine was leaning over the cement railing looking into the garden. his back was rising and falling rapidly, the fabric of his suit slightly constricting the movement. tangerine could hear the clicks of your heels approaching but didn't turn to face you.

you hesitated before speaking, sensing he wasn't in a good mood, "i... i got the information we needed. we can uh- leave now."

he didn't respond so you carefully placed your palm on his back and ran it down his spine. he jerked upright and ignored the sensation your hand on his body produced. he stared you down and you felt so small under his gaze. it was intense and unwavering and his eyes seemed so blue right now.

"what's wrong," you asked in a small voice, crossing your arms tighter under your chest.

he let out a laugh in disbelief, "oh! i don't know darlin' how about your lil performance out there."

"like you haven't done the same or worse, tangerine. besides, i got what we needed," you hissed. your words so venomous you could feel it burning at your tongue. all he did was roll his eyes and start to walk back inside the mansion. you gripped his wrist, yanking him to face you.

"you don't walk away from me."

your brain couldn't work fast enough to catch up with the fact tangerine's mouth was now on yours. the way his lips pressed against yours felt so foreign yet it worked, like his lips should've been kissing you every day and every night and they should never leave until the last shred of air burned at your lungs. and that's what was happening as the sun in the horizon glowed orange onto your skin. tangerine kissed you like it was his final act on this earth. his one hand was flat against your spine bringing your body as close as humanly possible to him with his other hand cupping your cheek. you were gripping his black suit jacket with such vigor your fingers almost poked holes into the fabric.

not a care in the world as your lips interlocked with each other, tongues occasionally escaping their way into the other's mouth. exasperated breaths could be heard from the brief seconds you allowed yourself to part before reconnecting with clashing teeth. the lipstick on your lips had now painted a picture on tangerine's face but you loved it and if you had it your way you'd force him to walk back into the house covered in your mark.

you and tangerine finally re-entered reality to a now dark sky. the kiss happened in slow motion but the sky around you spoke otherwise. with one final kiss tangerine gently bit at your bottom lip and ran his fingers through your hair.

"i'm tired of pretending that i don't like you," he murmured, placing his forehead against your own.

"why does it take me talking to another guy for you to finally confess," you asked genuinely curious.

"'cause i'm a fuckin' idiot, love. it shouldn't take that. i should've told you a long time ago but tonight. seeing- seeing that man touch you," tangerine fumed, his nostrils flaring, "i couldn't take it."

you sighed softly and said, "i'm not innocent in this either, i try and make you jealous on purpose."

tangerine gave you a soft smile and pressed a kiss to your cheek. he didn't care that you did it on purpose. deep down he kind of loved it but he was wrong for being angry at you.

"oh. we should probably leave. garrett has been waiting, i'm sure naked, in his uncle's bed," you laughed, hooking your arm to tangerine's.

"should we kick him out?" tangerine winked.

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fried-pistachio · 2 months ago

Text

Perspective in photos is key

LIKE WHATTT???????

Istg im tweakin

#photography #my photos #bruh #like wtf #???#I wish I had weed #i was bored ok #and high off paint fumes

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brf-rumortrackinganon · 2 months ago

Text

Archived Link

Some things to point out before we get into some quotes:

WME isn't doing a single thing to bury this or distract from it. Usually if there's an article that does not paint a WME client in good light, WME will bury it or Ari himself may try to influence an editor to take it down. The article is still up. 👀

The article reports that Meghan has lately been on a "chapter of joy." This is nothing more than Meghan capitalizing on the Harris-Walz presidential campaign strategy for joy.

It was absolutely intentional to release this story when they did. I suspect that the reason the Sussexes are being so heavy-handed in Harry's birthday PR (see here for the tally) is to try to bury this.

American staffers are now talking...and that ain't good at all.

Now some qoutes:

Sources tell Rambling Reporter that Morgan stopped repping them around 2020, because the Sussexes stopped paying Sunshine Sachs for its services, though the PR firm denies that was the case.

and

“Everyone’s terrified of Meghan,” claims a source close to the couple. “She belittles people, she doesn’t take advice. They’re both poor decision-makers, they change their minds frequently. Harry is a very, very charming person — no airs at all — but he’s very much an enabler. And she’s just terrible.”

and

But some of the couple’s stateside staff-members also reserve special bile for Markle, whose reported penchant for noisy tantrums and angry 5 a.m. emails has earned her the in-house moniker ‘Duchess Difficult.’ “She’s absolutely relentless,” says one source. “She marches around like a dictator in high heels, fuming and barking orders. I’ve watched her reduce grown men to tears.” Their unsparing portrait of her is in marked contrast with the kinder, gentler image Markle has been painting of herself.

#sussexes #staff woes

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loveshotzz · 2 years ago

Note

Strange Love with Rockstar! Eddie or Punk!Steve!

reader has a love/hate relationship with him. total enemies to lovers type trope. reader is caught hate fucking one of them in a car or bathroom and when asked about it she simply says the iconic line “I don’t have to fucking tell you anything”

Rockstar Eddie x fem!rockstar reader

summary: You and Eddie seem to hate each other, so why can’t you keep your hands to yourself?

warnings: 18 + ! cocky eddie, mean reader, switch eddie and switch reader, oral (m receiving), unprotected p in v sex (wrap it up!), cream pie, semi public sex.

word count: 3.3k

A/N: another blurb (aka one shot 🙄) for my follower celebration and to break steve streak with some eddie! I hope you enjoy. Comments, likes, and reblogs are always super appreciated if you enjoy 💕

“Jesus Christ how have you not sucked that fucking thing to the center yet?!” Throwing his notebook down on the table his clipped tone breaks you out of your pre-show warm up.

Twirling one of your drumsticks in between your fingers with ease, you bring your attention to the fuming metal head making sure to slurp down the sugary build up in your mouth as loud as you can.

“Jealous I’m not sucking something else Munson?” Pulling the remains of the lollipop out of your mouth you watch his eyes follow the string of spit that connects to your red tinted lips. Batting your eyelashes at him, you smirk at the eye roll it earns you.

“In your fucking dreams.” He growls but you know damn well that’s exactly what he wants.

Barry and Jeff’s eyes widen from across the room, knowing exactly where this was headed. Gareth had handed over his drumsticks to you temporarily while he nursed a broken wrist, and despite Eddie’s protest here you were.

It always started this way, bickering before every show throwing insults at each other desperate to bruise the others' ego before hitting the stage. Creating a tension so thick it could only ever end one way once the adrenaline started coursing through your veins.

With purple and green bruises painted across your kneecaps and a slight limp in your walk from the last time you ran your mouth, you were ready to take no prisoners tonight. Especially when he stepped off the stage looking like that.

His tattooed skin glowed with a sheen of sweat under the lights in the back, his sleeveless white Iron Maiden shirt clung to what seemed like every muscle flexing underneath. Your eyes following the salty droplets falling from his bangs, you hate that you want to catch them with your tongue.

“You were off on the count down tonight.” Eddie’s critique sends rage down your spine as he brushes past you to high five Jeff. The temporary haze his body had you in quickly fading.

“I wasn’t off on dick, you came in too early.” Quick to snap back, you try to ignore the bulge growing in his pants. He was picking a fight on purpose. The menacing glint in his chocolate eyes gave himself away the moment they connected with yours.

“Sweetheart, I think you and I both know I don’t come early.” The cocky grin that spreads big across his face makes your hands twitch, fingers wrapping tightly around your drum sticks you will yourself not to chuck one at him. His face starting to look more and more like an easy shot when he throws you a wink.

Snorting loudly, you don’t give him the satisfaction. Your reaction only making it worse, as he narrows his eyes at you, shooting daggers at your knowing smirk. Insulting his sexual performance in front of his friends was always the quickest way to get under his skin.

“No shame in coming early Eddie, at least one of us gets too.” Your eyes catch the women’s restroom as you near the end of the hall. Flipping him the double bird, you push the bathroom door open with your back making sure to throw him the nastiest look you could muster before disappearing from his view. The boys “ohhh’s” filling your chest with pride at your victory.

Taking a shaking breath, you curse the amount of slick already ruining your underwear. Thighs pressing together in search for friction when you think about the way you just made his jaw clench. Thankful that the two stalls in the bathroom were empty, you set your drum sticks down on top of the soap dispenser before running a stream of cold water for yourself. Splashing some against your chest and neck it’s almost enough to calm the fire Eddie set ablaze inside of you.

The loud creak of the door opening snaps your head up, eyes watching from the mirror the sound of the lock clicking into place is followed by heavy footsteps. His heavy footsteps.

Rounding the corner Eddie Munson looked like he wanted to eat you alive.

“Real funny joke back there.” Big black boots stopping a few feet away from you, he crosses his arms over his chest before leaning against the wall. “Like I don’t make you cum screaming my name every other night.”

“Oh fuck off.” Rolling your eyes at him through the reflection you shut the water off, turning around to face him you make sure to mimic his stance pushing up your tits in the process. Plush lips twitching, he was onto you.

“I think you love saying my name actually.” Tapping a ringed finger on his full lower lip he pushes himself off the wall. Long legs making it easy to close the little space that was between you. The tobacco, weed, and sweat that dripped from his pores only added to your mess.

Crowding your space, he cages you in with both hands gripping the sink behind you. Ducking his head down till his lips brush against the shell of your ear, you can’t stop the shudder that runs through your body when you feel him smile against it before continuing.

“I think you dream about all the different ways I make you say my name, I know I dream about all those pretty little noises that I get from you.” Nipping at your ear lobe, his new sweetness has your resolve starting to break already as your arms start to come undone. Hands finding a new home on the button of his jeans.

“But then you start actually talking and my dick goes soft.” Dimples poking through his cheeks he pulls back to catch your reaction, more than proud of himself for thinking he got the upper hand. He’d almost gotten you to fold already.

The sting of his words sink in at the same time you feel his growing erection press against the top of your thigh. Meeting his gaze, the smug look on his face quickly turns into confusion when you give him a Cheshire smile.

“This doesn’t feel very soft to me baby.” Cupping his junk he hisses when you give it a good squeeze, feeling it twitch under his zipper you knew he was lying through his teeth.

His hands leave their place on the sink to grab at your hips, bruising fingers digging into your soft flesh adding to the almond shaped clusters already there from the nights before. Regaining control you continue to palm him, his heavy breathing becoming music to your ears. Reaching up on your tippy toes it's your turn to press your lips to his ear, relishing in the way you make him shudder just the same.

“You know what I think Eddie?” Nudging your nose into the dampness of his curls you suck his earlobe in your mouth, hollowing out your cheeks till he moans. His grip on you almost becomes painful.

Releasing it with a pop your fingers work at the button of his jeans stopping at the zipper when you don’t get an answer.

“I think the only reason you didn’t want me covering for Gareth is because of how bad you wanted to fuck me and you didn’t think I’d feel the same.” You’re not gentle when you pull the zipper down, almost feeling bad when Eddie sinks his teeth into the crook of your neck to hide the broken groan.

Stuffing your hand down his pants you’re quickly met with the stickiness of his precum that already covered the inside of his boxers. Smirking against his ear he wasn’t so tough hunched over you like this. Completely at the mercy of your hand as it wraps around the thick base of his shaft pulling him free from his confines with a quick pump.

“And now that I’ve fucked you.” Eddie’s blown out eyes watch you spit in your hand before wrapping it around his length again. Gliding across him with ease his hips meet your pump when your thumb swipes over his leaking tip. “You don’t know how to handle it cause you want me to be yours huh?”

Stroking him with purpose all you get is a nod a low whimper. Biting your lip you suppress your own moan seeing him like this.

Sinking down, your fishnet covered knees hit the ground in front of him. Ringed hands finding their way back to the sink as he looks down at you from between his arms. The warm chestnut in his eyes turned onyx, you had all the control right now.

Making a show of stroking his length with both hands, you look up at him from underneath the hood of your lashes making sure his eyes are on you before you take him in your eager mouth. You were gonna make him eat his words from earlier just for fun.

Flattening your tongue you lick a long stripe up the side humming in satisfaction when he twitches in your hand. Taking his tip between your lips, your tongue is greedy to lap up the pearly white liquid leaking from the top. Eyes rolling in the back of your head when the saltiness of it hits your taste buds, you take as much of him as you can into the heat of your mouth without warning.

“Holy fucking shit.” Moaning loud enough to echo off the walls, his hands grip the sink is tight enough to see the milk of his knuckles.

Your hands hold the back of his thighs pulling him closer, relaxing enough to take him till tears threaten to spill from the corners of your eyes. You hollow out your cheeks till his ruddy tip hits the back of your throat, his coarse pubic hairs brush against the tip of of your nose. Vision going white behind closed eyes. His brain short circuits under the quick work of your mouth, unable to even register what’s happening till the heaviness in his balls warn him of his impending release.

“Wait - shit - fuck - you’re - you’re trying to make me cum aren’t you?” Your taunting words from earlier ring loud in his head, he knew this was too good to be true.

Humming in response the vibration is almost enough to have him shooting down your throat. Mustering enough strength to regain control, he tries to pull away from you but your grip on his thighs only tightens, relaxing your throat even more.

Groaning when you take him even deeper than before you hear the metal of his rings clank loudly against the porcelain of the sink, holding it hard enough to break as he tries to fight off his orgasm.

“You’re done.” His tone is final when his fingers tangle themselves in your hair, pulling he rips you away from him with enough force for him to fall from your mouth with a slick pop.

Chest heaving as he tries to regain his breath, he looks like a man driven insane when the blacks of his eyes look down at you on your knees. Lips red and swollen from sucking his cock like your life depended on it, he would never get sick of seeing you like this.

“Now stand up and bend over the sink for me like I know you want to.” Voice dripping with want, your underwear was becoming almost uncomfortable from soaking through them all night.

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you use his hips as leverage to pull yourself up letting the length of your body rub against his painfully hard erection in the process. Hissing with the extra sensitivity he grips your cheeks with one hand when you're finally back on your feet.

“I’m not cumming quick and you’re gonna cum first. You got that?” Nodding between his fingers, his lips turn up in the same cocky grin from before knowing he finally had you where he wanted you. He always knew when your eyes glazed over like this.

Pressing a chaste kiss to your lips he nudges your nose with his before whispering “Turn around.”

Following his instructions you face towards the mirror again, your hands finding purchase on the sink where his just were. Leaning forward to give him the access he wanted, your eyes meet your own in the reflection. The person staring back to you is almost unrecognizable. A needy tear streaked mess you watch him flip your skirt up over your hips, his eyes darkening even more when he sees the insides of your thighs coated with your own arousal.

“Always so fucking wet for me.” The strain in his voice didn’t go unnoticed, but you were too needy to be an asshole now. Wiggling your hips to taunt him, you look back over your shoulder. Blown out eyes meeting yours the expression on his face is enough to have you flutter around nothing.

His big hands grab at the doughy flesh of your ass. Watching the way it jiggles when he smacks it, the sting of his rings going straight to your cunt. FIngers curling around the tops of your tights he pulls them down with your underwear to your ankles. The cool air of the bathroom making you shiver when it hits your soaked folds, your body begging for more.

Running two fingers through your slit, he rubs a few small circles with pointed pressure to your bundle of nerves before collecting more of your slick to use as lube. The squelching noises at just his small touches has your cheeks burning hot, your body betraying your cocky words from before.

Coating himself enough to slide in easily, you feel his mushroom top spread through your folds. Rubbing himself down the length of you he chuckles darkly when you chase more with your hips.

“God, you’re gonna take me so well baby. You’re already such a mess.” Pressing himself to your entrance, you brace yourself tighter against the sink preparing for the stretch. You always had to get used to the feeling of him splitting you in two.

Nodding dumbly your neck goes slack when you feel him finally push himself in, walls stinging as he slowly makes himself fit.

“She’s sucking me in so good, so fucking tight. This all mine? Tell me it’s mine.” Pussy drunk already, Eddie didn’t care to put on his usual front anymore. You felt like heaven around his dick and he wanted you for himself.

He doesn’t give you enough time to answer or adjust before he pulls himself almost all the way out before abruptly shoving himself back in. The burn of his harsh thrusts making you cry out in a mixture of pleasure and pain, the pleasure slowly becoming more prominent when he starts hitting your g spot with every deep stroke.

His hands grip your hips to keep you close, the sound of skin against skin filling the empty stalls as he keeps up with his punishing pace.

“I asked who’s pussy this is baby.” One hand snaking between your jiggling thighs, two fingers quickly find your more than needy clit. Rubbing harsh figure eights he bends over so his chest presses against your back, somehow pushing himself even deeper. You swear you can feel him in your stomach like this.

“Answer me.”

Jaw slack and eyes scrunched close, the familiar tightness in your gut is getting closer and closer to letting go. Stopping the motion of his hips when you don’t give him what he wants, your eyes snap open as a strangled whine leaves your throat.

“I’ll give you what you want princess just tell me who your cunt belongs to.” his tone is full with dominance when he whispers in your ear, you muster enough brain power to find your voice.

“Yours.” Barely above a whisper when it leaves your mouth, he adds pressure to your bundle of nerves but just enough to tease.

“Louder.” Pressing his hips deeper into you, it’s enough to have you claw at the sink.

“YOURS” Too desperate to care about how he was going to hold this moment over your head, the need to cum was becoming overpowering after the day of relentless teasing. This is how it always was, the dynamic switching almost every time.

“Good. Fucking. Girl.” Each word coming out with a punch of his hips, his fingers make quick work against your clit obsessed with the way it makes your eyes roll in the back of your head.

Being able to watch your face from the reflection of the mirror while he railed you from behind with everything he had only made it that much harder not to spill deep inside your velvet walls. Fingers working overtime on your swollen nub, the furrow of your brows and the way you start to tighten around him tells him all he needs to know.

“Come on baby, make a mess of me.” His thrusts became more deliberate in your undoing, each one hitting deeper than the last.

“God - Eddie!” It’s overwhelming when it hits you, seeing stars behind your closed eyes as your walls constrict tight enough to earn a loud drawn out ‘fuck’ as your release washes over him.

“That’s it, that’s fucking it.” The blunt ends of his nails dig into the soft bruised skin of your hips as you feel him twitch inside of you.

Warmth filling your belly as he paints your insides white, you’re left a panting mess while he shudders on top of you. His orgasm hitting him in waves with the way your walls continue to milk him long after yours is done.

Keeping himself inside till he’s soft enough to slip out on his own, your soft moans fill the quiet at the loss of contact. The fullness that had you a trembling mess was replaced with that familiar dull throb of the after effects.

“You gonna be nice to me now or what Munson?” Putting himself away his eyes meet yours in the mirror. Their soft brown returned to their normal warm state, catching the beginnings of a small smile playing across his lips, his cheeks flush crimson.

“Depends on if you’re gonna be nice to me.”

Pulling your tights and underwear back up, the fact that you were keeping his seed inside like it was normal had his cock almost kick up again. You made him insatiable.

“I think I’ve proven to be very nice.” Biting your lip into a smile you lean back against the sink batting your eyelashes at him for good measure, your flirting only making him blush harder despite everything.

“I think we can work something out, who knows I might not even want Gareth back at the end of this.” The laugh he earns quickly becomes his new favorite sound.

Slinging his arm around you, he pulls you deep into his side before both of you make your exit out of the bathroom together. The boys all waiting around the hallway with knowing looks all over their faces. Taking in your more than chummy body language Barry’s the first to speak up.

“So does this mean you two are together or something?”

Jeff refuses to look you in the eyes, making it more than obvious they had gotten a little show, neither one of you really trying to be quiet.

“We don’t have to fucking tell you.” Eddie snaps scared that their questions will sabotage what he just got.

“Calm down man.” Raising his hands in defense Barry backs off “Just trying not to get whiplash with this sudden change of heart.”

Squeezing your shoulders tighter you reach up on your tippy toes to press a kiss to his cheek earning a unified groan from everyone, and a satisfied hum from the one that’s still dripping down your thighs.

——-

eddie tag list: @munsonology @munsonmunster @bimbobaggins69 @elthreetimes

#leighanne’s follower celebration #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x fem!reader #rockstar!eddie #eddie munson x you

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thatsatricky1 · 19 days ago

Text

𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 | 𝐳.𝐜𝐥

“Chenle your end is near.” Y/n gritted out through clenched teeth furiously scrubbing her hands in the bathroom sink.

“My stylist specifically bought non staining body paint Y/n.” Chenle’s voice came muffled through the closed bathroom door, no doubt with his face squished against the door as if it would help.

“Yeah? Did she happen to also test it out beforehand?” Her question was met with silence.

Chenle had rushed his makeup artist to find the paint since the party had been only a week away back then. They had in fact not tested it beforehand and if he recalled it right it was the same brand they’d used on Renjun, Jisung, Jeno and himself which had not come off well.

“We could try using nail polish remover?” Chenle suggested through the door.

“You do realise that amount of nail polish remover would make us high off the fumes right?” Y/n retorted all the while Chenle heard the sink still on full blast.

“Alright you got me there, open up, two pairs of hands are better than one.” Chenle offered. At the moment he wasn’t feeling too good about this outcome but he knew they’d both laugh about it later.

Chenle half expected her to just dish out another anger induced insult but Y/n was unlocking and swinging the door open seconds later, hands clearly still stained blue with light blue drops of water dripping down.

“Oh shit.” He winced out now realising why she’d be so mad.

“Not helping.”

After a whole fifteen minutes Chenle had managed to remove a bit of the staining on her hands with the effort of a lot of lavender scented soap. Chenle moving to slather more soap on his hands moving toward her face.

”Uh no.” Y/n cut off his actions, shoving his hands away.

“So you want to be like violet from Willy Wonka that bad?” Chenle asked out unhelpfully.

“No I’m just gonna shower instead, it’ll be easier to do it all in one.”

“Why didn’t you think of that to begin with?” His next question was met with a blank look.

“Why didn’t you get me proper non-stainable body paint to begin with?” Y/n shot back before getting up from where they’d been leaning over the bathroom sink. The white porcelain now splodged in blue.

“You’re gonna have to let that go.” He groaned out.

“Oh I will, but only when the blue fades.” Her words only caused his eyes to squeeze shut since it had taken a good couple of days for them to get the blue of their skin after the whole Smurf fiasco years ago.

“I think I might actually break something soon.” Y/n sighed out trying not to freak out when the zip on her dress wouldn’t go down, not sure if it was just the frustration or a bit of the alcohol they’d consumed during the party.

“As funny as it would be seeing a blue stained you smashing shit I’d prefer it not being my stuff.” Chenle answered back, moving closer.

“Help?” Chenle asked out without context knowing she knew what he meant.

Chenle only moved to grab the zip after seeing her nod from behind. It was already a bit open but had caught against fabric so he had to pry the material out from under the zip first beforehand.

“This is not what I expected to be doing after the annual Halloween party.” Y/n grumbled out as Chenle unzipped the back of her dress.

“What, you mean you don’t enjoy being a Smurf 2.0 while fighting with your dress around 11pm at night on the 31st of October with a guy dressed in an oversized suit?” Chenle practically snorted out.

“Next time I want to dress up as an introvert, and take my role seriously by staying at home and being a no show.” Y/n replied done with the day not caring Chenle was in the room as she slipped the dress off.

“You did your whole body!?” Chenle exclaimed, noticing the blue everywhere.

“Wow Lele, I was expecting a different kind of comment coming from you seeing me in my underwear but yeah, your stylist helped me paint myself so there’s that.”

“Well I’m not complaining about the view but that’s gonna take you at least two hours in the shower.”

“Not my water bill.” Y/n shrugged, moving over to the shower.

Chenle knew this could screw up everything, but then again she’d literally undressed in front of him. If not he could pass it off as a joke.

“Remember how I said two sets of hands are better than one?” Chenle suggested, following towards the shower.

“Your game is weak, but grab a loofa or something.” Y/n agreed amused.

“Should I grab the blue one?”

The only response he got was a bar of soap flung at him.

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @rotinyzen @wonyoungmywife @snflwrhaerecs4u @thegreenlynx @serinebsblog @delululi @molensworld @morkiee @marvelahsobx @kaciebello @kgneptun @bluedbliss @haechansbbg @officiallyjaehyuns @bunnychui @audreybub

(This Taglist is used for all my nct context so if you’d like to be tagged in my nct content please comment or write to me to be added)

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: Tbh honest talking from experience blue body paint is hella hard to get off when it’s not a good brand, but PINK is so much worse 😭 I spent days looking like I was recovering from a nasty sunburn.

𝐁𝐨𝐨 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐰:

Tap

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭:

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austinbutlerslovers · 9 months ago

Note

Can we get a teaser of the feyd fic

It is almost complete, minor details are subject to change. Here is the scene mentioned in the summary:

Feyd Fantasy Part II <Excerpt>

The Barons Favorite

The Baron speaks with his advisors in the morning about the upcoming gladiatorial fights around the massive table in the meeting hall. When the assembly concludes he uses his hover suit to bring the men of court to watch Feyd in combat training.

Part Two Complete✍🏼

He is proud of the accomplishments of his nephew Feyd, he is the Barons favorite over his older brother Glossu Rabban Harkonnen.

After making several public embarrassments to the family name the Baron had Feyds brother Rabban shipped to Arrakis. He gives him one last chance to prove his worth controlling their families most lucrative venture, harvesting spice.

Though ominous and foreboding the Baron is an obesely over weight man. He can no longer walk without the assistance of integrated technology to reduce the burden of his weight. His hover suit is implanted into his spine with thick tubes connected on two small orbs. The orbs float behind him carrying the chemicals which enable him to defy gravity.

They arrive to the second story of the courtyard in Feyds quarters. When the men gather looking down into the training pit on the first floor it is deserted. A low murmur begins between his advisors as to the where abouts of Feyd. Always eager to show off his knife skills Feyds absence is jarring.

The Baron immediately hovers to Feyds chambers and finds them empty as well. Feyds male Page appears at the entrance hearing the commotion.

“Well where is he?” The Baron snaps “You are to be at his side at all times have you forgotten your purpose”The Baron is fuming at the Pages insolence.

The Page trembles knowing the truth and averts his eyes from the Barons sinister Gaze “Spit it out or I cut it out” the Baron says coldly. He hovers into the young man’s personal space. The Page knows both men will readily slit his throat.

He divulges enough not to be dispatched by either “He and his lady are in the great halls of the fortress. I’m not sure where but he wanted to show her the grandeur of Geidi Prime” the Baron squints in anger how idiotic at a time like this with so much at stake to impress his new bride. His scowl deepens because Feyd above all neglected his training. For that he will be heavily punished.

The Great Meeting Hall

After touring your fifth great hall with Feyd it is readily apparent his family has amassed a great fortune with power and control over the populous of Geidi Prime.

He pushes open the large black inscribed doors of the meeting hall. There are thrones at opposite ends raised on platforms with stairs. The high floor to ceiling windows display the industrial city scape and a grand table that can seat fifty people occupies the majority of the floor space. Everything is void of color, only stone marble, black and granite can be seen in the gigantic area.

You walk over to the throne on your left “is this one yours?” Your voice echos in the large hall. Feyd nods, his hands are clasped behind his back. He follows you around the room as you study the furniture and the giant painting of his uncle and then of himself. There is a portait of a third Harkonnen male next to Feyds but he interrupts your thoughts before you can ask the identity.

“This is where the most important decisions are made on Geidi Prime, as well as another secret room with the cones of silence” he adds.

“What are cones of silence? “ you ask. The words are somewhat familiar to you.

“They are able to mute all sounds around them, only the two inside can hear each other.” He answers as he imagines himself fucking you inside of one until he makes you scream in pleasure as loud as he possibly can. He stops walking and stands behind you.

You've paused to study something that caught your eye. His eyes wander your form up to the beauty of your side profile. He can’t help himself as his hand trails down your shoulder. “Do these things in impress you?” He asks. You finally look over your shoulder at him.

You had been mesmerized studying an ancient Harkonnen sword on display. It is carved with hieroglyphs that date back centuries. It represents how his entire culture revolves around war and greed . “Yes ” you say addressing his question to be kind. You turn back to looking at the sword again. Inside you are deeply longing for your home world.

You remember the beautiful gardens, waterfalls, flowers, and colors of life. You especially miss the large atrium where you would read for hours basking in the afternoon sunlight. The warm rays would kiss your skin as it filtered through the glass dome.

Laying on a spacious out door ottoman with your fellow Bene Gesserit sisters honing your skills in the palatial gardens seemed like a dream now.

Feyd sees you lost deep in thought and softly grabs your chin “What would impress you more” he asks with intent. He knows you aren’t fond of the ways on Geidi Prime. You don’t have an answer so you remain quiet.

He knows one thing he has that impresses you on end. He gently pulls you into a kiss. His bottom lip rubs softly with yours as his warm tongue fills your mouth.

He ignites your passions and you place your hands on his jaw. You lean your head with his as you kiss him in return. You want to focus on the carnal and forget your distant memories. He presses himself against you and the heat of his body claims you.

He turns you walking back as he kisses your lips until you are met against the grand meeting hall table. He sits on the edge and moves to the center. He rests back on his heels beckoning you to come.

You climb onto the edge and crawl to him. Now both in the center he holds your jaw and pulls you close. His lips find yours again hungrier than before.

You feel his teeth bite into your lower lip and tug. It arouses you and he releases your lip to do again. Then he envelops his mouth completely onto yours. You feel the hardness of his cock as he presses it into your thigh.

He wants to defile you on this table. He smirks at the high disrespect to the Harkonnen dynasty he is about to commit. Soon this will all belong to him so what does it matter. He pushes you back to lie flat against the stone slab. You gaze up above him to the metallic barbs of the chandelier until his face obstructs your view.

His hands start at your knees grabbing the hem of your gown sliding it up to your hips.

His hands clutch one side of your panties tearing them apart making you gasp. He tears the other side and rips them clean from your body.

You watch as he sits back on his heels between your parted legs. He unhooks the clasp of his pants and pulls his thick veiny cock out. The contrast of the black fabric against his large hardened pale cock is striking.

His slaps his pink tip on your clit to edge you.

You flinch at each tap as it makes your bundle of nerves jump. He slides his hand down your thigh to meet your hip and holds you steady. He lines himself up and thrusts into you so roughly you have no time to adjust to the feeling.

Your vision goes hazy as your back arcs from the table. His penetration shocked you senseless. His large cock expands parts of you that you never knew existed. He watches how your face changes from pain to pleasure and back again as you try and relax around the girth of his size.

He wants to spur you on and leans down pressing his chest to yours. He wraps his hand around the back of your neck titling your head so he can speak softly into your ear.

”You are so beautiful to me” he says as his eyes study your side profile. He traces his thumb on your lower lip as you pant for him. “So desperate for my cock, the way you’d let me fuck you on this table you’d let me do anything to you” a moan escapes your lips as he shushes you “Just lay still and look pretty while I fuck you until you stretch open for me” you moan louder at his words.

He begins to roughly thrust inside of you like he wants to posses you. His cock hits your core at a dangerous pace. Your breasts bounce with every push of his hips. He is already becoming lost in pleasure grunting above you. He loves the feeling of your tight cunt stretching around his throbbing cock.

You arc your back down flat to brace yourself against his rutting. “You…feel too good on my cock” he rasps out as he finally hits the thrust that stretches you around his size. He stares down into your eyes completely transfixed by the physical connection between your bodies.

Unbeknownst to you both the Baron has finally narrowed his search. After spying into several halls down the corridor his servants waves him over finally finding the one you are in. The Baron peeks through the discreet opening made by one of the nimble servants. There on the middle of the table in the grand meeting hall he sees Feyd fucking you ruthlessly.

Your are constantly being pounded into the stone slab table by his strength. His hips begin slapping harder against you as he thrust between your legs. You hold out until the familiar tightening in your abdomen begins. Your moans start to fill the air.

As your walls clench around him it makes his cock feel incredible inside of you. Your eyes stare up at him, pleading and begging for release.

He sees the neediness in your eyes and brings his hand between your bodies touching your clit. His finger tips are wet by your arousal and he slicks them expertly in firm circles around your bundle of nerves.

It sends shocks though your core that radiate your entire body “YES please Feyd just like that“. You are unable to string together another sentence as you orgasm. He strums your clit as hard as he can with his cock slamming into your soaked pussy.

His mouth opens when he feels the pleasurable sensation of your walls milking his cock from the orgasm. He pins your wrists next to your head and plows into you even harder his release is immediate. His pace falters as he orgasms. You both moan as he paints rope after rope of his hot cum into your cervix.

He rests down on his elbows laying his full weight on you panting. He kisses your lips passionately with his final slow thrusts. His breath shudders into your mouth as he feels his cock empty inside of you.

He plants soft kisses around your face as he comes down. Each one more tender and loving than the last. His heart feels revived when he’s with you. He cradles your head in his hands staring deeply into your eyes. You smile at him and he smiles back, this time it isn’t like his sinister ones before, this one is radiant you see the kindness return in his eyes.

His uncle spying on the entire moment becomes enraged : not at the fact Feyd missed training, not at the fact he satisfied his carnal urges on the sacred meeting hall table, but at the fact Feyd put a woman’s pleasure before his own. The Baron turns away in disgust his patience is severed.

He raised Feyd with enough brutality and greed to become a ruthless tyrant. Now he sees every aspect of brutally he instilled in Feyd quickly being stripped away by a female. He never thought this was possible.

He is resolute in his decision to regain control. He will take out two problems with one swift action: Punishing Feyd by having you removed from his presence entirely.

[Sneak Peek: Full fic in finalization]

.⚔️ Fic Tag list: @burnthheparaphilia @elvismylove04 @lindszeppelin @obsessedvibee @abswifey @austiebuttbutt @jessica987 @oh-my-front-door @slowsweetlove @purejasmine @hardcoredisneynerd @i5uckersblog @phil2135561 @lovereadingfanfic @steph-speaks @maloribarnes1999 @meetmeatyourworst @moony-artemis @xxxstormyninixxx @prettypinkblogger @thegabbyh

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wizardofrozz · 3 months ago

Text

Above Coruscant (pt. 2)

Commander Fox x reader

Word Count: ~3.1k

Warnings: +18 MDNI, slight exhibitionism, hair pulling, unprotected PiV sex, outdoors sex, mentions of sexting, glove kink if you squint, the armor stays on, enjoy lol

A/N: If you haven't read part 1, this might not make a whole lot of sense but if you're just here for the filth, then you could probably skip the first part lmao. I'm not even sorry for the person I become when it comes to writing Fox 😈

Part 1

It was easy to forget how populated the city-planet was until you were hundreds of feet in the air, your speeder bike cutting through traffic lanes. Coruscant's air was slightly less polluted this high up, the smog hanging somewhere below your dangling feet, and you savored the fresh air.

Well, as fresh as Coruscant could be.

Your heart skipped when the familiar imposing shape of the Coruscant Guard's headquarters came into view. It had been about a week since your mission with a certain Marshal Commander, and to say you were excited to see him again was an understatement. Hells, you couldn't even think too hard about him without remembering how he tasted.

That was something you knew now, and your treacherous brain made sure to remind you far too often.

The soles of your boots had barely hit the duracrete outside the club when Fox’s com had started to chime, and even with the modified helmet on, you could see how he had deflated. You barely said goodbye before he took off, jogging to the nearest landing pad in time for a gunship to swoop down into view. At least he looked just as disappointed as you felt before the larty whisked him away.

The details of his assignment were need-to-know - you knew better than to ask - but the first message that came through one evening helped. His messages were scattered and irregular, but he kept up the conversation throughout the week since you last saw him. Conversations ranged from innocent ‘how is your day?’ to messages that had you setting your datapad down and hoping no one noticed the wide-eyed look on your face as you shifted in your seat.

Yeah, this visit was long overdue.

Bringing your speeder closer to the surface, you merged into the skylane that would bring you around to the Guard’s headquarters, and your heartbeat skipped. Even in the middle of the day, the military police headquarters was intimidating. Red dots moved about near the front of the building in perfectly spaced lines, and if you didn't know any better, you'd automatically assume their superior was a dick.

Well. He kind of was, but that was beside the point.

Cutting a sharp left, you slowed to a reasonable speed, deciding to avoid the spectacle it would be if you used the main entrance and headed for one of the landing pads near the back of the building you were more accustomed to using. Thankfully, the landing pad was empty and covered in shadows.

The brakes squealed as you brought the bike to a stop, and you flinched. Making a mental note to call your usual garage later, you shut the engine down, unaware of the shadow lingering in the doorway. The fumes weren't as heavy on the surface, but it was a noticeable difference, and you tried not to grimace as you climbed off the bike. Maybe one day you'd get used to it.

Wrapped up in your random train of thought, you missed when the shape near the door moved closer, just enough to make the paint on his armor discernible. You nearly jumped out of your skin when you turn toward the building. Shock outweighed your joy for a few precious moments.

"Stop hiding in the shadows like a creep," you huffed, thinking about tossing your riding goggles at his stupid head. The urge didn't go away when his armored shoulders shook faintly with silent laughter.

“Wasn’t hiding,” Fox countered, pulling his helmet off to reveal the faint smirk on his face. Maker, how did it make you want to kiss him more?

“Hm, seemed like it to me,” you mumbled, tucking your goggles into the saddlebag beside your leg. You didn’t turn to look at him, mostly because you didn’t want him to see the smirk on your face but also because you were curious about what he’d do. Some of the messages he sent you the last few days were…detailed. “I think you were hoping to sneak up on me.”

A low hum was Fox’s only response, and it took considerable effort to stop the gasp from tumbling past your lips when you realized he was close enough that you could lean back against his chest if you wanted. Gods above, you were on a landing pad where anyone could walk through the door, but apparently, Fox didn’t give a shit. Honestly, you didn’t either when he leaned down, his soft exhale brushing past your ear.

“And if that was my plan? Then what?”

He hadn’t even touched you yet, and it felt like you were going to disintegrate on the spot. Well, a week's worth of subtle and not-so-subtle teasing would do that, you supposed.

“Then I’d hope you’d follow through with one of those ideas I’ve heard so much about,” you whispered, leaning back just enough to feel the brush of his chest plate against your shoulder blade. “My personal favorite was something about bending me over this bike.”

This time, you did gasp when Fox pulled you against his chest, the harsh cut of his codpiece pressing against your ass. You couldn’t care about that, though, when he growled, and the sound sent a wave of heat pumping through your veins. You wanted to hear it again.

“Oh, I will, cyar’ika, don’t worry,” Fox murmured, nudging the side of your face. His lips brushed your cheek as he spoke, and his grip on you slackened only for him to knead your hips gently. “But that’ll be for later.”

It took all your self-control not to bodily drag Fox onto the speeder and race back to your apartment. Then one of his hands started to drift down, his fingers teasing the top of your pants, and instead of pulling away, you leaned more of your weight into him, one of your hands drifting back to trace the outside of his thigh plate.

“You’re done for the day, so what’s stopping you?” You felt his sigh before you heard it, and that alone had your hopes plummeting.

“Senate called an emergency meeting. Either I’m stuck here until they’re done or switch places with Stone.” His wandering hand doesn’t stop, sending a chill racing across your skin when just the tips of his gloved fingers slip under the waistband of your pants. “Can’t leave just yet, but I’d still rather be here.”

At this point, you’d take whatever relief you could get.

“You’re on call, then?” Laughter rumbled against your back, and you would’ve smiled, but the open-mouthed kiss just under your ear wiped any coherent thought from your mind. All you could think about was Fox’s mouth and his hand slipping further into your pants.

“Yeah, but pretty sure Thire isn’t gonna call me unless the galaxy’s on the verge of ceasing to exist.”

Even though the situation wasn’t ideal, it was better than nothing.

Fox’s eyes were bright even in the shadows of headquarters when you twisted your upper body around to see his face.

“Good to know,” you whispered before pulling him into a heated kiss. The ghost of the first kiss you shared with Fox had been haunting you since it happened, but this time was different, hungrier. The bitterness of caf lingered on his tongue as it slid into your mouth, and you sighed, releasing the side of his thigh to grip his vambrace.

The contact made his fingers twitch, the fabric of his gloves brushing over your sensitive skin just enough to force a pathetic sound past your lips. Every inch of your body was humming with need like you hadn’t experienced in a long time, if ever. You blamed it on the steamy messages that were finally becoming a reality and the pent-up frustration you’d been shoving down for nearly a year now.

You blamed that when you tugged Fox’s arm, whining against his lips, “Please.”

This close, you could feel the shudder that rippled through his body, and the hand still holding your hip tightened, keeping you in place. Your mouth dropped open, but no sound came out; every thought in your head was obliterated as Fox slid a finger through your soaked folds.

When you finally opened your eyes, his face was out of focus. Intense was a good word to describe Fox at times, and right now, it was the only word you could think of to describe the look on his face as he slowly slid a finger into you. The fabric of his gloves wasn’t unpleasant, but you were almost positive that anything he did at this point would drive you wild.

Fox drove you wild, plain and simple.

The deliberate pump of his finger made your lids heavy, and you clenched around the digit when the muscle in his jaw fluttered. In this position, you couldn’t move well, your hips trapped in place by his iron grip, and any attempt to grind against his hand was pointless. Although, your attempts at finding more friction seemed to goad Fox into giving you what you wanted anyway.

As he added a second finger, Fox’s eyes darted around your face like he was searing the visual of you like this into his mind. The soft, pleading whine of his name made his eyes darken, and his tongue poked out to wet his lips. Your eyes tracked the movement.

“Fuck me,” you whispered, finding his eyes.

“Right here?” Fox’s voice was rough, each word dragging over gravel as they passed his lips and your pussy clenched around his fingers. A sinful smirk lifted the corner of his mouth, and fuck, you never wanted to see someone’s face between your legs as bad as you did at that moment.

“What? Scared?” You wanted to pat yourself on the back for not sounding as ruined as you already felt.

Then, the smirk on Fox’s face turned wolfish.

The disappointment at being empty only lasted a few seconds, your head spinning when Fox pulled you around to face him. It had to be the armor that made him look so broad. Although, if you remember correctly (you remembered perfectly), his shoulders still looked just as wide when he wasn’t wearing armor.

The back of your legs bumped the seat of your speeder, and you slid onto the cushion without being prompted, fighting off a smirk when you leaned back against the control panel. Your feet came to rest on the housing holding the seat in place, your knees falling open as an invitation, and the way Fox’s eyes raked down your body made your walls flutter weakly.

Fox said nothing as he walked around to the back of the bike. The model you drove was compact, narrower than most, and Fox easily straddled the engine. Your throat clicked as your eyes trailed upward until you reached his face.

Maybe this position wasn’t the best idea when he’s looking down at you like that.

Shuffling forward, Fox gently knocked your feet off the durasteel, moving to stand over the seat and forcing your legs open wider to accommodate his hips. The kama hanging around his hips brushed against the material of your pants, and suddenly, you needed to feel him again.

The second his eyes dropped to your belt, your hands moved; Fox smirked, his hands resting on your knees. He took over once your pants reached your knees, and you tried not to snort at the few failed attempts at getting your pantleg over your boot. Any hint of amusement vaporized the second his fingers teased the inside of your thigh.

“Take my codpiece off.” The order - and that was exactly what it was - made you jump, forcing your attention away from the feather-light touch of his fingers.

For some reason, it wasn’t until that moment that you realized he was still fully armored…and would remain that way. Your lips parted around a nearly silent whine, but your hands were already moving to do as he said, even as his fingers wandered higher.

It took a few tries to find the correct clip, but once you did, Fox groaned low in his throat without the pressure of his armor. Gods, he looked bigger than you remembered, but before, you could only feel him through layers of clothing. If you were being honest, you never thought you’d get past a few fleeting touches.

This was much more than you expected. Not that you were complaining.

Your thoughts screeched to a halt when a finger hooked up the band of your panties. Your breath caught when Fox shuffled forward again, only to pause. Fox’s eyes darted around like he was looking for something, and you tried to follow his movements. When he huffed through his nose, you reached up to gently cup his face, drawing his eyes back to you.

“Probably should’ve thought about the logistics before we got here,” Fox mumbled, his nose wrinkling. The mannerism unique to him made you smile absently as you tried to think of a solution.

“Come on, handsome, you’re a Marshal Commander. Don’t think you can keep us upright and fuck me senseless at the same time.” It was meant to be a joke, and it came out that way, but when Fox’s dark eyes snapped to your face, all the moisture in your mouth evaporated.

All you could do was throw your arms around his shoulders to keep yourself from tumbling off the speeder when he suddenly pulled you further down, stretching you out under him. The hand not wedged between your bodies grabbed the valley between controls, bringing his face inches from yours, and your walls fluttered again.

“Watch me,” he growled.

A broken gasp was punched out of your chest when the head of his cock brushed through your folds, gathering your arousal, but it didn’t fully hit you that, yes, you were about to do this until he paused at your entrance. Your nails scrapped against his backplate, clawing to have him closer, and Fox didn’t make you wait long.

Lightning arced up your spine, your mouth dropping open as his hips shifted forward. It wasn’t until Fox’s mouth slanted over yours that you registered the high-pitched moan falling from your lips. Although he wasn’t much better, the kiss muffled his answering moan as he sank into you with care.

The pinch of his armor should’ve bothered you when his hips finally stopped moving, but the hint of pain only made the pleasure clawing its way out that much more intense. Fox shuddered when you whimpered.

“Fuck, you feel incredible,” he panted into your mouth, his free hand squeezing the side of your thigh.

“Fox,” you gasped, one of your hands sliding into his hair. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you made note that it was softer than you imagined. Then, he shifted his hips, and you might as well have forgotten what hair was. With a grunt barely muffled behind his teeth, Fox picked up a slow, careful pace that punched a broken sound past your lips that you tried to smother against the side of his neck.

The bike shook with every roll of his hips, and while you had teased him about it earlier, you genuinely hoped you wouldn’t tumble to the ground. At least it would be an interesting story.

As if he were reading your mind, Fox slid his hand up to your waist to coax your back to arch slightly so he could wrap his arm around you, lifting your hips in the process. The slight change forced your shoulders down against the control panel, and the next rock of his hips had stars exploding behind your eyelids. He wasn’t fast enough to muffle your cry this time, yet he didn’t seem to care anymore as he moved a little faster.

“There we go,” he rumbled, his lips brushing over the corner of your mouth.

Lights flashed in your vision, and you couldn’t tell if it was passing speeders or the pleasure blinding you at this point. Every nerve ending felt like it had been scorched, and Fox’s labored breathing and the occasional groan frayed your nerves even more. Your fingers tightened in Fox’s hair, and the answering moan that filled the air had you clenching around his cock, your back arching further.

“Do it again,” Fox panted, his hips moving faster and harder than before. The bike trembled dangerously, but you were too far gone to care. You blindly did as he asked while he zeroed in on the spot that made your body tense almost painfully. His voice broke around a soft cry when you tugged on his curls again, and a fresh wave of heat coursed through your veins.

Mindlessly, you forced your hand between your chest and Fox’s. The first brush of your fingers against your clit had every muscle pulling taut as you raced closer to the edge.

Fox cursed, blindly searching for your mouth as his thrust grew sloppy. The speeder bike’s frame whined under the strain.

You teetered on the edge for a heartstopping moment, blood rushing in your ears, and then the pleasure crested in a spectacular explosion of color. Fox shuddered against you, and you were almost too far gone to realize his hand had moved from the controls to cover your mouth.

Sensations blurred together until all you knew was Fox: the feel of his hips snapping against you one last time, the vibration of his chest as he groaned one last time, and the taste of his mouth on your tongue. You were addicted, without a doubt.

The bike wobbled when Fox slumped against you, the hard press of his chest plate forcing out the little bit of air in your lungs with a wheeze. The fragmented pieces of your awareness slowly knitted back together, your fingers absently combing through the curls on the back of his head. Your lashes fluttered when he shifted, the soft hum in the back of his throat vibrating against your chest.

The fucked out grin on his face had no right looking that good, and you vowed to see it again and again. As many times as he let you.

“Told you I could,” Fox mumbled, blindly searching for a handhold to take some of his weight off of you.

What he said sank in after a few seconds, and your borderline delirious laugh filled the air, making his smile grow.

“It wasn’t a challenge,” you managed between laughs, your smile matching his. Fox merely shrugged, but his smile faltered when he moved to stand straighter, his expression pinching briefly.

“Good, ‘cause my legs kinda hurt now.” Another laugh fell from your lips, echoing off the building surrounding you, and you pulled Fox back down into another kiss, smiling against his lips.

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@trixie2023 @mythical-illustrator @cw80831 @hetalianskywalker @bankseys-rat

@sev-on-kamino @dickarchivist

#commander fox x reader #commander fox #cc-1010 #fox x reader #star wars #the clone wars #the coruscant guard #clone commander fox x reader #clone commander fox

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caskethrill · 2 months ago

Text

chat should i continue this …

very old n long draft of carmen berzatto. nsfw under the cut :-)

you were unburdened by talent and high-strung— a baker by association and absolutely clueless in the kitchen.

“aren’t you supposed to be good at this?” richie would remark, evincing an expression that united both quizzical and concerned.

“i never said that.” you glared down at your massacre of fat, jagged chunks of carrot. gory evidence weighed tightly around your fingertips in the form of sticky, fabric bandages. you come from a family of professionally trained pastry chefs— you had been force-fed sweet spoonfuls of in doubt compotes and tested freshly-filled cream puffs your entire life. you didn’t know the first thing about julienne and chiffonade. what you did know it was too much to live up to.

“fuck off.” the bass of his voice is wired and terse— loud and directed at his cousin. but to you, carmy’s voice is tender.

“s’okay, chef. let me see.” an amused and benevolent grin splits his lips as he perches a set of scarred fingertips upon your elbow. your method of ‘attack’ on the ill-fated vegetable is adjusted and your slices are thin again. “just like that, chef.”

you needed this job. you were strapped for cash and employment rates were at an all-time-low but you were a hard-worker and a quick learner, or at least that’s what you had told carmen berzatto in an attempt to plead your case. you had stared hopefully up at him from the chair in his office, all wide-eyed and bushy-tailed. your pencil skirt was short and the kitchen was unbearable. he couldn’t say no.

“‘attagirl, chef.” “easier like that, huh, chef?” “you like that, chef?” “doing so good, chef.”

you needed this job— it was a mantra that needed repeating at least ten times a day. you needed this job… bad. he was your boss, and unfortunately, the star-crossed crushing of it all made it all the more enchanting. it took bloody palms and searing hot pans on sensitive, bare flesh in one day for him to provoke the insufferable desire. “such a clumsy girl,” he’d jeer, and you’d positively melt.

you’d laugh suspiciously hard at his jokes and he would ignore the alien crater in his gut each time you stood close enough for him to get a whiff of your fragrance— herbs and pepper and vanilla extract, but you, nonetheless. he’d comp you a meal on particularly demanding days and wave off the disembodied crowd of complaints about nepotism and threats of hr visits coming from the rest of the staff. you were his favourite, and it was no secret.

“you’re in today?”, “you’re still here?” or even "get a life, for fuckssake," were too phrases you heard too often. the latter was richie's favourite. you handed out your days off and picked up overtime in the name of ‘i miss him and wonder what he is doing and can't breathe right every time we are apart’. a great cause, in your opinion.

“you know i’m not paying you for this, chef.” carmy satirized one particular night, a lazy smirk hanging onto the corners of his lips. this particular night, graced by whatever gods or receiving all of your good karma in one single sum, you were the only two left at the restaurant, paint buckets resting by your feet. “i’m past due for a bit of charity.”

trepidatious silence led to a bottle of wine which led to too many questions. you were a chatty drunk and he was an especially assertive one. painting walls meant scooping globs of white onto his slacks and then him, dragging it across your shirt. the wine, and even maybe even the fumes, led to wrestling each other into a kiss, tossing your wet and gritty clothing to the floor. it all led to this unruly credence that is the control that carmen had on you. he spent many nights observing how malleable and pliant you were to his needs, to him.

it was dangerous for his ego.

it didn’t take barking an essay of a lecture or a spout of unsavoury words or even a snap of his fingers. it took a look— a simple glare that seethed ‘drop the attitude’. that was the thing about carmy; he didn’t have to rough you around to get his point across, he just liked to. that didn’t mean he wasn’t just as captivating when wallowing in fury— his big, taut arms would cross over his chest. he liked to rub his forehead with his large hands and comb threw his hair with his exceptionally thick fingers and you couldn’t help but soak threw your panties. in fact, it wasn’t a good day until carmy got worked up one way or another. he didn’t think the same of you.

you were too ardent for this kind of work— carmy knew it, richie knew it, the entire kitchen knew it.

“hi boss,” you sniffle at the end of a rather rowdy night. you find support in the doorframe of his office, shoulder smushed against the hardwood as you shot your senior a sad smile. your eyes were red and puffy. it was a wealth of chaos you had to get used to, and everyone had faith that you would.

“let me make it better.” carmy would call it a suggestion, but he was authoritative. your gaze was stupefied and watery with sweet, desperate tears. your head bobbed up and down sprightly.

“c’mon, big girl. use your words. we talked about this.”

“please, carm. make it better.”

he had you hoisted up onto his desk in no time, grip brawny on the undersides of your thighs, his weight heavy between your legs.

the ripple of his bicep each time he bullied his thick fingers into your slick walls went unmistaken by the tightness of his stark white t-shirt. you let out a long whine. carmen tuts, “you’re such a crybaby.”

his tongue was like molten, tracing the pulse of your neck, leaving behind a trail of his wet saliva. “s’okay, baby. you did such a good job today. i’m so proud of you.” the scent of mint chewing gum, cooking oil and cigarette smoke makes your brain short circuit, sputtering out helpless moans and whines. the sound was accompanied by of the tune of the desk being shoved into the weak drywall, cunt taking the brunt of abuse from his fist.

“repeat after me, m’kay?” his skilled and scarred fingers were stretching you wide. he didn’t have to fight to keep you still or use his weight to manoeuvre your legs open like he usually did— you welcomed the crippling pleasure you’d usually fight off and it made carmen practically shiver in realization. you finally learned how to take it like a good whore, he thought.

your boss dragged his nimble fingers in and out— gently tracing and prodding at the leaking hole. “i’m a good girl.”

#do i still have it #it’s been awhile #not edited at all #this is so old #soz #do people still say that #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #the bear #carmen berzatto smut #carmen berzatto x reader

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